-1Author's note: I don't promote the activity that starts in this chapter. In fact, I am highly against it as I do not see it as a fair course to take. However, it is crucial to the story. I want to thank the readers who have taken the time to review my story. It really means a great deal to know my time isn't wasted or that the update wasn't satisfactory. I also apologize that this is not as good as the other chapters, at least in my opinion.

Chapter Three

The tip of one long, slender finger gently rubbed across the thick rim of a squat tumbler full of amber colored liquor. Every so often the finger would cease it's endless rotation, lifting a fraction of an inch above the rim. A sigh would breeze past sensual lips and then the movement would pick back up. A mindless action that gave small comfort to a man who was slowly becoming desperate.

His life was nothing more than a super massive; a giant black hole from which there was no escape. A grimace creases his face. "Hit me again?" The tumbler makes a soft scratching sound as he slides it across the bar. The bartender, a youthful looking man with spiky blonde hair in a tuxedo, says nothing, simply refills the tumbler.

"I know this thing is boring, but seriously? Four glasses of brandy?" Glancing up, he finds a familiar pair of chocolate eyes studying him. There was an even mixture of concern and amusement twirling in their depths. "You don't have to stay. Nobody is going to blame you for splitting. Besides, you have a valid excuse. Happy Anniversary, by the way."

"Yeah. Happy Anniversary." The words dripped with bitter acid. There was no working up a façade of happiness for the anniversary of a ten year mistake. Lifting the tumbler, he takes a long swallow of the liquor, relishing the slow burn down his throat.

"Hm. Yeah. You sound as though you really mean that." A soft hand touches his shoulder, rubbing gently across his tense muscle. He knew the touch well. Even after eleven years, he knew that touch. "Things not getting any better?"

He can't stop the sarcastic laugh that burst from him. How could things get better when neither him, nor his wife, wanted to try? He couldn't stand going home anymore; not even for his step-daughter. Home was nothing but a cold, silent tomb. If they fought it might be bearable, but they didn't. They simply existed. He couldn't exist anymore. Nor could he end it, not so long as Ava needed him.

"You can't keep…"

One sharp look had the flaxen haired woman next to him falling silent. She presses her lips together, one side of her lower lip tucked beneath the upper. The small wrinkle working in her brow told him she was deep in thought. "Addison's here. She came specifically to see me." Her dark gaze shifts back to his face, then towards the bar tender. One bright smile from her and the younger man was leaning on the bar, a rather dazed grin on his face. "I need a Mango Daiquiri. Thanks." Sliding first one hip, then the other, she situates herself on the stool next to his. Their thighs brush against one another as she turns to face him. "She offered me a job. In Los Angeles. I would be able to buy into the clinic. Have more control over my patient load."

His body freezes. She was leaving. While those words hadn't crossed her lips yet he heard it in her voice. She was going to accept; and she was going to leave. "Sounds like a good opportunity."

"Yeah. It is. Golden." She murmurs a thank you as the daiquiri is place before her. Closing her lips around the straw peeking out the side of the large slender glass, she takes couple short sips then one long one. "Besides, it's not like I have anything holding me here." There was a touch of bitterness in her voice. It was always there, that bitterness.

"Lucky you," he muses, grasping the tumbler in one hand. He stares down at it, then gulps the remaining liquid.

"Things that bad? With Rebecca?" Her fingers brush gently across his forearm. A tightening in the pit of his stomach sends out small bells of warning. He wasn't that guy. He wasn't the guy that ignored his marriage vows simply because things were bad. "Alex?" Her body leaned closer, her golden hair falling over his shoulder as she tilted her head so she could study his face. He knew what she saw; a tired man close to forty who had no fight left in him. In short he was pathetic. So pathetic that he would rather sit at a bar drinking brandy instead of going home to his cold bitch of a wife on their anniversary. "Alex, come on, talk to me. This is me, Izzie. You can talk to me."

His head falls forward a bit, his lips twisting into an odd pucker of sorts. He twists the tumbler, watching the amber liquor slosh against the sides of the clear glass. "What do you want me to say Iz? That things are that bad with Rebecca? Fine. They're that bad. She makes life so miserable that I make up excuses so I don't have to go home. Hell, Iz, I've even started volunteering at the county health department doing pap smears. I would rather test over sexed teenage girls for S.T.D.s than go home." Scowling, he pushes the tumbler away. He watches with a mixture of horror and fascination as the glass topples over the opposite edge of the bar. The frat boy who was moonlighting as a bar tender sends him a sour look, one he returns. His problems consisted of a bit more than cleaning up a small pile of glass and alcohol. It was in that moment he realized he had drank far more than he had meant to.

"I'm sorry." The words weren't meant for him, but for the still pouting bar tender. His body stumbles slightly when gentle hands tug him from the bar stool. His body crashes against her's. Through the thin material of his cream and burgundy striped shirt and the soft cashmere of her sweater he can feel her heart pounding as hard as his. "I think it's time to leave," she says softly, her dark eyes catching his. The underlying concern almost over shadows the lust burning deep with in. "If you don't want to deal with…that is if you…well you can crash at my place. On the couch. If you don't want to deal…"

He doesn't recall much of the drive across town, just her giving directions to the rather rotund driver and then her urging him to at least try to remove himself from the vehicle on his own. Somehow he manages to. Muttering several curses he trips up the stairs to her apartment. Balance wasn't on his side as he stumbles over the thresh hold, his body crashing into her's once more. His hands settle on her hips to steady her. Their gazes collide. Her slightly trembling hands slide up his chest, her fingers curling into the soft cotton of his shirt. Gazes still holding their lips meet. He ignores the guilt that is clawing at his gut as he deepens the kiss. You shouldn't be doing this, a small voice hisses in the back of his mind. It sounded oddly like his wife's. He pushes it aside, instead focusing on the softness of Izzie's skin. Tomorrow. He would feel guilty tomorrow. Tonight he wanted to feel nothing but love, even if it wasn't real.