Reverse (Bittersweet Symphony Duet #2)

SEVENTY-ONE “Crazy Love”

SEVENTY-ONE

“Crazy Love”

Poco

Easton

“A re you fucking kidding me?” I grit through clenched teeth, watching Natalie wobble along the long dock that edges the patio leading to the beach.

The bartender speaks up. “I take it this was not a good coincidence?”

Reeling, I pull some cash from my pocket and tap the bar. “No, Jerod, it’s not. Line them up, top-shelf, please.” He immediately starts pouring, and I slam two shots back in rapid succession. Tossing another bill onto the bar, I keep my eyes glued to Natalie, who continues her drunken trek toward the water. I damn near ran headfirst into a fucking tropical plant when I saw her profile. The same reaction I’ve had the half dozen or so other times when I’ve searched for her in a crowd and found a likeness to her. But her doppelganger always pales in comparison the closer I get.

This time, no such luck.

No. This time, when I have the strength, an inkling I can grow differently, and finally have some of the needed mindset that life might have a better trajectory than me bleeding out on the stage— this is when she appears out of thin air.

“Jerod . . . humor me,” I toss more liquid fire down my throat, monitoring Natalie’s slow, drunken progress.

“I’m listening.”

“What are the odds of taking your new girlfriend on a short getaway to Mexico and running into your ex-wife, who’s vacationing at the same resort?”

Jerod barks out a sympathetic laugh and pours another shot. “So slim those odds probably don’t exist. Damn, man,” he mutters, pushing the brimming glass forward. “This one is on me.”

“Appreciate it, but help me think this through,” I toss another bill on the bar as Natalie stalls in the middle of the sand, halfway to the beach. “Mexico is a popular vacation spot.”

“Agreed,” he says quickly.

“This resort is one of the highest-rated.”

“True, probably first to pop up in the search engine.”

“That’s how I found it,” I fire back, clinging to that lifeline.

“Narrows it down a lot,” Jerod agrees.

“So, we’re getting warmer?” I ask.

He doesn’t at all look convinced as he pours one more shot. “Possibly.”

Chuckling dryly, I lift my brimming glass. “To the inherited luck of my mother .”

He pours his own and taps it with mine, and we both drink.

Taking my eyes off Natalie for a second, I meet his amused gaze as he lifts the bottle in offering. I cut my hand through the air to stop him from pouring another, my mother’s voice screaming in my head about signs and fate and magical nonsense I never believed for myself, until I met the woman currently stumbling through the sand. A woman who landed into my life, seemingly as lost now, as she was then. A woman I heavily pursued—and married—that eventually led me down the narrow path of self-destruction and premature aging.

“Since we’re being honest,” Jerod speaks up. “I’m having a bit of a moment, man. I’m a huge fan.”

“Thanks for that, but my question for you right now is, are you an honorable man?” I ask him, not taking my eyes off Natalie as fear starts to circulate. She’s headed toward the dark, unlit part of the beach. “Because that’s all I care about right now, and I’m willing to do just about anything for you, if you’ll keep what I just told you in confidence.”

“We all signed NDAs before you got here, and I swear to you, I won’t utter a word.”

“You will eventually,” I say, knowing it to be the truth. “Eventually, you’ll tell someone, but can you do me a solid and wait until I leave?”

“Swear it, man.”

“Thank you. Can I ask one more favor?”

“Anything.”

“Can you please dial my room and let my girlfriend know I’ll meet her at the restaurant in an hour, because I’m going to have to go keep my ex-wife from drowning?”

“Is that how you want it worded?”

“Fuck no, throw a shitload of finesse into that and completely leave out the ex-wife part. I’ll break that to her myself,

later .” With that, I start stalking after Natalie as she heads straight toward the water.

“Wait, man,” Jerry speaks up, stopping me. “The restaurant closed ten minutes ago, but you can still order room service.”

Knowing it in my gut, I force myself to search for and find an inch-tall digital clock next to Jerry’s register, just as the minutes on the hour tick over.

11:11.

I make it to Natalie just as her toes reach the water. Her skin sun-kissed despite her pale complexion, her wild curls blowing in the breeze. Aside from the lights of the resort a fair distance away, we’re shadowed in darkness by the night sky. A blanket of stars hovers above us, the moon absent. Even so, I can make out her profile, her light blue sarong coverup outlining her frame as the ocean breeze whips it against her.

“I haven’t seen stars like this since our honeymoon. These look so much further out of reach,” she whispers softly over the sounds of the harsh breeze.

While Mom would undoubtedly call this collision an act of fate, I decide the time stamp Stella Crowne deems such a cosmic sign is insignificant when it comes to me. As of tonight, I’m relabeling fate’s definition—hell.

The mere sight of Natalie on this beach already has faint anger simmering beneath while my heart simultaneously threatens to swell familiarly in my chest. With every second that passes, a memory threatens both good and bad. Mostly good, of her, of us. Throat dry, buzz kicking in, I take a long, much-needed drink of her before I stow it away, leaving myself only one thought.

Why?

Why is life so fucking cruel to let me see her like this, if she can’t be mine? If I can no longer be hers. If we weren’t meant for one another in the way I once so adamantly believed—to the point it made me sick.

Fucking why ?

“Make plans, and God laughs,” Natalie recites from feet away, answering my question without being aware of it. “I’ve been talking to myself in bumper stickers, memes, slogans, and mottos all day. I’d say it’s appropriate for the present moment, don’t you think?” She glances over at me, her eyes glassy. “God’s probably laughing his ass off right now.”

“You know I’m not going to be able to leave you here. You know that, right?”

“I don’t want to ruin your night, but I don’t want to go to my room—yet. I’m not . . . I’m not your responsibility, Easton.”

“I’m not leaving you here,” I state firmly.

“Then I’ll text Damon.” She pats down her dress as if her phone will appear. “No phone. Shit, I don’t even have my room key.”

I pull my phone out and unlock it before extending it towards her.

“I don’t know his number,” she frowns, “I’ve known him my whole life. Is that bad?”

“Does anyone know anyone’s number?” I manage a hint of a smile, not feeling an ounce of it.

“206-792-5959,” she recites, her eyes boring into mine before darting them away.

“It hasn’t changed,” I tell her because the number she just sounded off is mine. So, why didn’t she ever fucking use it?

Don’t go there, East. Dead and buried horse.

“But we have. We’ve changed, haven’t we?” She grins over at me. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

“Thanks. You too.”

“We’re close to grownups by now, aren’t we? We don’t get to use our age as an excuse for stupid and reckless anymore,” she says in a mournful tone. “I think maybe it’s no longer allowed at twenty-four.”

“Is that so?”

Our eyes connect and hold.

Goddamnit .

“Easton,” she sighs. “I’m okay. Really. I don’t need Damon to get back to my room. Please go,” she swallows, “to her .”

“And what? Pretend I didn’t see you trashed on the fucking beach at the same resort?”

“Precisely,” she answers with a firm dip of her chin.

“I’m going to tell her.”

“As you should,” she says as I try and fail not to memorize the way she looks wrapped in silk, tan skin, her bare feet and polished toes washed in white foam.

“We can switch hotels,” I offer.

She crosses her arms, grips her biceps, and doesn’t respond.

“It’s not a problem,” I try again.

“I’m just . . .” she smiles, but it’s distant. “Sorry, I’m having a Seattle moment in Mexico.” She turns and stares through me. “In more ways than one.”

Feeling the tequila start to circulate, I bite my tongue and hold it. I’m not giving her an inch. She’s done nothing but pummel me since I gave her permission to.

“My best friends are about to admit they love each other. I don’t want to get in the way of that.”

“Holly and Damon?”

“Yeah. I said they were in so . . . much love,” she sighs wistfully. “I think I witnessed the true beginning of them today. It was so beautiful to observe.” Her speech is improving slightly. It’s obvious she’s trying hard to sober up. “I got sentimental and drunk, and that’s why I was thinking of us.” She laughs lightly. “I’m still drunk and sentimental. I can’t seem to stop it today, so can you please save me some humiliation and just go back to her?”

“Not yet.”

“Fine,” she sighs and looks right at me, her blue eyes invoking more of the familiar energy.

“I thought I imagined you. Dreamed you up, but you’re really here, aren’t you?”

I nod. “I needed a break.”

“Yeah, me too . . . as it turns out, I hate breaks. Jesus, Easton . . . just give me a minute, okay?” She bends and cups water over her bare feet and arms to wake herself up.

Running my fingers through my hair, I scoff at the fact that she thinks this is the only one this is happening to. “You’re not alone in this, you know? It’s fucking uncomfortable for me, too.”

“Really?” She asks, disbelieving. “I would say your particular circumstances give you the upper hand.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m alone, and you’re here with Malibu .”

The simmer beneath threatens to boil with her accusation, and I can’t help the bite in my reply. “She’s been a good friend to me, and not that I owe you any explanation, but we met up at one of her gigs when I got back from Europe last month. I didn’t touch her when we were married, nor did I want to. So yeah, we’re together now , but it’s new . And considering I’ve traveled the globe recently and landed here for a break, it’s pretty fucking mind-blowing that you’re standing in front of me in Mexico.”

“Which means you still can’t kiss me, fuck me, or love me,” she utters brokenly between us on the breeze, her eyes closing.

Stunned and feeling stung, I recover quickly. She’s drunk. This is Natalie drunk.

“We were friends once. Best friends . . . we talked for hours every night. I miss that so much . . . I miss you .”

“Natalie,” I start as she whips her head toward me.

“Do you get so lost in her, when you fuck her, that you lose all sense of time?”

“What are you doing?” I whisper hoarsely, her words wringing me out as she takes a step toward me, pressing in.

“I’m asking you questions, Easton,” she fires back as if she was ready for this, her violet-blue gaze tearing into me. “Tell me, Easton,” her voice shakes as she poses her next heartrending question. “Are you as close as two people could ever be ?”

Soul charred, anger rapidly surfacing, I bite my tongue to the point it hurts.

Her features twist in pain as she grips her dress. “Because we were. We were so close .” A pained sound escapes her as I fight myself to bridge the distance. I’m barely able to process her last words before she digs in again.

“I know how I got to Seattle, Easton. But how the hell are you in Mexico right now?”

Anger replaces some of the devastation in her tone, but it’s not directed at me. It’s because of the fucked-up circumstances we can’t seem to escape when we collide in every universe. “I’m getting so tired of repeating their history.”

“Well, it’s not ours,” I say, dead set on the same stance I’ve kept since I signed the papers.

“No, it’s not,” she agrees easily, wiping her tears. “Not at all, and the way Stella romanticized these run-ins is fucking cruel, no matter how many times I hoped for it to happen. But the way this feels . . . Jesus,” her voice cracks. “I would give anything to make it stop.”

Her words strike deeper as I fight myself again and win, again .

She steps toward me, her scent floating through the breeze—orchids with a hint of something spicy mixed in. A minute ticks by, maybe two, as I get lost in the sight of her, my weakness threatening. But I keep my distance because I know a sip of her is lethally addicting for me. I refuse to go down this path again, alone .

“You’re a supernova,” she murmurs. “I thought it the first time you sang for me in Seattle, and it’s what I thought the night we locked ourselves in that Dallas hotel while we were falling in love, making love. I knew I caught one and told myself to hold onto you with everything in me. I told myself to hold on, even back then, because I knew it was going to be impossible. I was right.” She looks up to the sky as if searching for an alternate star, a tear traveling a slow path down her cheek. “You should know—you need to know—you were just as sacred to me, even if I didn’t prove it when you demanded it of me.” Her confessions slap me, as does the wind, while the bolts keeping my heart on lockdown threaten to come loose.

Fuck no.

“If you weren’t wasted,” I reply dryly, unable to stop the acid from seeping into my tone. “This would probably mean a lot to me.”

“It’s the truth,” she pierces me with her damning violet blues. “But too little, too late, right?”

“Something like that.”

“Something like that?”

“Exactly like that,” I slide my fists into my shorts.

“Well then, we best tuck me away, right?” She clears her throat, seeming to gather herself. “You know I’ve been watching your progress, Easton. Of course I have, and I’m so unbelievably happy for you. You deserve all your success. Truly. It’s been incredible to witness.”

“Thank you, and you got your paper,” I say.

Her eyes dim, and she nods, going quiet for a few seconds.

“I earned it,” she states without a hint of offense before sweeping me from head to feet. “Okay,” she nods in some sort of affirmation before clearing her cheeks with the sides of her palms. “Well, fuck today, and fuck Mexico,” she laughs, but it’s full of pain, and I see the trail of her tears clearly as she stops in front of me. More tears than I realized she was shedding.

“Natalie—” I start again, unsure of what the hell I’ll finish with. I’m still reeling from words I prayed to hear for months and months and never got. Nothing close to the guttural admissions she’s been spewing at me since I got here.

And what the fuck exactly is this ?

Another crossroads she’s going to stomp on my heart to step through?

Fuck that.

Stay done, Easton.

“It’s okay, Easton. I’ll make myself scarce.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I say, trailing her as she heads toward the resort, far steadier on her feet.

“Oh, yes, I do,” she replies before turning back and stalking forward until she’s inches from me. “But I’ll be damned if I waste another chance to say the things I didn’t say to you the night you divorced me.”

“Don’t. What’s the point? We’ve already had this talk.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call or keep the promise to try and be in each other’s lives, but it was always going to feel like a lie for me because this feels every bit like reentering hell. Maybe . . .” she exhales, “maybe I just need to get used to the temperature.”

I scoff. “This is unbelievable. You sure have a lot to fucking say for someone who’s memorized my number and never once used it.”

“You didn’t call, either,” she fires back. “Shit, I’m sorry, I don’t want to fight.” Gripping her wrap, she brushes past me.

“Of course, you don’t. So, is that it? That’s where we’re leaving this?”

She shrugs with her back to me. “Pretty sure we’ve covered the ‘What the fuck is my ex doing in Mexico?’ Relationship statuses, the bullshit pleasantries, which is surprising considering the company,” she fires over her shoulder.

“Yeah, well, maybe I’ve finally learned my lesson on that front. At least when it comes to you.”

She tosses her hands up. “I was just trying to have an honest conversation with you, Easton.”

“No, you’re trying to drunkenly confess your regrets, a tactic I’ve always refused to allow you.”

“Of course. Brutal honesty is the best policy.”

“Yeah, it really fucking is,” I spout to her retreating back.

“Damned if I do or don’t with you anyway,” she utters, already a few strides toward the hotel.

I catch myself and stop my footing, calling at her back. “There’s no need to run anymore, Beauty. No one is chasing you.”

She turns on a dime, her eyes glimmering with pain as she sees me standing a good distance away.

“It was good to see you, Natalie. Congratulations.”

Nothing about the hurt shining in her eyes feels like a victory. Nothing , and I wish like hell it did. She swallows the last of a harsh exhale before she turns back toward the hotel. As the distance grows, her words threaten to brand their way into my psyche as I try to rebuke each one.

That’s all they are. Words.

As she enters the bar, Jerod produces the purse she left behind and waves it toward her from where he stands. Without missing a step, she claims it and stalks forward. As she disappears into the lobby, so do my expectations that this vacation—along with the strides I’ve taken in the last few months—are salvageable.

Damn this woman.

“Another shot?” Jerod asks as I plant myself at the bar while trying to get my heart to obey my fucking mind. “Just a beer.”