Chapter 3 #2
My shoulders sagged at the reserved delivery of her words. “Monroe, I am sorry. I would’ve been there if you’d told me.”
“Why would I have told you?”
“Because that’s what we do,” I shot back as I turned to look at her. “We tell each other things—we tell each other everything. But even if we didn’t, that was your mom.”
She pressed her lips tightly together as she parked the SUV, then mumbled, “I’m aware.”
When she immediately reached for her door handle, I grasped her forearm to keep her there and demanded, “What’d you mean earlier? When you said, ‘Just tell me why?’”
A bitter sound left her as she spared the briefest glance my way. “If you think it has anything to do with you not being there when my mom died, I assure you, it doesn’t.”
Keeping one hand on her arm, I caught the seatbelt when she released it and growled, “Then what?”
That time, she shot a cold glare my way and held my stare. “The fact that you have to ask says everything.”
“Why wouldn’t I have to ask?” I nearly yelled. “You’ve done everything to avoid talking to me like this for three months. I didn’t even hear that your mom died from you. I found out from Rush days after you’d already left for California.”
“Then take a hint,” she softly raged.
“What hint exactly?” I asked in the same tone. “The one where you refuse to really talk to me? Or the one where you haven’t done anything to end our marriage?”
Her blue eyes flared before narrowing. At the sight, I wondered when we’d gotten so close—if I’d been the first one to lean in, or if it’d been her.
But there we were, leaning toward each other, faces inches apart. And it had my ruined heart racing as I took in her features—strikingly beautiful, even twisted up with anger and determination like they were then.
My Princess Peach.
“For the life of me, I can’t figure out why you’re punishing me for something we did,” I continued softly.
“We didn’t do anything,” she argued. “You? That . . . that’s a different story.”
When she pulled away, I let her go.
Not that I would’ve kept her there had she tried to leave anyway, but the crack in her voice on the word you, and her barely-leashed emotion following, threw me enough that my hands had loosened before she even tried.
And then I was alone in the car, trying to figure out what she’d meant. My stomach twisted as I worried over all the possibilities of that claim.
Each possibility seemed more outrageous than the next, but then again, I’d never done anything to make Mallory do this.
I sank back against the seat and dragged a hand over my face as I tried blocking out the thoughts coming too quickly now. I wouldn’t have hurt her. I know I wouldn’t have. And we’d been dressed when we woke that morning.
Right?
Then again, I thought I’d known I would’ve never drunk enough to forget an entire night.
I was suddenly second guessing everything I’d known about Aruba—what little that’d been—and it felt like I was going to die under the what ifs.
Grabbing the keys Mallory left in the cupholder, I got out of the car and locked it as I went.
Stride unsteady and chest tight as I tried thinking about each of my next steps: make it to the box where we stored the keys.
Make it to my truck. Make it to my apartment.
Anything other than the nightmarish visions plaguing me now.
I was so caught up in my warring thoughts, I didn’t notice Thatch leaning against the side of my truck until he spoke.
“Ready to talk?”
“What?” My head moved sluggishly in response to the question, unable to make sense of it or him for far too long. “Oh . . . no.” I swung my arm in the direction of the SUV I’d just left. “Other than everyone thinking I did something to Monroe, there’s nothing.”
He was silent as I continued to my driver’s side door. Just as I reached it, he said, “You know, not that long ago, I would’ve sworn none of us had secrets from each other.” I glanced at him in time to see the sad smile tugging at his mouth. “Seems like everyone has secrets now.”
I deflated a little at that. “Thatch—”
“You’re my best friend, Gray,” he continued over me.
“You were my best man at my wedding. I’ve known you for over a dozen years, and I know people.
” He gave me a meaningful look. “You think I don’t know you’re keeping something from me?
You think I don’t know something happened between you and Monroe? ”
I lifted my hands before letting them fall because, technically, nothing had happened.
That I know of . . .
At the very least, it had been nothing more than a ceremony neither of us remembered. Considering what they all suspected of me, that was nothing. Didn’t matter that it was everything for me when it came to Mallory.
Or, at least, it would’ve been had we been sober.
“What I don’t understand is why you won’t tell me,” he went on, not bothering to hide his hurt. “I’m the only one who’s known what you’ve felt for her all these years, and I could’ve been there for you with this fallout.”
“But I don’t know the reason for the fallout,” I countered, my voice rough from the pain and worry. “None of y’all believe that though.”
Thatch studied me before nodding. “If you say you don’t know, then you don’t know,” he conceded before slanting his head.
“But whatever’s going on isn’t because of her mom.
Briggs was right when he said Monroe’s only trying to avoid you on details, and he didn’t even touch on the fact that we’re all sure she’s actually avoiding you outside the office. ”
Every part of me went still before my head lowered in a subtle bob. The brief second my stare met his was the only confirmation Thatch needed, given the worry lining his brow.
Before he could pry further, I turned for my door again. “I gotta go.”
“Gray—”
“Chloe’s gonna be waiting for you to get home,” I said, knowing just the mention of his new wife would have Thatch eager to get home. I glanced over my shoulder but didn’t meet his knowing stare when I added, “Better head out. See you next week.”
“We have another detail on Sunday,” he reminded me, making my jaw ache from how hard I ground it in the next instant.
“Didn’t Briggs tell you?” I asked dryly. “I’m out until I find a way to break through impenetrable defenses.”
Thatch’s silence spoke volumes.
It was shock and worry. It was pleading and confidence and doubt.
“Come to my house,” he quickly offered when I opened my door. “Sleep in the guest room tonight—however long you need. Chloe doesn’t need to know why.”
An edgy laugh bled from me when I realized what he was doing. What he was still worrying over. “Told you, I’m fine.”
“Then tell me what I’m seeing,” he ground out, fear nearly exploding from him, “because you’re scaring me.”
“I told you, this is killing me.” I pressed a hand to my chest. “The way she’s acting? The distance? Because, yes, she’s avoiding me outside the office . . . It hurts. I’m allowed to hurt, Thatch.”
His jaw twitched as he tried to see past what I was telling him to what I wasn’t. With a subtle shake of his head, he stepped close enough to grip my shoulder, then pulled me toward him. His head bent low when he said, “I’m here. Yeah? Whenever, whatever.”
“I know,” I muttered, grateful for his friendship and hating that I was putting these concerns in his head. But other than breaking down and telling him everything I remembered and everything I worried I may have done, I didn’t know how to make him understand.
With a stilted breath, I said, “No matter what happens with Monroe, no matter what you pick up when you’re studying me, just know I won’t go back there.”
“That isn’t going to stop these conversations,” he murmured, even as he squeezed my shoulder before releasing it.
“Of course not,” I tossed back with a smirk I knew he didn’t buy. “But it’s stopping this one.”
Thatch’s eyes just rolled as he folded his arms over his chest. But that worry was still there. Thick and heavy and reaching out to me as I climbed into my truck.
Cranking the engine, I glanced at him through the window and dipped my head in parting before tearing out of the garage, letting all the pain and unknowns and what ifs consume me as I did.
I barely registered the drive or getting into my apartment.
I wasn’t sure if I ate, or if I even changed.
I was just suddenly in my bed, blankly staring at the ceiling fan’s blades as they spun, replaying Mallory’s wavered, “You? That . . . that’s a different story,” and thinking about all the possibilities that came with it.