I wonder if she would have the least bit of respect for you if she could see the mess you've made of your life since she's been gone.
Would she be pleased to know that you've crumpled? I seriously doubt it."
He ground his teeth so hard it made his jaws ache. "I said to get out."
"I'm going." Hastily she fished in her purse and produced a folded sheet of pink paper.
She spread it open on the bar. "That's the itemized receipt from the hospital bill that I paid for you. I'll collect it in full tomorrow."
"You already know I don't have any money."
"Then I suggest you get some. Good night."
She didn't even wait for him to go to the door with her, but crossed his living room, flung open the door, and marched out, seemingly impervious to the rain. She soundly pulled the door closed behind her.
"Bitch," he muttered, sweeping the receipt off the bar with one swipe of his hand. It fluttered to his feet.
He gave it a vicious kick that sent a sharp pain through his ribs. Wincing, he hobbled toward the bedroom and the bottle of pills on his nightstand.
He uncapped the prescription bottle and shook out a capsule, then tossed it to the back of his throat and swallowed it without bothering to get a glass of water.
As he was returning the bottle of pills to the nightstand, he paused. Turning the amber plastic bottle end over end, he considered taking all the capsules at one time.
He couldn't even conceive of it.
He lowered himself to the edge of his bed.
Was Marcie right then? If he had seriously wanted to end his life when Tanya's ended, why hadn't he?
There had been many opportunities when he'd been away from home, on the road, in the company of temporary friends, lonely, broke, drunk, and depressed. Yet he had never even thought of actual suicide.
Somewhere deep inside, he must have felt that life was still worth living. But for what?
He lifted his gaze to the framed photograph of Tanya and him taken on their wedding day. God, she had been lovely. Her smile had come through her eyes straight from her heart.
He had known unequivocally that she loved him. He believed to this day that she had died knowing that he loved her. How could she not know? He had dedicated his life to never letting her doubt it.
Marcie was right in another respect—he wasn't honoring Tanya's memory by living the way he presently was. Odd, that an outsider, and not one of his own family, had read him so right and had known just what strings to pull to make him sit up and take notice of his life.
Tanya had been proud of his ambition. Since her death he hadn't had any ambition beyond drinking enough to dull his senses and cloud his memory. At first he had put in token appearances at the office of Tyler Drilling, but one morning when he'd shown up drunk while
Lucky was cultivating a potential client, his brother had blown up and told him he'd just as soon not have him around if he was going to jeopardize what little business they had.
That's when he'd gone on the road, following the rodeo circuit, riding bulls in as many rodeos as he could afford to enter. He won just enough prize money to keep him in gasoline and whiskey, and that was all that mattered.
One kept him away from home and the other made him temporarily forget the heartache he had left there.
His life had become a nonproductive cycle of whoring, drinking, gambling, fighting, riding bulls-Winning money, spending it. Moving from place to place, roaming aimlessly, never stopping long enough to deal with what he was running from.
The smiling groom in the photograph on the nightstand didn't even resemble him now.
In fact it mocked him. How naive he'd been then, to think that life came with a guarantee of unending happiness. He studied Tanya's blond prettiness, touched the corner of her smile, and felt remorse for the shame he'd brought to her memory.
According to his mother's speech, his family's patience with him was finally expended.
He had alienated all his friends. He was flat
Would she be pleased to know that you've crumpled? I seriously doubt it."
He ground his teeth so hard it made his jaws ache. "I said to get out."
"I'm going." Hastily she fished in her purse and produced a folded sheet of pink paper.
She spread it open on the bar. "That's the itemized receipt from the hospital bill that I paid for you. I'll collect it in full tomorrow."
"You already know I don't have any money."
"Then I suggest you get some. Good night."
She didn't even wait for him to go to the door with her, but crossed his living room, flung open the door, and marched out, seemingly impervious to the rain. She soundly pulled the door closed behind her.
"Bitch," he muttered, sweeping the receipt off the bar with one swipe of his hand. It fluttered to his feet.
He gave it a vicious kick that sent a sharp pain through his ribs. Wincing, he hobbled toward the bedroom and the bottle of pills on his nightstand.
He uncapped the prescription bottle and shook out a capsule, then tossed it to the back of his throat and swallowed it without bothering to get a glass of water.
As he was returning the bottle of pills to the nightstand, he paused. Turning the amber plastic bottle end over end, he considered taking all the capsules at one time.
He couldn't even conceive of it.
He lowered himself to the edge of his bed.
Was Marcie right then? If he had seriously wanted to end his life when Tanya's ended, why hadn't he?
There had been many opportunities when he'd been away from home, on the road, in the company of temporary friends, lonely, broke, drunk, and depressed. Yet he had never even thought of actual suicide.
Somewhere deep inside, he must have felt that life was still worth living. But for what?
He lifted his gaze to the framed photograph of Tanya and him taken on their wedding day. God, she had been lovely. Her smile had come through her eyes straight from her heart.
He had known unequivocally that she loved him. He believed to this day that she had died knowing that he loved her. How could she not know? He had dedicated his life to never letting her doubt it.
Marcie was right in another respect—he wasn't honoring Tanya's memory by living the way he presently was. Odd, that an outsider, and not one of his own family, had read him so right and had known just what strings to pull to make him sit up and take notice of his life.
Tanya had been proud of his ambition. Since her death he hadn't had any ambition beyond drinking enough to dull his senses and cloud his memory. At first he had put in token appearances at the office of Tyler Drilling, but one morning when he'd shown up drunk while
Lucky was cultivating a potential client, his brother had blown up and told him he'd just as soon not have him around if he was going to jeopardize what little business they had.
That's when he'd gone on the road, following the rodeo circuit, riding bulls in as many rodeos as he could afford to enter. He won just enough prize money to keep him in gasoline and whiskey, and that was all that mattered.
One kept him away from home and the other made him temporarily forget the heartache he had left there.
His life had become a nonproductive cycle of whoring, drinking, gambling, fighting, riding bulls-Winning money, spending it. Moving from place to place, roaming aimlessly, never stopping long enough to deal with what he was running from.
The smiling groom in the photograph on the nightstand didn't even resemble him now.
In fact it mocked him. How naive he'd been then, to think that life came with a guarantee of unending happiness. He studied Tanya's blond prettiness, touched the corner of her smile, and felt remorse for the shame he'd brought to her memory.
According to his mother's speech, his family's patience with him was finally expended.
He had alienated all his friends. He was flat
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