M orris’s first-class seat on Japan Airlines was reclined all the way back, but he still couldn’t get comfortable. No matter how he sat, he felt as if he were pinching a nerve. He was a big guy, and the only chair he really liked was his oversize Barcalounger at home.
Glum, he rubbed the hole in his sleeve where one of his lucky cuff links should have been. He still couldn’t seem to pinpoint when, exactly, he’d lost it, and it was driving him nuts. He should have known that losing it was a sign of more bad things to come, because everything had gone to shit afterward. The Okinawa deal had taken longer than normal to finalize, he hadn’t been able to make love to his fiancée, and he’d had to listen to Sheila’s painful confession about her sex addiction… which, as it turned out, wasn’t even the worst of it.
She’d had an affair with her student. She’d cheated on him. It wasn’t as if she were addicted to porn, or a compulsive masturbator. Yeah, he’d read all about those types, and he might have been able to handle something like that. But she’d had sex with another guy under his nose.
She had broken his heart.
Morris pushed the call button above his head. In an instant, a pixie-faced flight attendant appeared.
“Everything okay, sir?”
Her English was flawless and he wondered where she’d gone to school. Morris had been out of Texas for more than ten years and his damned accent was still as strong as ever.
“Suki, my back’s killin’ me. Do you have any ibuprofen?”
“Certainly. I’ll be right back.”
In a flash, she returned with a two-pack of Extra Strength Advil and a minibottle of Aquafina. Morris accepted the painkillers, but shook his head at the water.
“Bloody Caesar, please, Suki,” he said, holding out his glass, which was still red from the other Bloody Caesar he’d just downed. He’d already had two.
The flight attendant’s lovely Asian features showed concern. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to drink if you’re taking-”
Morris held up a beefy hand. “I’ll be fine, darlin’.”
Suki looked doubtful but didn’t argue. They never did in first class.
Morris leaned back and tried to get comfortable. His seatmate, a small Japanese man, was curled against the window and snoring softly. They’d chatted earlier and the man told him he’d been married for almost thirty years. Morris had shaken his head in wonder-long-lasting marriages seemed almost as impossible as finding love in the first place.
Morris had loved Lenore, his first wife, but not the way he loved Sheila. He would never have married his college girlfriend if she hadn’t gotten pregnant during their sophomore year at the University of Texas. Sure, they’d been dating for a year and it was somewhat steady, but, hell, Morris was gunning for the NFL. He was an All-American offensive lineman and had a promising career as a pro football player-the last thing he wanted was to settle down.
But he couldn’t turn his back on Lenore and the baby. They’d had a quick civil ceremony, and four months later Randall was born.
Things were all right at first. Both their parents helped with the baby, and Morris was drafted by the Green Bay Packers after his junior year. Lenore was happy to get out of Texas. There were good times in those early days.
But barely two years later, the ligaments in his right knee were torn apart by a badly timed tackle in practice. Despite a year of rehab, his knee never fully recovered. At the age of twenty-three, his career in the NFL was over.
They moved back to Texas, where Lenore encouraged him to finish his degree in finance. After graduation, his father, a VP at LoneStar Capital, hired him. Morris liked the job well enough, but the resentment of losing his football life never went away. The death of his dream ate at him constantly, gnawing in his gut like a rat stuck in a cardboard box, and some days it took all his willpower just to get out of bed. Drinking was the only thing that dulled the bitterness.
Stephen was born two years later. The marriage was already in shambles, but that didn’t stop their third son, Phillip, from arriving three years after that. By then, Morris was a full-blown alcoholic.
He managed to hide it, at least at work. He was hardworking and affable, and the bank’s clients enjoyed his football stories and loud sense of humor. He moved up through the ranks with relative ease, thanks in part to his father.
But life at home was a different story. Morris was filled with an anger he couldn’t control, and the drinking only made it worse. He was a distant, impatient father, and a harsh, resentful husband. The littlest thing would set him off. Every argument with Lenore seemed to end with something in the house-a vase, a stack of dishes, their framed wedding photo-being smashed to pieces.
Like many alcoholics, Morris refused to acknowledge he had a drinking problem. Lenore, codependent and terrified to raise three boys by herself, stuck it out despite the marriage being a farce. Eventually she found a support group, who made her realize she’d never change him and that she could, and would, survive without him.
They were both better off now, though Morris wouldn’t exactly consider them friends. Lenore was still living in Texas, happily remarried to a lawyer who apparently hated football.
A few years after the divorce, Morris accepted a job at Bindle Brothers in Seattle, and he moved out of Texas for the second time in his life. The boys were finally out of high school and it seemed like a good time for a fresh start.
The job was satisfying, but it was lonely being in a new place. It was hard to meet women his age, and most of the guys at work were married. So he didn’t have much of a social life. The pounds began to creep on-too much television, beer, and takeout. As he gained weight, his bad knee began to hurt again. Then the other knee began to creak. Exercise became torturous.
When he met Sheila, he was still in denial about his drinking. Even when it began to affect his work-so much so that he was told by Bob Bindle Jr., the managing partner of the investment bank, to start Alcoholics Anonymous or lose his job-he still thought it wasn’t that big a deal.
It was Sheila Tao who gave him the kick in the ass he needed. He’d had a crush on her long before anything romantic happened between them, but the thought that something might happen if he cleaned up his act was enough to spur him on. A few weeks after meeting her, he joined AA.
When he’d completed all twelve steps a year later, Sheila was the first person he called. By then he was completely in love with her and determined to win her heart. He was over the moon to discover she felt the same way. When he kissed her for the first time, just before midnight at the end of their first date, holding the bag with the goldfish he’d won for her, he’d felt sixteen again. They’d been inseparable ever since… she was his whole world.
As clichéd as it was, Morris was a better man because of her.
His Bloody Caesar arrived. Before he even took the first sip, he asked Suki to bring him another. He ignored the look on the flight attendant’s face-yes, he was sure he wanted it, and, no, he didn’t need a lecture.
He’d never had a problem making decisions. But he did have a problem with quitting.
Halfway through his fifth drink, Morris made up his mind. He was going to stay with Sheila. He would marry her on Saturday, as planned. They could work everything out after the wedding. Every addict deserved a second chance, and he was damn well going to bet on her the way she’d bet on him. He was in it for the long haul.
But goddammit if he wasn’t gonna get good and drunk first.