Chapter 24
Jamison
Steam swirled off the surface of my coffee as I watched the ocean lay placid and wave-less, a dark gray mass under a thick soupy fog.
Everything was made into a blur of gray and grayer behind the moisture clinging to my glasses.
The damp sand clung to my sandals and toes as I wondered just how long I could be alone before having to launch into my wedding tasks.
But for right now, I sat alone on the beach sipping my bitter coffee feeling a kinship with the dreary morning.
In a long list of terrible elements to the night before, the worst part was the knowledge that I had handled it all wrong; at least from the moment I’d left the beach—that was when I’d really ruined everything.
Again.
Because, apparently, I’d been causing Sadie heartache for months, before she even ghosted me. I’d been the guy that led her on and left her disappointed. The angry superiority I had when I thought it was just some asshole, only to discover I was the asshole.
Fuckboy Lawyer.
Why was that nickname such a blow to my ego? It rubbed at something sore; a bruise I couldn’t stop poking at now that I was aware of it. Not that I had a defense against being called that. What was I if not a lawyer and a fuckboy? Pathetic.
That could have been my problem with it.
Or, it could have been how frivolous it made me to her.
And yet, that was exactly what I’d told her we were.
I held to that energy just enough to protect me while stringing her along.
Building just enough comfort for her to grow feelings, only to run at the first signs of my own emotions.
Leaving her to deal with the fallout of my ineptitude.
Fuckboy Lawyer . . .
What a motherfucker.
My phone buzzed with a text from June stating, We’re gonna skip the dance with you and Sadie at the reception.
It sealed my fate that at some point yesterday I’d had my last touch of Sadie. Some stolen, hidden point of contact had been the last time, and I hadn’t even known it. It was fucking devastating.
“Hey,” Derrik called from behind me, and I tensed more because I wasn’t prepared to socialize than the sound of his voice.
I lifted my mug in greeting not taking my eyes off the quiet water.
He dragged a beach chair near me before sitting in it, resting his forearms on his thighs.
To my relief, he didn’t immediately begin talking.
As if he was letting me try companionship on and adjust the fit to something close to comfortable.
Down the path, a toddler squealed and a gray-haired woman in a crew neck sweatshirt beamed down at the little kid.
“How you doin’, man?” Derrik asked.
I shifted my shoulders, attempting to release the tension there. It was no use, I was twisted tighter than I had been before my massage yesterday morning. “Fine.”
“I heard about you and Sadie. Why didn’t you say something?”
My eyebrows pinched together, confused why he sounded pleased.
“If you had told me you were into her, I would’ve taken a step back,” he explained. “It’s okay that she likes you. I wish you’d told me, but I’m happy for you. It’s a little embarrassing that you let me go on about how hot she is, but whatever.”
“She didn’t want anyone to know,” I said simply, not that it actually explained anything.
“Why not?”
A muscle twitched in my jaw as my teeth clenched.
“Nah, really,” he pressed, “did she just not want to take attention from June and Mike?”
I shook my head. “There’s history.”
I almost rolled my eyes at myself—what a clean way to sum up my bullshit.
“Yeah, you guys dated or something, right?”
“Or something.”
“I thought it wasn’t like that anymore, at least that was the impression I got when I talked to Mike this morning. He seemed to think that it was real, ya know, love for you two.”
Exhaling, I kept my face from crumbling as the four-letter word pressed on a different wound than her nickname for me, but the two sore spots sat side-by-side. She’d said it. And I hadn’t said it back.
I felt him consider me, but I kept my gaze fixed straight ahead.
“I’m kinda surprised to see you looking so . . . morose. Are you freaked out about commitment?” When I didn’t answer right away, he went on, “She’s the woman, right? The one that has you stepping out of your comfort zone and shit.”
I nodded one jerky up and down of my chin.
“Okay, man, I’ll let you be. Sorry, I kinda thought you’d want to talk about it. It feels good to be in love, doesn’t it?”
“Does it?” Finally, I turned to look at him.
I felt nothing like his equal, nothing like someone capable of competing on his level.
I should have left her alone, taken a step back and let her fall for my much more emotionally mature cousin.
He wouldn’t have made her cry. He would have known he was making a mess of something wonderful.
He wouldn’t have been too afraid to say he loved her.
He was prepared to stand, leaning forward with his hands on the armrests of his chair, but when he took in my desperate expression, he settled back into his chair with a creak. “What’s going on?”
“I . . . God, you’re gonna think I’m such an idiot, and I am.”
“Slow down. Just tell me what happened.” The compassionate way he was looking at me was making my throat feel a bit tight. I wanted to hate this newfound power dynamic, where he gently offered me support, and I eagerly accepted.
“I didn’t know I was Fuckboy Lawyer,” I stated as if it would make everything make sense, but when he just looked more confused I forced myself to explain further.
“When we started, it was normal. No attachments. Hang out until it wasn’t fun anymore, but it didn’t stop being fun.
And . . . I always want to be around her, and I didn’t know what to do with that.
So, I’d run away. Then a couple months ago, she tried to make it more. ”
“And you said, ‘no’?”
“I didn’t think she meant what she meant. Why would she want me, Derrik? Look at me. I’m a fucking mess. I can’t be . . . she needs more than me. Then she stopped responding to my texts—”
“So, you kept texting her after she expressed her feelings and you let her down?”
“I didn’t think I was letting her down. I couldn’t see how she’d want me.”
“Why wouldn’t she? You’re a successful lawyer, you’re fit, you’re very supportive to the people you care about—”
I interrupted him, unable to listen to him say nice things about me. “Yeah, on paper I’m fine. But me?”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Jesus Christ, what’s right?”
He blinked twice, a computer lagging under the strain of its processor. “Shit, Eugene, that’s . . . I’m sorry you feel that way, man.”
“It’s whatever. I was actually feeling a little better, like I might not be a lost cause—”
“You’re not,” he said with such authority I did want to believe him. Behind my foggy glasses, my eyes stung.
“But then she was here,” I went on, “and I was so happy to see her, and she was so pissed to see me. And then, Mike told me she got her heart broken, and I thought it was some other guy, but it was me. I thought maybe I could be good enough for her . . . she thought I could be . . . ”
At some point, I’d turned toward him to lean forward. As the story released from me I deflated, falling back into my seat again. “But I’ve already fucked up. I’ve already broken her heart. I’ve already proven that I don’t deserve her.”
“Did she say you don’t deserve her?”
“No.” I had to breathe out slowly through my lips. “She said she loves me.”
“You don’t trust her judgment?”
I blinked shaking my head, taken aback by his question. “No, I don’t trust mine.”
“But you won’t let her make the decision of who is deserving of her time?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“What are you saying?”
In my head, I made every argument, but every rebuttal came back to his point. That I wasn’t letting her choose for herself.
Finally, I said, “I don’t know.”
“Wanna know what I think?” he asked, gentleness back in his voice.
“Yeah.” I sighed.
“I think you’re running away, again.” He paused, giving me time to take that in. “You misread the situation, which you kinda do all of the time, but that doesn’t make you undeserving of love.”
“I don’t want to run from her.” I forced out a whisper through the knot in my throat.
“Then don’t.” He took my coffee from my hand making me realize it’d been spilling down my knuckles, too absorbed in our conversation. I shook the drops from my fingers.
Turning the mug upside down, he dumped the rest in the sand. “How do you feel about her?”
“I’m crazy about her. I don’t know what to do.” I ran a hand down my face. “I love her.”
“Well, man”—he leaned forward with the mug hanging from the hook of his finger—”it sounds like you owe her an apology.
And if you stand a chance, you need to figure out this pattern and break it.
I could reach out to some colleagues in the city and see if they can give you a recommendation for a professional to help. ”
“You’re right in problem-solving mode, huh?”
“Of course, I just regret I didn’t force you into a heart-to-heart earlier. I didn’t know you were feeling like shit. I would have helped.”
“Talking to people is hard.”
He raised his eyebrows and nodded breathing in deeply. “It really is.”
“I think I need to go find her.”
“Yeah, an apology really can’t come too soon.”