“Sorry, mate.”
The Abby of his dreams had been a fabrication. The real thing was so much more genuine. Of more substance. A good person, much too good for the likes of him. He shrugged. “Some things should be left alone.” But then he would never have found Jenny. However much pain he was experiencing right now, he wouldn’t want her not to be in his life. She’d changed him. Always before, he’d run away from commitment, but with Jenny there was no running away. Maybe if he’d known her earlier, from when she was a baby, he might have turned out a different man, a better man, and he’d have been able to give Abby the life she deserved.
“Seems like we’re all fucked royally,” Vito said.
“Yup.” Josh agreed. “Let’s get pissed.”
Vito took a deep breath. “Fuck this.” He picked up his drink, swallowed the contents in one go and pushed his empty glass toward Logan. “Fill it up.”
Three hours later, Logan watched them lurch from the bar. The club had closed an hour ago, and Mark was driving the pair back to where they were staying.
The bottle of whiskey was empty, as was the second.
Maybe he should feel better that it wasn’t only his love life that had turned to shit, but he found himself wishing that the other guys could have found their dreams, even if he hadn’t. Christ, maybe he was turning into a nice guy.
He needed tequila. Abby had tasted of tequila that very first night they had met. Pushing himself up, he wobbled, resting his hand on the table to steady himself. Abby should be here to see this. Get her own back for last night. Maybe he should call her.
But no, they weren’t seeing each other again, except for with Jenny, or to talk about Jenny. He could do this. He lurched to the bar and banged on it. A waitress was filling up the shelves. She glanced up, her eyes widening. “What can I get you, boss?”
“Tequila.”
She glanced around as if looking for someone to give her permission. When no one materialized, she shrugged and got down a bottle and a glass. She made to pour it, but he held out his hand. When she hesitated he snarled, “Give me the goddamned bottle, Angie.”
He took it back to his office and threw himself onto the sofa, clutching the tequila to his chest. He’d made love to Abby for the first time on this very sofa. He’d woken up here the morning after and known he’d found something special.
Then he’d fucked up.
Like he always did.
He should never have let her run. He should have taken her home, stuck to her like glue, and maybe things would have turned out differently. He would have turned out different. Now it was too late, and he had to let her go.
He unscrewed the top from the tequila, sniffed it, brought it to his mouth, but changed his mind and lowered the bottle again. Even if he wasn’t good enough for Abby, he was going to do his best to be a good father, a responsible father. And that didn’t involve drinking himself into oblivion at three in the morning, however much he wanted the pain to go away.
He should go home, but half an hour later he was still lying on the sofa, clasping the bottle to his chest, when Rory slipped through the door. He crossed the room and stood looking down at Logan, then he tugged the bottle from his fingers. He shook his head as he placed the tequila on the table.
“Angie,” he called out, and the waitress must have been loitering just outside, because she peered around the door.
“Yes, boss?”
Logan swung his legs around so he was sitting upright. His head hurt, and he pressed a finger to his forehead while he cast her a disgusted glance. “Did you call my dad on me?”
“Of course she did,” Rory said. “Get me a scotch, darling, and a jug of coffee for the boy.”
She gave him a quick smile and disappeared. Logan eyed his father. “I’m not a boy.”
“So stop behaving like one.” Rory sat at the far end of the sofa and studied him, head cocked to one side. “Though maybe you needed this. You did have your somewhat wild youth cut short. So which particular sorrows are you drowning tonight?”
“I’m not drowning any sorrows.”
Angie came back at that moment, placed a pot of coffee and a mug in front of him and a large scotch in front of Rory. She poured the coffee and backed away. “I’ll be leaving now.”
“Okay, we’ll lock up.” Rory sipped his scotch and watched him for a moment. “How’s Jenny?”
“Fine.”
“And her mother?”
Logan flashed a look at his father, but Rory’s face was expressionless. “Also fine.”
“So are you two seeing each other?”
Nosy bastard. “Of course we are. We saw each other when I collected Jenny a couple of days ago.” He picked up his coffee, hoping the conversation was over. No such luck.