Mistaken Identity(2)

“That’s a fucking cop-out.”

“Doctor Talons told me to get away from my trigger. Do you know that is? You, Jett, it’s everything that comes with you.”

Sucker punched and blindsided he grabbed his shirt as his heart cracked and shattered. This was different from the fights before. Finality that he’d never heard before existed in her tone and her gaze. He swallowed down air to keep from losing his lunch. Closing his eyes he fought the urge to drop to his knees, beg her not to leave. But nothing was worth her life.

“Just go,” he growled.

“I’m sorry.” She spun on her heel and ran from the room. Time slowed as the happiness he’d anticipated imploded.

****

Present Day

Seated at the bar, on what should’ve been his wedding day, Jett finished off his fourth Hole in One. The drink dulled the pain to a level he could tolerate. He felt like a zombie, trudging through daily life, smiling, shaking hands, and signing autographs while he bled out from the crippling mental wound he couldn’t seem to heal. It was near impossible to move forward when everyone wanted to know why he and Lis split with the wedding so close. The obvious assumption for most tended to be infidelity, on his end of course. He snorted. If only it was that simple. Envy burned in his belly as he thought of his co-workers. They all enjoyed connecting with their audience, so conventions like this were usually a good time. It pissed him off that it was ruined this time. Especially since Somerville was the town the show was based in. Unable to keep up the happy Jett Walker façade he slunk off the minute their mandatory karaoke session ended. Here he could celebrate his unwanted freedom alone.

I used to think I was lucky, a small town boy from Texas who made it big on a popular t.v. show. He scowled. How fucking naïve was I? The show had brought a lot of trouble. Family members coming out of the wood work asking for money, rabid fans that made it impossible to have any inkling of normalcy, and the loss of his high school sweetheart. Even now he only blended in because they thought he was a Cosplayer. Surely squeaky clean Jett Walker would never get piss drunk in a dive bar alone. Unlike his television persona, Dex Kimber. Wow, you know shit’s bad when you envy a fictional character.

Cornerstone could only be described as petite. The tiny establishment didn’t fit more than fifty people. Done in dark wood walls with gray tile flooring, it had a down home feel that fit the town. The bar in front of him was lit from beneath with an amber lighting. Artist pieces made from tiny, white lights arranged in interesting shapes, added ambiance every four feet or so. Behind him, round, two-seater tables lined the wall. He looked to the right where the room opened. Despite the late hour on a Friday night, there couldn’t be more than twenty people here. It was a nice change of pace from the insanity Paranormal Investigation conventions offered up by the pound.#p#分页标题#e#

The legs of a chair scraped across the floor beside him, and he turned his head to the left. A pretty, brown-skinned woman with almond-shaped, hazel-colored eyes sat down on the stool a few inches away. Her round face and high cheek bones were a knock-out combination. Dressed in form-fitting dark denim jeans and a red tank top beneath a red, navy, and white, plaid shirt, the mystery woman stirred his desire for the first time since Lis left. The alcohol is doing the trick. Full, dusky-pink, lips formed a shy smile. Her eyes widened with recognition. Son of a bitch!

“Wow, you do a really good Dex Kimber.”

“Thanks. I, uh, heard that before. You a Paranormal fan?” he asked, using the show’s shortened nickname.

She nodded. “I lust after the writers pretty much. Their story lines are brilliant.”

“You a writer?” Refreshed by her admiration of the show and its production versus the looks he and his co-workers possessed, he wanted to know more.

“Journalist. I work for the local paper, but I admire creative writing, and I may, or may not, be working on a book of my own.” Her slow, southern, drawl coaxed a smile. No small feat, considering.

“You here for the convention?”

“Yeah, my best friend, Mya, purchased passes for the weekend, sort of congratulations for making Lead Editor, and a happy birthday present rolled into one.”

“Well happy birthday and congrats.” He raised his half-empty glass toward her.

“Thank you.” She beamed.

“How old are you?” He narrowed his eyes, unable to gauge an age range on her youthful façade.

“For the record, that’s not a question most women like to be asked. I’m thirty. Mark the occasion on your calendar because next year I start counting backward.” She winked, and he chuckled. I like this one. She’s got spunk and substance.