Jack's Way

Excerpt From: Jack's Way

“Benjamin.” Joan’s urgent whisper scarcely made it out of the little black box on his desk.

He closed his eyes, wishing for the thousandth time that working for a high profile architecture firm in New Hampshire meant he could escape the big city drama. Setting his pencil down on his drafting table, he slid off his stool and pressed the two-way. “Yes?”

“Christian’s here.”

A loud crash from somewhere down the hall punctuated her statement. Ben’s eyes narrowed as he stared at his closed door. “That’s not possible. He’s still in treatment.”

“He’s in treatment, all right, but it isn’t the one where you get any kind of help.”

He blinked at the intercom, mute.

“Ben?” She was louder this time, more worried.

“What are you talking about?”

“For God’s sake. He’s drunk.” A second bang came from just outside his door at Joan’s desk. The line went dead.

Then, he didn’t need the open line to hear what his assistant was saying to his ex-lover. “You nutcase! Look what you just did to my desk.”

“Where’s Ben?” Christian’s drunken slur carried through the closed door.

“He’s not here. Take your fool self home before I call the police.” She was like a mother hen, all gossip and ruffled feathers. But don’t be the idiot who crossed her. She’d peck your eyes out.

“His car’s in the lot. I know he’s around.”

He didn’t want Joan caught in the middle of this. One thing had been consistent in his relationship with Christian—his ex was violent when he drank. Things usually ended in a nasty brawl because Ben wasn’t the pushover his ex liked to think he was. He had known after only two months of dating he wanted out.

It had taken another four to get it done.

When Christian had agreed to in-clinic therapy after yet another vicious argument, Ben had used the opportunity to make a clean break. That had been three months ago. He’d finally started to relax. Six months was a short-term relationship, after all, and Christian hadn’t so much as called.

Until now.

Ben was gripping the doorknob before he realised he’d even moved. He took one more deep breath before opening the door to take in the scene.

Joan’s back was to Ben and Christian wobbled on weak legs in front of her, poking her in the shoulder. He leant in, momentarily losing his balance before catching himself on her arm. “Where’s he at?”

“Right here.” Ben leant against the door jam, crossed one foot over the other. He cocked his head to the side. “What do you want, Christian?”“Benjamin.” Joan’s urgent whisper scarcely made it out of the little black box on his desk.

He closed his eyes, wishing for the thousandth time that working for a high profile architecture firm in New Hampshire meant he could escape the big city drama. Setting his pencil down on his drafting table, he slid off his stool and pressed the two-way. “Yes?”

“Christian’s here.”

A loud crash from somewhere down the hall punctuated her statement. Ben’s eyes narrowed as he stared at his closed door. “That’s not possible. He’s still in treatment.”

“He’s in treatment, all right, but it isn’t the one where you get any kind of help.”

He blinked at the intercom, mute.

“Ben?” She was louder this time, more worried.

“What are you talking about?”

“For God’s sake. He’s drunk.” A second bang came from just outside his door at Joan’s desk. The line went dead.

Then, he didn’t need the open line to hear what his assistant was saying to his ex-lover. “You nutcase! Look what you just did to my desk.”

“Where’s Ben?” Christian’s drunken slur carried through the closed door.

“He’s not here. Take your fool self home before I call the police.” She was like a mother hen, all gossip and ruffled feathers. But don’t be the idiot who crossed her. She’d peck your eyes out.

“His car’s in the lot. I know he’s around.”