Chapter 5: Chapter 5 Chris Donovan vs. Shane Lewis: There's no love like the first...Remorse!

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“That’s enough Chris.” Damon groused when Chris reached for the bottle of Scotch. “You of all people should know that you can’t solve problems by drinking yourself into a stupor.”

“What the fuck do you suggest I do? Huh?” Chris asked hoarsely. “You know you have to start going for your meetings with another person right?”

“Hell, no,” Damon said sternly. “You’re seeing this through to the end and that’s final.”

Chris groaned. “Has it occurred to you that Shane might not want to do business with you again because of me?” Chris spoke slowly but he wasn’t slurring his words.

“He doesn’t come across as that petty.” Damon guffawed. “He’s a businessman. I don’t think some childhood beef would make him throw everything out. He’s too smart to do that.”

Chris shook his head slowly as he looked at Damon. “It’s not petty, Damon. You have no idea just how serious it was.”

“You did apologize right?” Damon asked with a raised eyebrow. Not that a simple sorry would have wiped the slate clean for Shane, Damon thought. But a sorry from Chris would lessen whatever anger Shane had for his friend. “Tell me you did.” The incident happened years ago for fucks sake, and as the saying went, time was supposed to heal all wounds. From the look of Shane earlier that day, Damon could tell he sure as hell hadn’t forgotten about what had transpired between him and Chris all those years ago. But if Chris had been smart and sensible enough and apologized, there was surely the possibility that Chris wasn’t angry. “‘Cause if you did, then I don’t think Shane would be that pissed off at you.”

Damon had marched Chris out of the conference room to his office when he’d dropped the bombshell about beating Shane Lewis to a pulp. He’d needed a drink and he was sure his friend needed one too.

For a very long time, they’d remained quiet as they drank. They had finished a whole bottle of Scotch already, Chris having consumed the greater portion. A second bottle had been opened and it was already half empty. What actually scared Damon was the fact that Chris didn’t even look drunk. The burden on Chris was obviously too heavy to be drowned by Scotch.

“I wish I could have seen him and apologized to him, Damon. Not that it would have been adequate after what I did to him but...” Chris shrugged. “It would have been a plus.”

“What do you mean you wished you…”

“They left, Damon,” Chris said quietly. “His mother took him away that very night. When I realized what I was doing, saw how badly he was bleeding, saw his tears, the hurt in his eyes…my heart broke. I ran.”

“Damnit, Chris,” Damon swore.

“I…I couldn’t believe I’d done that to Nick. I grabbed my father’s gun from his study on my way out.

Then I ran out of the house, into the woods and I kept running. I’ve never wished so hard that I could turn back the hand of time. I…I wanted to die. I was going to kill myself.”

“Oh God, Chris.” Damon breathed.

Chris shook his head slowly. “I got very deep into the woods, pointed the gun to my head, and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. I did it again but still, nothing happened. My dad had taught me how to use the gun for whatever silly, twisted reason so I knew how to use it. Then it occurred to me that the gun might not be loaded. I checked and truly, there were no bullets. My father wasn’t so silly after all.”

Chris gave a humourless laugh. “I cried my eyes out. When I eventually came back to the house…and that was well over two hours later, it was to find the box of dominos which I’d given to Shane as a gift, at my bedroom door. I nearly died when I saw it. I rushed back downstairs to their quarters, only to find an empty room. Then Mr. Watson, the caretaker, came to lock their door. I asked him where Shane and his mum had gone and he informed me that Auntie Sylvia had tendered in her resignation and moved out that very evening. God, you should have seen the accusation in the old man’s eyes as he looked at me. I felt like I didn’t deserve to live…just as I’d told Shane…”

“You told Shane that?” Damon sounded incredulous. And at Chris’ nod, Damon swore colourfully.

“I never saw him again…till today. You have no idea the guilt I’ve lived with all these years. I never went to that house again. I just couldn’t. But I haven’t been able to let go of that house either. It’s like…my only connection with Nick.” Chris had just left that country house locked since his father passed away two years earlier. “The last image imprinted on my mind, of Shane…is not a pleasant one. I tried countless times to find them once I came of age but I never found them. It was like they disappeared from the face of this earth.”

“Fuck.” Damon pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Dude, you need to talk to Shane.”

“What?” Chris’ head snapped up at Damon’s words. He looked at Damon as though he’d suddenly sprouted horns.

“Yes. You have to let him know how sorry you are. For your own peace of mind and for his too, you’ve got to do something…let the guy know you’re not the monster he remembers you to be. Just as your last thought of him isn’t pleasant, his last thought of you isn’t. You’re the only one who can make it better. You have to go talk to him, Chris. It’s very important.”

“Okay.” Chris nodded, knowing Damon was right. “He can do whatever he wants to me. I don’t care.

He’ll probably kill me but…I feel dead already anyway.”

“That’s the spirit.” Damon pumped the air with his fist. “Just make sure your will is in order before you go. Oh and do leave that gray leather jacket to me in your will, man? You know how much I love that jacket.”

“Jackass,” Chris muttered making Damon holler with laughter.

But even as he listened to his friend laugh, Chris felt a painful tightening inside his chest. He was going to face Shane and this time, it was going to be just the two of them in a room. Chris had never dreaded anything in his life as he did at the thought of what he had to do.

Fuck.