Okay, I think it's about time I jumped onto the train of season 9 fix-it stories.
Personally, I think the writers of the show did a very poor job so far (post 9x07, pre 9x08) with addressing where Upstead currently stands and particularly what Jay must be going through, now that he knows about the night Roy Walton disappeared.
Hence me feeling the need to write a story that focuses on Jay and his struggle with knowing what happened. Because to me, there's one aspect in all this that the writers of the show, and by association Hailey's character seem to have forgotten about already, even though it was brilliantly set up in 9x03. I think everything we learned in that episode explains so well what makes Jay tick and why he's probably struggling so much more with the whole Roy, Hailey, and Voight disaster.
This story contains spoilers for pretty much all episodes from 8x15 through 9x07, so if you haven't watched any of those yet, this story might be very confusing for you.
Shoutout to Floopdeedoopdee. Without her insightful brainhurricane sessions, this story probably wouldn't exist. You're the best!
Rain was coming down hard, strong gusts of Chicagoan pre-wintry winds whipping a steady deluge into Jay's face as he stepped out of his car and sank his feet into the sea of puddles gradually seizing the sidewalk. His boots were supposed to be waterproof, but they stood no chance against the element this time. Water seeped through the seams, and in a matter of seconds the footbed was flooded, his socks soaked, and as he jogged the twenty yards from his truck to Molly's, mud sprinkled his jeans in a disgusting murky brown that perfectly matched his gloomy mood.
Halstead couldn't bring himself to care. He pushed open the dark mahogany door to enter the bar, hesitating on the doorstep just long enough to drag a hand through his cropped soggy hair and wipe it on his damp pant leg in a sloppy attempt to dry himself off. A futile endeavor, but he didn't care about that either. As he walked up to the counter, the soles of his shoes squeaking with every step, he went through the motions of pulling up the pictures of his CDC vaccination report card on his phone. "Hey Herrmann," he tiredly greeted the bartender once he came to a halt in front of him, his device poised for the grey-haired man to see.
It wasn't like he needed to prove anything here. The seasoned firefighter knew he'd gotten his shots months ago and could probably recite his, as well as all the other regular's vaccination dates by heart. At this point, showing proof was merely a formality. A way to follow established guidelines, stay ahead of new mandates already lurking around the corner, and most importantly, maintain the peace for the less enthusiastic patrons. And as an officer of the law, he abided by the rules and felt the need to set a good example, whether he understood all the reasons behind them or not.
Christopher leaned over the bar and lightly clapped Jay on the shoulder. "You're good," he assured him in his classic Chicagoan drawl, an easygoing smirk on his face and amusement sparkling in his blue eyes. Ever so subtly, he let them wander to behind the detective, checking if he had brought company this time, but discovered that Halstead once again came alone, a circumstance that concerned the family man more than he liked to admit.
Smile faltering and making way for a sympathetic simper, the bartender studied his young friend closely. The worn, downright haggard features he'd noticed the last few times he was here were even more pronounced now than they had been just two nights ago, his movements as he slipped his phone into the left jeans pocket sluggish and languid, speaking of bone-deep exhaustion. Herrmann had no idea what afflicted Jay, but he sure looked like he needed something strong to take the edge off. Deciding not to comment on it, knowing he'd only be rebuffed just like the last time he tried, he quietly asked, "the usual?" already snatching a clean tumbler from the stand and a bottle of his finest whiskey from below the counter.
The Bushmills 21-year-old rare single malt was reserved exclusively for special occasions and special customers. Customers like the respectable undercover cop who had saved Molly's from being fleeced and torched down nearly a decade ago, something the firefight would forever be grateful and deeply indebted to him for. Not that the kid would ever take any credit; he was just too humble for that. It didn't stop the engine lieutenant from treating him to the good stuff whenever he got the chance, and by the looks of it, today was as good a chance as any.
Before Halstead could pass up the expensive scotch, Herrmann already poured two fingers of the amber liquid into the glass and placed it in front of Jay. With a nagging feeling, he wondered if he would actually drink it this time. Bracing his hands on the counter, the bar owner merely watched for a moment as the detective fumbled with his right pocket to fish out his wallet but had mercy with him when he tried to pull out a generous amount of bills. "Nah," he brushed him off with a wave of his hand and pushed himself away from the bar. "Don't worry about it, kid." He nodded down at the whiskey between them, a lopsided grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "This one's on the house."
Dumbfounded and somewhat slow on the uptake, Jay hesitated and glanced at the firefighter, a confused frown contorting his features. He blinked a few times, eyes latching onto the glass. A minute went by in which he tried to think of a reason why he'd be endowed such an exquisite drink but was unable to come to an answer. Heaving a leaden sigh, chest rising and falling, shoulders slumping along with it, he gave up. "Thanks," he mumbled appreciatively, gulping past the lump of emotions that clogged his throat, forcing himself to meet the bartender's eyes and a strained smile onto his lips. At last, he grabbed the tumbler and sheered off the counter, steering for a table in the farthest corner of the bar, a quiet place to observe and ruminate in silence that over the last weeks had become his cracker barrel in recent weeks.
Setting the whiskey on a coaster, Halstead peeled out of his drenched jacket and carelessly threw the dripping garment over the two nearby bar stools, then plopped himself down rather ungracefully. An elongated puff of air whizzed out of him as his butt finally sank not the leather padding of the bench. In a way, it felt like it wasn't just air but also touches of life whooshing out of him. Jay closed his eyes and rested his back against the limestone brick wall, granting himself a temporary reprieve. But his mind wouldn't let him. Despite his bone-deep weariness he couldn't help but feel restless. Hunching forward, elbows propped on his thighs and arms dangling between his knees, he took in his surroundings, trying to distract and occupy his overactive brain with something, anything other than the upsetting thoughts swirling around his noggin.
It was an unusually quiet Wednesday night at Molly's. The only customers were either from the firehouse, the district, or regulars from around the neighborhood. Vaguely familiar faces yet none of them familiar enough to strike up a random conversation with him. Even the guys from fifty-one who would usually come up and chat stayed away, which was something Jay was immensely grateful for, though he had a sneaking suspicion that he had Herrmann to thank for that. Regardless of that, it was definitely one of the quieter nights since things had gone back to what most people considered normal. Since people had gone back to living their lives like before, like they didn't have a care in the world. Like they weren't smackdab in the middle of a war with an increasingly unpredictable virus they long since had lost control over.
The way people hugged and kissed in greeting, the way they clinked their glasses in cheery toasts, recklessly sharing beer bottles and drinks, the way they blithely huddled together in tight spaces, talking and laughing, was blissful ignorance at its finest. The same blissful ignorance most people betrayed when it came to all the war and crime and misery in the world, so long as they weren't immediately affected by it. The same blissful ignorance the entire CPD seemed to betray when it came to Voight's cunning and downright illegal ways.
Jay huffed in bitterness and shook his head, forehead creasing with deep anger lines. Deeper even than the ones that were already etched into his features for weeks now. Along with the dark circles under his weary, bloodshot eyes, the furrows added at least a handful if not a whole decade of years to his thirty-five- He felt it too, the rapid aging he'd gone through this past month. The physical and mental exhaustion, the heavy boulder on his shoulders, the constant inner turmoil roiling in his stomach… he felt it all. And the most draining and frightening part about the whole ordeal, however, was that he'd been here before, had felt it all before. Thirteen fucking years ago, just a few months into his second tour, he had been there, felt it.
Thirteen fucking years ago, not Voight but another direct supervisor had dragged him into their dark deeds and pledged, no manipulated him into secrecy, thereby making him an inadvertent accomplice in the Machiavellian war crimes committed by his superior. The commanded silence had eaten away at him back then, the massive arcanum nearly tearing him apart on the inside because it went so far against everything important to him. His code of conduct, his moral standards, his firm belief in the good of humankind. The core of his being, really. It had tinged his thus far pure soul in a deep dark crimson and black.
He had spent years and years trying to wash off the color of sin, to cleanse himself of all the evil he had witnessed and, in a most disempowered way, contributed to. All because he'd been too cowardly to stand up against Knox, to stand up for those who could no longer defend themselves against the cruelty they'd fallen victim to.
Being confronted with his former Army colleague had stirred up things he'd tried so hard to leave behind, and Hailey, unsurprisingly, had picked up on how much it affected him. For the sake of successfully closing the case, he'd had to keep a level head throughout it, but afterward, he felt the pressing need to explain to her just why he harbored so much resentment for a man he'd fought side by side with in Afghanistan. So, once they'd entered the sanctuary of their new home, he'd spilled the secret about the horrible, calculated incident that had robbed him of his innocence all those years ago, thereby shedding the hefty load he'd carried around by himself for so long. Talking about it, getting it off his chest, sharing it with the one person he trusted more than anyone in the world to hold onto it with him, had felt good. So did the immeasurable relief of knowing she would never judge him for something he had no control over. He knew she wouldn't, and she didn't.
Little had he known that Hailey kept a secret of her own, one that just a week later would replace the burden he'd just rid himself of, one that would be even harder to hump. One that would not just tear him but eventually would tear the whole unit apart, driving a wedge into the once so tight-knit unit. And while it wouldn't strip him of his innocence – he'd already lost that a long time ago, after all – it would rob him of the two people in his life whom, aside from his brother, he considered to be his family. Jay and Voight may have always had their differences, but over time, they'd cultivated mutual respect, and especially in recent years, the sergeant had managed to fill a void his late father had left gnawingly empty his entire life. And Hailey? He loved her. He loved her with all his might, with his entire being. He loved her so freaking much that it hurt. It still hurt, hurt even more now. It hurt for a whole surfeit of different reasons now too, none of them the good kind. It hurt for reasons he would rather forget about or admittedly preferred he wouldn't have been imparted with in the first place.
Sometimes – and this was one of those times – not knowing was easier. Sometimes ignorance was indeed bliss. Much to his chagrin, he'd never been one to do things the easy way. He'd never been one to be blissful or ignorant either, much less blissfully ignorant. Which was probably part of the reason why he had such a hard time coming to terms with all of this.
A bone-breaking oppressive pressure sat on his chest, a clamp keeping his heart imprisoned in a viselike grip as a steamroller of excruciating anguish waltzed right over it. Jay squeezed his eyes shut and forced an airless breath through flared nostrils, then held it altogether. Sucking his lips into his mouth, he bit down hard in a feeble attempt to stifle a baleful sob that slowly clawed its way up to his vocal cords. When his bronchial tubes protested the abuse and screamed for oxygen, he inhaled sharply to satiate his starved lungs, gulping down mouthful after mouthful when the first and the second weren't enough.
Eventually, the pain abated to a dull ache. Throwing his head back, the detective stared at the ceiling, at the numerous tiny LEDs illuminating it in an entrancing pattern. In a subconscious effort to calm his nerves, he started counting the spots invading his immediate field of vision. Alas, it didn't work; the yellow dots blurred into an ocean of sparkling lights, and when he blinked the individual diodes back into focus, they mingled with his racing thoughts and started a wild disco fox. Drearily circling the night that turned everything, his entire life topsy-turvy.
Jay wished he could say it had been the wham-bam encounter with a ghost of his past that had turned it upside down, but while that might have activated his spidey senses, deep down he knew it was merely happenstance for things to coincide like that. Knox's involvement in a deadly blast may have been what had dredged back up all those Godawful horrible memories and nightmares, but it was Voight's blatant misconduct and abuse of power that had made sure they were here to stay. That and the fact that Hailey, the woman he wanted to marry, had been caught in the middle of it.
If only his curiosity hadn't gotten the better of him this time, maybe things wouldn't have gone to hell in a handbasket so freaking fast. Then again, what difference would it have made? Curiosity or not, by the time he had grown suspicious of how strange, how unlike herself his fiancée was acting lately, especially around their boss, by the time he'd decided to snoop around on his own accord, things had long since gone down the drain. Curiosity or not, Voight still would have kidnapped Walton, held him captive and tortured him, and Hailey still would have followed him to the warehouse. She still would have shot Roy to save their sergeant's life and that unscrupulous asshole still would have buried the body to cover it all up, thereby making her an accomplice in his odious crime.
The only difference between resisting and giving in to his unremitting inquisitiveness was that now he was privy to all the information, and as long as he withheld it, he was an accomplice in the cover-up as well, in something that at least in Jay's mind, equated to yet another murder. Because now he knew, and now that he knew, he had to keep quiet about it lest he`d spell doom for Hailey. Just as he'd had to keep quiet thirteen fucking years ago lest he would have sealed the fate of many innocent souls including his own. And just like back then, he didn't really have a choice in the matter.
Or had he? Well, technically he had a choice, but it wasn't one he would or could take because it was a choice that required him to do the one thing he couldn't do: give up on the best thing in his life, give up on the one person who had given him life, who had given his life a meaning, a purpose which was something he'd been aching and searching for his entire lifetime. How could he choose to give up on that? On her? How could he ever choose to throw Hailey to the wolves? It didn't matter how angry he was. It didn't matter how hurt, how utterly devastated, just how broken up inside he was over this whole clusterfuck. He wasn't ready to throw the love of his life to the wolves. Quite frankly, he knew for a fact he'd never be ready or willing to do that. So, if this was the only alternative to buttoning up his lips he had, did he have a choice in the matter after all?
Jay dropped his chin to his chest and pinched the bridge of his nose, quelling the moisture and relieving the tension building behind his eyes. The latter was an assured sign of a blossoming migraine, yet another one to add to the collection of several headaches induced by the heavy burden he was carrying, amplified by the many fitful nights he'd spent tossing and turning since he found out the truth.
A humorless chortle gurgled up his throat at the morbidity of the situation, a hollow, pitiful sound that made him cringe right after because there wasn't an ounce of comedy to be found in the bloody awful mess. Funny how that worked sometimes, how just a few weeks ago it had been Hailey grappling with insomnia whereas he'd been sleeping better than he had in years. Because he had her by his side, and because she had given him her promise that she was committed to staying there for the rest of their lives. Now, however, the tables were turned. Whereas she was finally getting the invigorated rest she deserved and needed, it was him who could no longer find his inner peace at night. And as enervating as that was for him, he wouldn't have it any other way. He preferred to be the one suffering over having to watch his future wife suffer in devouring silence and solitude any day.
Maybe that was ultimately why he'd offered her an olive branch, the night they finally moved in together, right after confession of his own war-related sins. Maybe that was why he gave her an easy way in. Not just as a mindless afterthought, but because he'd been aware all along that something wasn't right. Ever since they found Kim, ever since Hailey had come home that night and proposed to him so unexpectedly, he'd been aware that something must have happened. Something terrible, something horrible enough that it put a constant haunted look in her eyes, something horrible enough that it slowly ate away at her. Her declaration of love, her impulsive announcement that they should get married had been so out of the blue, so unlike the Hailey he knew and loved, that deep down h had known there was more to the story than just a sudden epiphany that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. Deep down he had known her proposal to have spawned from something way more sinister, something far beyond what his enamored bleeding heart had been able to grasp at the time.
Nevertheless, he'd said yes. Or much rather had turned the proposal right back around on her. Because marrying her, promising her a happily ever after, a 'you and me, always' was something he'd wanted and imagined and planned for such an unbearably long time. The only reason why he'd held back had been because he knew she wasn't there yet. And he hadn't wanted to scare her away by prematurely popping a question she wasn't ready to answer. He wanted her to reach that point of dead certainty he was at, wanted this to be something she wanted too and was ready for as well. He wanted it, had wanted her so bad that it didn't even cross his mind at the time, that her proposal to him could be anything other than her being ready. In his love-stricken glee and naïve gullibility, he simply refused to believe that her sudden readiness could be anything other than her acceptance of her unconditional love for him.
The nagging, uneasy feeling that something was amiss remained, regardless. A constant companion, an eerie passenger heeding quiet, incomprehensive warnings from the backseat of the rational part of his mind. Warnings that only started to make sense in the very last moment right before he crashed head and heart first into a pile-up of brutal facts scattered across the highway of love when it was already too late to hit the brakes.
Once again, the wary traveler, his unerring loyal and faithful instincts had been spot-on, and once again he'd allowed them to be clouded over by his overwhelming emotions. But he'd learned a thing or two since Erin, had grown since then, so he hadn't let himself be blinded completely by his love this time. Consequently, he'd tried to prompt Hailey into talking to him in a supremely discreet way. By opening a backdoor for her to share what she so desperately tried to keep to herself. By presenting her an opportunity to come clean about whatever afflictions aggrieved her so immensely. Because he wanted her to be able to breathe again, for her to be able to eat and sleep and do all the things she seemed to be struggling with ever since the fateful night. Because he wanted her to be able to live again.
If he was completely honest with himself though, that wasn't all there was to it. There was an ounce of selfishness in there as well. If he were to marry her – and he really wanted to marry her, had never wanted anything so freaking bad in his life – he wanted her to be able to trust him. He wanted, no, needed her to trust him, needed to know she would trust him that he would carry whatever arcanum was consuming her and make it his own in the same way he trusted her to help carry his deepest darkest secret. True to the motto, a sorrow shared is a sorrow halved, a sentiment he'd only just started to believe in thanks to her. At this point though, he wondered if she still believed in it herself. If she had ever truly believed in it in the first place.
Jay rubbed at his tired eyes and dragged a calloused hand down the length of his face only to hover at the fuzz of moustache growing on his upper lip, trying to recall the events three weeks ago, the events that caused his emotions to plummet into what felt like a never-ending free fall. Hailey's fulminating panic attack, his despairing helplessness as he tried his hardest to stay outwardly calm for her while holding her hand and talking her through it. The way the temperature of the room instantly dropped to below freezing point upon Voight's menacing entrance. Things had only gotten icier after that when his quiet suspicion that the sergeant might be involved in whatever had triggered Hailey's breakdown had been confirmed after a little bit of investigating to later be verified by that awful man himself. And boy, did the truth hurt.
The right hook splitting Voight's lip had been a momentary lapse of control, but it sure had felt satisfying. But just as the loss of control, his satisfaction had been short-lived, smothered by an all-consuming conglomeration of hurt, fear, and anguish the second he got behind the wheel of his truck and closed the door, hands shaking, bottom lip quivering, his entire frame trembling as the world crashed down on him. And it had continued to crash down once he'd made it home in trance, once Hailey imparted her version of the story, of the painful events which had led her to propose in an act of blank despair to reach out and hold onto what she considered the one good thing in her life: him.
Granted, he wished he would have heard her side first. He wished she would have confided in him earlier, would have preferred for her to confide in him before guilt and grief had free reign to ravage and rive her body. But mostly he was glad she finally found the courage to talk to him. As heart-wrenching as it had been to hear her admit to the mounting conflict and shame she'd been shouldering for weeks, he'd also been immensely relieved that after her confession she seemed so much lighter. Without that millstone around her neck, she was genuinely doing better and her eating and sleeping habits steadily improved.
Now, three weeks later, she was still stricken and would continue to be for quite some time, and there was no doubt in Jay's mind that this incident would scar her for the rest of her life. But at least she was able to breathe again, had even gained some of that confidence and faith he loved so much about her back. And wasn't that what he'd wanted all along? For her to feel better, to make things easier for her. However, true to his nature, in his quest to relieve Hailey of her hefty load, he had failed to take into consideration what this would do to him. That making things easier for her required him to do the one thing he'd vowed to himself he'd never do again: consign his soul to the devil. A devil by the name of no other than Hank Voight. He'd sworn he'd never let anyone hold so much power over him ever again, yet here he was, allowing another superior to trample all over him and taint his soul in that vile crimson and black.
What else was he going to do though? He loved Hailey. He was devoted to her. He'd do anything for her. She didn't even have to ask. She'd never have to ask. And whether she trusted him or not – apparently, she still had a hard time doing it, had made that painfully clear when she chose to lie to him, when she chose to let her guilt over killing Roy rip her apart instead of entrusting him with it – he'd keep this secret for her. He would put his career, his freedom, his life on the line. He'd sit on it for the rest of his life, and he'd take it to the grave with him. For her. To protect her. Even if that meant having to lie for and protect their sergeant as well. Even if it meant he'd lose dignity and respect for himself all over again. He'd do all of that because he loved her, because he didn't want to lose her, because he couldn't ever lose her. Because she was his everything, his whole world, his sacred place, his home.
And because she was worth it. She was worth trying to rein in his anger and resentment for Voight and the man's blatant disregard of the law as well as his shrewd play on Hailey's fears and vulnerability. If anyone was worth keeping his rage in check, it was her. It would always be her. And while it may not look like he was doing a good job of restraining himself, he did or tried to, anyway. Otherwise, he would have given that manipulative son of a bitch a lot more than just a trifling split lip the night he confronted him.
Jay closed his eyes as he subconsciously clenched his hand into a fist and covered his mouth with it. Despite his best efforts to remain somewhat civil and subservient around the sergeant and in following the chain of command, he had to admit that it was getting harder and harder to do. He felt himself slipping, felt his self-control wane more and more, and he feared that sooner or later, the hostility he harbored for the older man would affect his ability to properly execute his job. And if that were to happen, it would only be a matter of time before Voight found a legit reason to kick him off Intelligence for good. And if he were to be kicked off the unit, he'd have no means whatsoever to watch Hailey's back any longer. He'd no longer be able to shield her from the scheming and controlling ways their boss engaged in and dragged her into as well.
Leaving her behind like that, leaving her imperiled to that unscrupulous monster, would tear him apart. Notwithstanding that, notwithstanding the searing pain he'd be subjected to, notwithstanding that he'd lose a family along the way, a home, the one place where he had ever truly felt like he belonged and been able to make a difference in the world, notwithstanding that he'd lose it all and so much more, he'd let Voight hick him off the unit if necessary. If he didn't find a way to come to terms with everything their sergeant had done to his fiancée. Hell, he would even go willingly if that's what it would take to protect her.
God, he wished Hailey would see that. Wished she could see what lengths he was willing to go to for her, what lengths he'd already gone to, all the sacrifices he'd made and continued to make for her. He wished she'd see that essentially, he was once again giving up on his beliefs, his morals, his core values. Everything he'd worked so hard to redeem in the past decade. It hurt that she couldn't see that. It hurt that in her pain and suffering she seemed to have forgotten that he still humped a terrible burden of his own, one that wasn't all that different from the one she carried, the one he now carried for her too on top of the one he was already humping. It hurt that she had seemingly forgotten about everything he had told her about Knox, about the man's malevolent war crimes and his involuntary involvement in the cover-up. What it had done to him.
Mostly though, it pained him that she thought he was handling all this wrong. That she didn't recognize that the way he stood up to Voight, the way he challenged the man, was really the only way in which he could handle this sheer impossible situation. After all, this was the only outlet he had, and it was the only means he had of holding onto his code of ethics, of holding onto himself, onto the core of his being. For himself and for her. Bottom line, this was the best he could do. It was the best that he got, and the best he got was ultimately the best he could give Hailey. He wanted to give her more, so much more, but he was already giving her his all, ad there simply was nothing more to give than that.
Jay released a shaky sigh, deeply grieved that life, as he'd known it just a month ago, had crumbled into a heap of shards so quickly. Opening his eyes, his gaze fell on the untouched glass of whiskey on the table, mocking him, daring him to drink it. Thirteen years ago, he wouldn't have hesitated. Thirteen years ago, he would have tossed it back without a second thought, would have devoured an entire bottle of scotch, and mixed it with a variety of other alcoholic beverages too while he was at it. Even four years ago, he would have been well into his second if not third drink at this point. But he wasn't going to stoop so low this time, wasn't going to give in to his desire to dull his pain like that anymore; he had long since learned his lesson that drowning out his sorrows wasn't the solution but would only make things worse once he came out of his stupor.
Drinking hadn't solved his problems then. It surely hadn't solved Hailey's when she had ransacked their liquor cabinet three weeks ago in her desperation to numb out the guilt and shame that kept her awake at night, when she'd broken their silent promise not to drink alone when things got tough. Drinking surely wasn't going to solve his problems now. Frankly, sitting in a bar alone and staring at a tumbler wasn't going to solve them either. Instead, the amber liquid sitting stoically in front of him merely served as a painful reminder of the jagged hole in his heart. A reminder of what or rather who was missing right here, right now. And the anguish of not having her right beside him only amplified the agony and heartbreak he was feeling.
Shaking his head in silent self-reproach, Halstead cumbersomely pushed himself up, the burden on his shoulders even heavier now than when he'd lumbered in here an hour ago. He rolled his shoulders to get rid of the unbearable tension there. It didn't help; the muscles were too hardened and stiff to ease. Groaning, he snatched his jacket off the stool and scrunched up his nose in dismay at the prospect of having to put the wet garment back on. He did it, anyway, knowing he'd need the extra protection against the downpour.
Ignoring Herrmann's observant, worried gaze, Jay dragged his feet towards the dark mahogany door. A frigid November breeze slapped him in the face when he opened it to the outside world, rain coming down even harder than before. He couldn't help but note the irony of how perfectly it reflected on his own tumultuous, downright sepulchral mood. He pulled the collar of his jacket up higher, and without looking back, left Molly's, leaving the lone whiskey untouched on his table, leaving it as an unspoken promise to Hailey that the night he would drink it would be the night she was by his side to drink with him. Because this was 'their thing' and he still wanted it, still wanted her. Always would.
Comments are greatly appreciated. I'm genuinely curious what your thoughts are on this. Everyone's entitled to their opinion, and this right here, this is mine, even if I stand alone with it.
