Chapter 8 #2
Not that I knew how to get us back to that when the sight of her all made up had my chest aching because I knew she was putting on a show. Whether it was to prove a point, to try to change who she was, or to pretend, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t her, and it’d been for someone else.
My gaze darted over her again as I remembered her infuriated features and hissed threats when I’d first seen her the day of Briggs and Lainey’s wedding.
“Say a word, Gray, one word, and I’ll be the one to shoot you this time.”
It took everything to keep my smirk in place when it felt like my jaw had hit the floor as soon as she’d entered the tent we’d gathered in to prepare for the wedding.
Breathtaking.
Breathtaking and . . . not my Mallory.
Forcing my mouth into even more of a smirk, I mumbled, “I always knew you were missing something. Princess Peach needed her dress.” I scrunched up one side of my face as hers flushed with anger. “Now if we could just find you a crown . . .”
“I’m burning this thing as soon as the ceremony’s over,” she seethed. “And then I’m coming to kill you.”
My smirk shifted into a full smile at that. “I love when you’re violent.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” I countered confidently.
Monroe didn’t respond, just fidgeted with the thin material and shifted uncomfortably as the wedding planner started lining us up to precede Lainey down the aisle.
I held out my arm for Monroe to take and ignored the scathing look she sent my way before reluctantly slipping her arm through mine.
Keeping my voice low, I reminded her, “You’re the first woman to become a SEAL.
You’ve done some of the most insane things in heavy gear that was soaked, muddy, and bloody.
You can make it through a few hours in a dress. ”
The tightening of her hand on my arm was the only show of gratitude before she whispered, “Still burning this thing after.”
And now here she was . . . in another dress.
I gestured to where she stood, nearly impossible to look away from with how beautiful she was. “What are you doing, Monroe? Where’d you find that guy? Where’d you even get a dress?”
Uneasiness flashed across her features before she managed to lock it up with that unnerving mask she’d portrayed these past months.
No, no, no. Not again.
I’d take the new Mallory. I’d take the warring anger and doubt, the surprise and confusion—I’d take her cracking armor . . . gladly. Because at least there were still parts of her there. Anything other than this person I didn’t know.
Just when I thought she wasn’t going to respond, she said, “He’s my neighbor,” in that cold, reserved tone. She subtly lifted her chin in the apparent direction. “He’s been asking me out since he moved in.”
A muscle in my jaw ticked. “And how long since that happened?”
“Last fall.”
I slowly nodded as I accepted her words and what she was saying—accepted what it meant.
She was either trying to hurt me, or she was making a very clear statement. Either way, I wasn’t backing down that easily.
Like last night, I headed toward the little square table just off the kitchen. And like then, she followed. “What are you doing?”
“Until our marriage is legally over, it’d be in everyone’s best interest if you didn’t date.” I sank into the chair and met her detached expression. “By ‘everyone,’ I mean ‘the guys you deem worthy of spending your days and nights with.’”
One of her brows lifted. “Threatening people now?”
“Learned from the best, Princess.”
Rage flashed in her eyes before a sneer cracked her otherwise flawless facade. “Stop calling me that.”
If it brings you back to me?
“Never,” I vowed, then reached for the bag I’d set on the table. “I brought your favorite. So, why don’t you change, because I know you’re thinking of burning that dress, and then we can talk.”
“I already told—”
“We need to talk,” I said firmly.
She held my stare for a few seconds longer before turning. But instead of heading toward her room, she went straight for the front door.
My stomach dropped, and I pushed from the chair, only to still halfway and drop back into it with a weary sigh.
Going after her would only make it worse.
Mallory didn’t like being told what to do. I knew that, and I’d done it anyway. Not only that, but I’d come here with every intention of talking to her calmly. I’d come here with the hope that my wife would let me attempt to date her—to show her what she’d always meant to me.
Instead, I’d pushed her away. Again.
Dragging a hand over my face, I finally stood and grabbed the bag of food. But just as I opened her fridge to set it in there, the same as I had with the tacos, the front door opened again.
I tilted my head, listening so I would know how many people there were.
When only one set of nearly silent steps entered the condo before the door shut, I felt my chest loosen. “Davis didn’t answer?”
“He did,” she said as I closed the fridge and wove through the kitchen to see her retreating form. “He wanted to know if we’re actually married. I assured him we’re not.”
Anger and fear spiked through me at her dull, almost matter-of-fact words, but before I could remind her we were married, she paused just outside her room long enough to add, “I also assured him he didn’t need to call the cops, explained your jokes that sometimes go too far, and told him we’d set something up another night. ”
I wasn’t sure I’d ever clenched my jaw as much as I had over the past three months. But with how our interactions had gone this weekend alone, it felt like my jaw was going to shatter.
At least she hadn’t told me to leave again.
Grasping the bag in my hand tighter, I went back to where I’d been sitting before and waited, only partially wondering if she’d stay in her room all night just to spite me.
I wouldn’t have put it past her if I hadn’t shown up with shawarma wraps.
And, thankfully, she came out only a handful of minutes later. Long, blonde hair tossed into a messy knot on her head, face free of makeup and freshly washed, wearing leggings and a threadbare, oversized shirt.
The sight of her had the corner of my mouth tugging up and my heart racing as I took her in.
Just as breathtaking, but this was her. This was my Mallory.
Relaxed shoulders, easy breaths, open features, and all.
The only thing that remained from before was the delicate gold chain barely peeking out from beneath the shirt she was wearing. But she’d worn it ever since she’d come back from California months ago, so I had a feeling it’d belonged to her mom.
“Give it,” she said, making an impatient grabby hand gesture before she ever sank into her own chair.
“Comfortable?” I asked as I handed over one of the wraps.
Instead of agreeing, vowing to burn all the dresses in the world, or coming back with a snarky remark, she visibly stilled. Her blue eyes became unfocused as insecurity passed over her expression before she seemed to snap back to herself and snatched the wrap from me.
“You wanted to talk; let’s talk.”
Not my Mallory, I realized as her reaction then made me think back to the coffee shop this afternoon. To the pain and sorrow in her voice when she’d attempted to remind me of something I hadn’t done—slept with someone less than a day after marrying her.
This Mallory was all new. This was my Mallory, trying to wrap herself up in all those protective shields in an effort to hide the parts of her I’d always patiently waited for and craved, because they were finally spilling out.
At least . . . that’s what it was starting to look like. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.
But as terrified and frustrated as I was with her for trying to push me away, this Mallory was intriguing and bewildering. Captivating and infuriating.
She was everything.
And I needed to tread so carefully as I figured her out because, even though that strength was clearly still there, a fragility was pushing to the surface. Knowing her, she didn’t know how to navigate it.
“Or was that just your excuse to get in the door?” she asked, breaking me out of my thoughts.
I searched her slightly hardened, questioning stare and shook my head when I finally remembered that I was supposed to be talking to her.
But the entire speech I’d had to convince Mallory not to leave Shadow and to give us a shot faded away, and I found myself asking, “Why haven’t you ended the marriage?” instead.
“You didn’t try either,” she snapped, that defensiveness strengthening.
“I left the certificate with you for a reason.”
Her eyes widened in a way that said she couldn’t imagine why. “I would’ve gladly given it back if that’s what you thought you needed to return to your life guilt-free.”
A huff burst from me. “I don’t—” I swallowed the rest of the argument, knowing she might not believe me anyway. Taking a calming breath, I tried again. “I left it with you because I would never leave you.”
Mallory’s hand stilled from where she was pouring extra garlic sauce on her wrap, and for a few seconds, it looked like she stopped breathing before her head gently shook as she continued preparing her food.
“Not on missions. Not on details. Not in this.”
“How chivalrous,” she muttered softly, dully. “Let it be known, Texas boys will also remain in a marriage they didn’t sign up for or want.”
I ignored the pointed jab, already knowing she’d hated all the times I’d come to her defense before she could defend herself. Something the rest of the guys had always claimed I’d done because Texas boys were raised a certain way.
But if Mallory hadn’t come from the family she had, she might know it was a guy thing in general.
If she wasn’t her, she would’ve noticed the Texas thing fell flat, considering Briggs, Rush, and Evans had never stepped in, because they knew how she’d react and that she could handle herself.
Both things I knew as well, but they didn’t love her the way I did.
Knowing I was likely to respond with something I probably shouldn’t just yet, like that’s not why I wouldn’t leave you, I took a large bite of my own wrap and waited until I’d swallowed before saying, “Question remains, why haven’t you?”
“Between my mom dying and work, it wasn’t exactly a priority.”
If Mallory would’ve said those exact words to me a few months ago, I would’ve believed her, without question. As it was, the slight lowering of her chin and her hushed, rapid response were enough to let me know she was lying.
“But like I said, I’ll take care of it,” she went on, voice different from just seconds before. More alive. More determined. “I’ll go in tomorrow and start the process—whatever it is.”
Panic and something close to heartbreak unfurled inside me at the thought, a feeling I’d become increasingly used to over the last months.
But every response I had only gathered on my tongue, until I was afraid of what I’d say next. Because one wrong word, and I’d push her even further away. One wrong plea, and I’d push her into doing the opposite, just to show me she could.
Clearing my throat, I kept my stare on the table as I hesitantly asked, “What if you didn’t?”
Seconds passed as that soft, thrumming energy pulsed between us before Mallory released a hushed scoff. “What? Do you have a thing against divorce? I’m sure it can still be annulled—it doesn’t have to be considered a divorce.”
I had a thing against losing her.
I also had a feeling those drinks in Aruba had caused us to stop fighting with each other and admit things we wouldn’t have otherwise. And I wanted the chance to see if we could ever get to that point sober.
Not that I could tell her that.
“You said something earlier,” I said instead, once again clearing my throat as I set my wrap down and leaned back in my chair. “Something about making this easier for you and not to worry because my job would remain secure.”
Dread twisted my stomach and threatened to consume me when sadness filled her eyes for a few seconds too long. Because I knew in that look what her answer to my question would be.
“You’re leaving Shadow, aren’t you?” I continued, no longer caring about the strain in my voice.
It said everything that the breath Mallory drew in was shaky, but she just slanted her head in my direction without meeting my stare, and said, “It’s for the best.”
“I don’t agree.”
For some reason, that amused her. “Thankfully, it isn’t your decision to make.”
My jaw shifted at the thinly veiled dig. “Why are you doing this?”
“I already told you.”
“And what if you’re wrong?” I challenged, my voice toeing the line of desperation. “How can it be best for you to leave when we’ve always worked best together? When we’re better together.”
At that, her stare snapped to mine and widened. Her voice came out on a breath when she argued, “We’re a nightmare together.”
“We aren’t,” I assured her, even if the past three months had felt like it. Leaning against the table, I searched her blue eyes before begging, “Give me a month.”
She blinked quickly. “What?”
“Give me a month to change your mind on Shadow and about being married to me.”