Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
Alex
I stare at Jess as she walks into the Cabinet Room, and I despise her. I see her for what I always thought she was. Not mine.
For the first time, though, I don’t want her to be.
I keep my eyes trained on her, like tracking a target, and fight against the urge to lace my fingers between Emma’s. To look her in the eyes and let her know that another woman doesn’t hold any appeal to me. I want to reassure her, however pointless it is now.
While I stare at Jess, I can feel Em stare at me.
I feel her hand slip out from inside the crook of my arm. Her perfume wafts towards me as she steps backward, putting space between us, then walks away.
The finality of her absence shatters me.
Goodbye, darling.
When the newlyweds begin making their way around the room, I move in the same direction, staying out of sight mostly, only talking to someone once Damian and Jess have finished and are already moving on.
Once a near complete loop has been made, I find Emma standing beside her seat at the very end of the table. A rocks glass in hand and a sedentary smile that says nothing.
When I feel the hand on my back, I have to close my eyes like I can block out what’s about to happen.
I turn to face the bride and groom and hate it. I hate everything about it.
“Hey, man,” Damian says. I don’t reply. Staying mute feels safer because under no fucking circumstance do I want to say, “Hey, man,” back.
I don’t want to talk about the weather or pretend like someday we might be actual friends again.
I don’t want to pretend to still be in love with his wife either. But here we are.
Emma, being perfect as always, saves me, moving forward to my side.
Jess extends a hand to her first, “Jess. Nice to finally meet you.” Jess plasters on a fake smile, and Emma does the same.
Emma’s voice conveys only genuine sentiment, though, when she says, “Hi, Jess! I’m Emma. Thank you for inviting us. You’re a beautiful bride.” Emma is far more gracious and kind than Jess deserves. And I love her more for it.
“We’ve gotta catch up,” Damian says, and I nod solemnly because no-fucking-thank you.
Jess picks up the vibes and offers all of us mercy. “I think if we sit down, they’ll probably start serving the food.” To Damian only, she asks, “Are you hungry?”
Damian frowns first, before giving in. “Yup, let’s, uh, circle back in a little bit, yeah?” I don’t know who the fuck he means to ask that question to, but sure. I nod.
I watch them walk away to the two seats at the center of the table, where they whisper in each other’s ears and share a laugh. I want to believe Jess and him deserve this, but it’s a struggle. And then…I find myself thinking, I don’t love her anymore.
I don’t love the way she holds herself. I don’t love the way she looks, or sounds, or smells. I don’t think I can think of one thing I love about her.
I try to recall why I loved her in the first place.
I fell in love with her without reason. It was miraculous how it even happened.
She had just been there. And she hadn’t stopped until she found someone better.
Her insistent presence, in the absence of Amy and Tally, was the only thing that tied her to me.
But Emma, I love with a purpose for who she is and what she does. I love her strength and poise. I love that she’s ultimately the best person I know. The only person I’ve ever let really know me. The real me.
This wasn’t the end I pictured for Emma and me. No, I pictured headstones beside one another after a long, full life of building our family. Adventures with our children and grandkids lining the halls of our home in the form of pictures. And I hadn’t told her any of this.
For as much time as we had together, she probably spent most of our days thinking I didn’t want her, love her, need her. But I do.
“Have you been here before?” she asks me while we sit, waiting for the food to be served.
“Yes,” I say solemnly. This is where it all started. Or, more accurately, where it all ended. When I don’t expand, she stares straight ahead at Jamie, who smiles sympathetically at her. But she doesn’t strike up a conversation with him, or try again with me.
I go back to playing my role, focusing on Jess. Ignoring Em. Wishing time would move a lot fucking faster.
Food is eventually served. And cleared.
Champagne is poured.
A large cake is rolled out.
My sister clinks a glass with a fork, and everyone raises a champagne flute.
I’m not really listening until she says, “BUT! I’d be remiss to not also thank my brother, Alex. For introducing the two of you. So, to Alex, too!” The fuck Brit?
Most of the table turns to look at me when I crack my champagne flute between my fist, sending moisture onto my and Emma’s laps, her silk dress, likely ruined. I stare down at where the wine and broken glass have pooled in her lap, and I want to clean it up, but Em stares at my hand with wide eyes.
“Baby,” she whispers, “you’re bleeding.” She’s never really called me that before. It’s endearing. I want her to say it again. I want to lean over and kiss her, but then she would have broken glass, wine, and blood to clean up, too.
Realizing everyone is still watching me, I say, “Sorry.” Then scoot my chair back and leave without looking back.
I can hear the room devolve into a celebratory cheer as I leave, and that feels very apt.
In the restroom, I clean the wound. It’s shallow enough it doesn’t even need a bandage if I just apply pressure and wait. So I wait, thinking maybe I should just ride this whole thing out here, in the bathroom.
When I stare at the man in the mirror, I hate him. “Fuck,” my raspy voice echoes.
I check the wound and find the bleeding has slowed, and then I stand there a little bit longer, buying some time. I can’t let the night go to waste, though. I have to get back out there and wait for my opening, for the right time.
As I open the men’s restroom door, the women’s door is easing closed. I smell her perfume, I see a glimpse of a silky ivory train, and I know, this is it. A gift from the universe. Divine timing.
With any luck, Emma will come looking for me.
I lean against the wood-paneled wall and wait. The hall is dark but not pitch black, and it’s damn near fucking perfect.
My heartbeat races with anticipation. With dread. The adrenaline runs rampant in my bloodstream as she opens the door to face me. She almost seems scared, and I get a sick thrill out of that.
She was the one who came to me, fucking up my whole world. She’s the reason Emma lost six weeks of her life. More, actually, and I feel like justice is due.
“Excuse me,” she says brusquely as if she could just walk past me.
“It was supposed to be us, Jess.” Lie. It would never be our time.
I sense the presence of others, and I hope it’s who I want to see this.
Jess laughs harshly, insecurely, and says, “No, thank you to whatever this is. You have a beautiful wife waiting for you. Go home, Alex.” I know my wife is here now; I can feel it for sure.
So instead of waiting, I say, “Okay,” then move in, pushing my mouth to Jess’s. Feeling sick to my stomach the second we touch. Hating this. Hating her. Wishing she would be punished for fucking me and ruining Emma’s life.
The worst part is, she fucking returns the kiss. Her tongue slides into my mouth, and I want to push her away.
Then Damian is there pulling me back. Perfect.
He starts yelling, and I hope to god it’s at her, but I’m not paying them any attention. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of a golden silky gown as light bounces off of it.
I’m sorry, baby.
Damian goes for a swing, and I let him land it. I deserve it, and the pain of a single punch is nothing compared to the shredding my heart is undergoing, knowing what waits for me on the other side of this.
They argue for a minute, then finally leave. I run my hand down my bare chin, and turn to bite the bullet.
Emma’s complexion is blanched. Her hands tremble as she brings one up to her stomach, holding herself.
“Scorched by the sun,” she whispers. Yeah, baby, scorched by the sun.
She remembers.
Emma
Why would Britain do that to Alex?
I watch him walk out of the dining room, and I want to run after him. I want to hold him once again like a wounded animal.
Can’t she see he’s hurting?
I might be hurting, too, but Alex still needs love and support, and it pisses me off that his family would always fail him.
I don’t run after him, though, not wanting to draw more attention to him. I decide to let him cool off, or settle down, and then I’ll find him.
I’ll take his hand in mine, and we’ll leave. And I’ll let him break down, and I’ll help put him back together, and maybe after all that, he’ll want to keep me. But again, after tonight, seeing how obsessed he truly is with her, maybe he won’t.
I clean up as best I can, feeling guilty over the death of this $3500 dress. My dress and I were never really long for this world anyway.
As soon as the toast is over, the cake is served. I take a single bite, then push it aside and wait for Brit to finish hers, needing to talk to her. Well, needing to stand up for Alex because it seemed no one else ever would.
I miss my opening by seconds when Jess beats me to Brit first. So I hang back, then approach as soon as she’s free.
“Can I talk to you?” I ask Brit, pulling her to the side, then whisper, “What the fuck? Can’t you see he’s dying already? And you just put him on blast in front of all these people who probably mean the most to him?” She seems surprised.
“You’re really sticking up for him? Right now?” She double-checks, and I nod.
“He might be broken, and he might not always do the right thing, but he is so good. And he deserves to be loved and supported by his family. That means you, and me.” She stands there, shocked. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go find him and take him home, so goodbye, Brit.”
I give her a formal half hug that she doesn’t return. So I grab my clutch and walk out of the dining room.
The hallway is empty, so I head towards the bathrooms, hearing shuffling feet coming from that direction.
My feet slow as I get closer, my stomach tenses, and a nervous chill sweeps over my body.
Something is wrong.
My hand hangs onto the paneled wall for support. And as I round the corner to where the restrooms are, I see him.
Kissing her.
He’s kissing her.
I gasp, my mouth falls open, but no sound is emitted.
The feeling comes back. The feeling I remembered but didn’t know when or how I knew it. The feeling is here, but now it’s paired with the image, a memory, of him and me sitting in his truck. I remember asking him, “Where?” I remember feeling like I was dying when he told me.
Our cove.
It feels like the sky is falling. It feels like the walls are closing in. It feels like having your heart ripped out of your chest, then trampled over a thousand times.
I step back, hiding around the corner so that she can’t see me.
Oh god.
I remember. I remember my trip to see my mom. I remember asking if I could call him, and he told me he was busy. I slam a hand over my mouth to silence a sob.
There’s yelling in the hall, and I want to vomit. I want to disappear. I want the wall I’m leaning against to absorb me. Ceasing to exist feels like an ideal solution.
He did mean it, that he doesn’t love me. He doesn’t love me above all else. Not me. Never me.
I watch Jess and her husband walk down the hall, and I stand, trembling, as he turns the corner to face me.
I have to put a hand on my stomach to keep from throwing up.
“Scorched by the sun,” I whisper, partly to him. Partly to the universe because I remember that, too.
He’ll burn you, Blanks warned me. And here I am, “Scorched by the sun,” I say it out loud again.
He stands looking at me like he’s fighting the urge to throw up, too.
I was wrong. So wrong. About all of it. About him being a good man. About him being deserving.
“I feel sorry for you,” I tell him in a shaky whisper. “She owns you. Your life isn’t even your own, and for that, I pity you.” Each syllable is laced with disdain.
I hate him.
“What a sad existence to live,” I tell him as my eyes roam over him, seeing him for who he truly is for the first time. I turn, preparing to leave, giving him my back, but fuck. Fuck! I’m so so angry, and he…he’s said nothing.
I turn around to ask, “Why? Why couldn’t you just let me leave yesterday?” My chin trembles, and I blink hard to clear the tears out of my vision.
“I would have walked away from you. A clean break. But you wanted…” I struggle for air. “You wanted to hurt me.” The realization is soul-crushing. “Why would you be so cruel?” I stand before him, dismayed by his lack of response, at his unchanging expression.
“Say something!” I shout at him.
“I told you I’m not a good man.” Like him warning me absolves him.
“You’re right. I apologize for not believing you.” Christ, Emma. I’m still saying sorry to him. “I’m sorry to have fallen in love with a monster like you.”
When I turn away from him a second time, it’s for good. I walk up the stairs into the lobby, and the whole time, I’m hoping he’ll follow me. I’m hoping he’ll stop me.
But he doesn’t.
The warm June air hits me when I push open the large door. The air isn’t refreshing like it is at home. It’s pungent and heavy, and I stumble before folding in on myself and emptying my stomach onto the curb. I would be embarrassed if I could be.
While opening my clutch, I gasp, trying to catch my breath. I’m hoping to find a receipt, a small piece of paper, or anything to wipe my mouth, but instead, my shaking fingers land on a business card. Thick in weight with a raised emblem.
Caleb.
I choke on another sob as memories come back to me. Crazy. Me, playing a guitar. A chapel. A hotel room.
My breath catches as my still-trembling fingers type the number into my phone.
It rings, then rings some more. He isn’t going to answer.
But then he does. He doesn’t say hello or hi. But I know he’s there, and he knows it’s me.
“Angel?” he finally asks.
“I remember,” I say softly, then sniffle.
“You do?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I’m nodding even though he can’t see me.
“Everything?”
“Everything…”