“Fine,” said Jack tersely.
“Hey, at least you’re not headed to three months of rehab.”
“It’s not rehab.”
Carl shrugged. “Gambling addiction residential treatment program. A rose by any other name…”
Jack sighed. When he’d returned to the office after the Muskoka trip, this year had already earned the distinction of being the worst of his life, despite the Wexler deal. At least it was almost over. Just a week and a bit till January 1. But when a weird email from an anonymous Gmail account saying only, “Ask Carl about college tuition,” arrived a couple days later, it got a little bit worse. After he confronted Carl with the cryptic message and endured the abject and tearful confession that followed, he punched a hole in the drywall next to his desk.
And then he fired Carl.
He wasn’t without sympathy. His old friend was clearly desperate, and within the confines of his addiction—and Jack thought it was exactly that—what he had done made a warped sort of sense. And of course Jack had a huge soft spot for Britney. He’d pay for her college himself, but no need to tell Carl that. Better to let the guy’s rock bottom really feel like rock bottom. Jack told Carl that if he sought professional help, he wouldn’t press charges.
And so here they were. A brokenhearted idiot who got burned breaking the rules and couldn’t seem to stop punching inanimate objects, and a pathetic white collar criminal off to spend Christmas in rehab.
“Did you tell Britney and Diana?” That had been another of Jack’s conditions. He actually suspected Diana had sent the mysterious email, but on the off chance she hadn’t, he didn’t want Carl claiming he had to miss Christmas because of a business trip Jack was making him go on.
“Yes.” Carl literally hung his head.
Jack couldn’t hide his anger, couldn’t stifle a sneer. And why should he? Carl had pledged to pay back the money somehow. If Jack wasn’t going to press charges, he could get another job when he was out of treatment, Carl said, and pay Jack back in installments.
Jack didn’t care about the money. It was the betrayal. God, the betrayal.
’Tis the fucking season.
…
“Sweetie, you have to stop crying sometime.”
Cassie nodded at Danny, but she kept crying. She wanted to stop, but it just wasn’t possible.
Danny tilted his head, opened his mouth, then closed it again. She would’ve laughed if she could stop crying long enough. Danny, struck dumb—now there was one for the history books. Poor guy. He’d cleaned her apartment. She looked around, able to appreciate, even through this relentless gutting despair, how the sun shone in through the immaculate windows. He’d made her all her favorite comfort foods, stuffing her full of macaroni and cheese casserole and chocolate chip cookies. He’d bought her a bunch of crazy new nail polish.
“Sorry,” she said, tears still flowing. She went entire stretches—like, hours—without crying, but then she’d see a Christmas wreath and it would remind her of Jack’s Christmas party, which would remind her of the amazing sex they had after his Christmas party. Or, against her better judgment, she’d unfold the note the driver he’d dispatched to meet her in Muskoka had silently handed her. One sentence, in his distinctive handwriting. “On the off chance that you are pregnant, please be in touch with me.”
She’d been so stupid to think she could escape from this unscathed. She’d been talking tough about this not having been a relationship, but she’d been deceiving herself. It takes two people to have a relationship, but it doesn’t take two people to fall in love.
Yes, despite her best intentions to the contrary, she’d fallen in love with him. And love in a situation like that was bound to lead to heartbreak. But it would have been worth it, despite the heartbreak, because the time she’d spent with him had been life changing. He’d made her feel so attractive—and smart, and capable. He’d made her feel invincible. You don’t just walk away from that without consequences.
So if she’d expected heartbreak, why couldn’t she stop crying? She could only figure it was that she hadn’t expected Jack to be so…mean. Which was stupid because he’d been exactly that the morning after she’d first slept over at his house. Shame flooded her stomach when she thought about that morning, him unable to meet her eyes as he rushed out of the house. Had she learned nothing?
Still, she’d thought they were over that. Yes, part of her hoped then that they’d end up extending their…entanglement. But at the very least, she thought they would share a triumphant ride home, shake hands, and part as friends. What a fool she had been to think she was special. She was no different than anyone else. It really was all about the company for him.