Reparation(71)

“I'm not. Did you hear the things that were said between us? She doesn't want this, Sanders. She doesn't want me. I'm sorry. I gave it my best shot,” he said. Sanders shook his head.

“No. She is scared of you. Do you see what your actions have done? One act of cruelty, and you have caused her to doubt you forever,” he started. Jameson went to argue, and Sanders held up a hand and continued. “Her running away is not right. It is not fair. She made promises that she is going back on. I do not condone this. But you know that she wants to be here. That she wants to be with you.”

“Sanders, she said it was all a lie. This was her plan, ever since Paris. I don't think she ever forgave me, ever stopped wanting to do this. She said she loved me,” Jameson's voice fell into a whisper. “And it was a lie. All a lie. She got me. Finally won something.”

“No. It wasn't a lie. You know that.”

“I don't. I don't really wanna talk about this, I already feel like shit. I've got lawyers up my ass about this whole Pet thing, I've got clients I've been ignoring, and I feel like shit. Like absolute fucking shit. I'm so glad you spent the whole weekend making her feel better, while I had to stay in this goddamn house and wallow in my own self-loating,” Jameson snapped.

It was true. Paranoia and panic, for three long days, wondering if he had lost her forever. Wondering if Sanders had left him, too. By the third day he had somewhat come to peace with her being gone. He couldn't force her to love him. Couldn't force her to return any of his feelings. But Sanders. Sanders was family. He couldn't just walk away.

“Good. Sometimes I think you need a little of that. Pity it didn't help,” Sanders said, and handed Jameson the glass with the Jack Daniel's in it.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Jameson snapped.

“It sounds like you have given up on her. And the Jameson I know doesn't give up on something, not when he really wants it,” Sanders stressed.

“Maybe I don't want it anymore.”

“Now who is the liar?”

Jameson slammed the whiskey down in one shot.

“She doesn't want me, Sanders! Get that through your fucking head. She wants to pretend to have some nice, normal life, with her goddamn baseball player. I can't change that! What do you want me to do!?” Jameson demanded.

“I want you to go get her back.”

Jameson slammed his hand down on the counter.

“I can't do that! You act like I'm some kind of god, like I can just snap my fingers and she'll come back! That's not how it works, Sanders, believe me. How often are we going to go through this!? How many times am I going to have to chase her down?” Jameson asked.

“As many times as it takes.”

“Takes to what?”

“Takes for her to realize where she belongs.”

Jameson poured his own shot that time around.

“Sanders,” he breathed after swallowing the whiskey. “I know this may be hard to believe, but I do feel things on occasion. She said she loved me. I believed her. I have believed it for a long time. I have pretended not to care. But now that she has taken it back, I have discovered that I care very much. And it hurts.”

“Do you see where pretending has got you? Alone. Maybe if you spent half the amount of time being honest as you did pretending, we wouldn't always find ourselves in these predicaments,” Sanders snapped. Jameson raised his eyebrows.

“Do you speak to Tatum this way, when you're trying to make her feel better?” he asked.

“No. She prefers cuddles.”

“Maybe I'd like a cuddle.”

“Forgive me, sir, but that is not going to happen.”

Jameson laughed, and took another shot.

“I miss her, Sanders. It's been three days, and I already miss her. Was it all a lie? Tell the truth,” Jameson said softly.

“Only what she said at the end; that was all a lie. Nothing else.”

Jameson dropped his head to the counter.

“Fucking bitch,” he whispered.

“Excuse me?”

“It doesn't matter, Sanders. Lie, or truth. She doesn't want me. So much so, that she was willing to lie and run away. I'm not going to force someone to be in my presence. I am better than that; we are better than that,” he gestured between him and Sanders. Sanders nodded and poured another shot. But this time, he didn't hand it to Jameson. He took the shot himself.

“One more question, sir,” Sanders' voice was barely above a breath.

“What?”

“Why do you think you are incapable of love?”

Jameson blinked, caught off guard.

“Excuse me?” he asked for clarification.

“You pretended to not care that she loved you. You pretended not to love her back. Why can't you just let yourself love her?” Sanders pressed.