Miss Fortune

Chapter Eleven

Opening his eyes was his first mistake.

Thorin groaned and let them slide shut, but it wasn't enough to block the little men with their pickaxes inside his skull. His tongue felt thick and furry, glued to the roof of his mouth and when he pried it down, he immediately wished he hadn't.

"Christ..." He swallowed against the sour, brackish taste rising in his throat. When he opened his eyes again, he did so as slowly as possible, and it still took him a minute to remember where he was.

The television was on. ESPN's Sportscenter. Sunlight poured in through the front windows, bounced across the floor, tried its best to blind him as he sat up in the leather recliner he didn't remember falling asleep in.

His second mistake was sitting up. His stomach lurched as he got to his feet, but by the time he reached his bedroom, he was relatively certain he wasn't about to be sick. He stripped off yesterday's clothes, padded into the bathroom to get the shower started, and it took nearly half an hour of standing under the hot spray before the nausea vanished entirely. Only as he emerged, a towel wrapped about his waist, was he sure he could shave without slitting his own throat.

He didn't know if he looked forward to or dreaded Frerin's visits. On one hand, there was comfort in being able to talk to him, to have Frerin answer him, to be able to forget the reality of his death, even if only for a painfully short while.

But on the other hand, when Frerin left, it was only another reminder that he was well and truly gone. He was dead, as Frerin so bluntly said the night before. This was all an illusion at best. They wouldn't be getting a beer after softball come the summer. Wouldn't be hanging out at Ma and Pop's for Fourth of July. Wouldn't be rolling their eyes whenever Ma cornered them about finding nice girls and settling down.

And when this was all done, and if the person responsible for Frerin's murder was brought to justice, it was entirely possible Frerin would disappear all over again. Only, this time for good. And Thorin wasn't so sure he was strong enough to lose him again.

Not that it mattered. What were the odds Frerin would forgive him for sleeping with Lisa?

There was nothing he regretted more than that night. She'd shown up at his apartment with a box full of Frerin's things that had been in her apartment. He'd been working his way through a bottle of Grey Goose and offered her some, and several vodkas later, she began crying. Red-eyed and weepy, she'd leaned into him, tucked her head against his chest and the next thing he knew, she was kissing him and he was kissing her back. Grief drove them to one another and it didn't take long before kissing wasn't enough.

Horror surged through him the next morning, when he woke up to find her still in his bed, sound asleep. He was hung over, riddled with guilt, and just wanted her to leave. Fortunately, she felt the same and once she was gone, neither sought the other out again.

Still, he'd betrayed Frerin. It didn't matter that Lisa used him as much as he'd used her. They'd both betrayed Frerin. Only Lisa didn't have to face up to her end of their tryst. She didn't have to answer to anyone or apologize to anyone. And honestly? Thorin didn't think he'd ever have to as well.

"Fuck."

He glowered at his reflection, debating whether or not he honestly felt like shaving off his beard, as he did every now and then. No, probably not a good idea. He set his razor back in its holder. "And what if this is all proof I'm just nuts?"

He almost hoped Frerin would pop in, even if he was furious. They needed to talk it out and he needed to get Frerin to forgive him. All he wanted at that moment was for Frerin to appear, leaning against the counter, cocky grin in place and assure him that he was just as crazy as he feared. But that didn't happen. Thorin remained the lone soul in his apartment as he dried his face on a towel and padded back into his bedroom to get dressed.