Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
JORDAN
I wrap my arms around myself and shiver against the chill of the September night.
I should’ve brought a jacket. The walk to the car isn’t far, but it’s farther than everyone else’s.
Matt always parks in the back when he drives.
He’s too worried someone might scratch his car.
Like he couldn’t afford to buff it out or something.
“Here,” Matt says, shrugging off his jacket and holding it open for me. I slide my arms through, savoring the lingering warmth of his body heat as it settles around me. He gives my arms a squeeze, the corners of his mouth lifting. “Better?”
I smile. “Yes. Thank you.”
Damn. He’s already a great husband. I knew he would be. He’s a great friend. And when we were together, he was a great boyfriend too. For the most part.
He’s quieter than usual again. Only this time, I’m worried it’s because of me.
I went and told everyone we were already married without giving him a heads-up. Matt’s a type-A, and he likes to be in control. Always. I took that away.
My intentions were good. I was trying to help. He’ll see it that way, eventually. I know he will.
After watching Cece with Cole at the funeral and then at the cemetery, I couldn’t help myself. The way she kept looking between Matt and Cole, like she was already mapping out a strategy to get custody of Cole.
The way Matt’s mother looked at me.
The way his father looked at him.
I felt this overwhelming need to protect them both.
I wish I could say it was all about Cole.
But it wasn’t.
It was about Matt. Mostly about Matt. And the fact that, for once, he needs this to go his way.
Which is ironic, because Matt wins more than most people.
He works hard, harder than anyone I know, but things also come easily to him.
Side by side with someone just as capable, Matt will still get the gig.
He’ll come out on top. Every. Single. Time.
Doors open before he even says where he’s going.
He’s Matt fucking Grayson. His name means something.
But tonight? This custody battle?
His name doesn’t mean a damn thing.
In fact, for the first time ever, it’s a strike against him.
And us being engaged? I suddenly realized that wasn’t going to work. Matt says he thought things through, but that’s not how he operates. He’s a take-action-first, think-later kind of guy. The kind who’s used to quick decision-making and sorting out the details afterward.
If we’d told everyone we were engaged tonight, we would’ve had a wedding to plan. People to invite. Even if it was at the courthouse, Megan would never let it go. She was like a sister to me growing up and in our twenties. She’d make it a point to be there.
The lights on Matt’s Porsche flash, the sound breaking through the quiet of the dimly lit parking lot. He opens my door and I slide in, my dress inching up, the leather cold against my skin.
“Well,” I say as Matt settles into the driver’s seat. “That escalated quickly, huh… husband.”
He chuckles, then starts the car. “Sure did, wife.”
Okay. He’s joking a little. He’s not totally pissed. I don’t think, anyway.
My bottom lip catches between my teeth as I analyze the situation. I can’t get a read on him. I can usually tell when Matt’s upset, but right now he’s almost too neutral.
“You mad?” I finally ask as we pull out of the parking lot.
He frowns, eyes on the road. “No. Why would I be mad?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe because I told everyone we were married when the plan was to be engaged, and you haven’t said anything about it.”
His eyes narrow slightly, his tongue sweeping across his lips, but he keeps his focus straight ahead. He doesn’t say anything for a good ten seconds.
“I’m not mad, babe.” He glances at me. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You were incredible tonight. I’m just… processing.”
Okay. That’s fine. Understandable, even.
It’s enough to settle my nerves.
For a few seconds, anyway.
My stomach suddenly dips.
Shit. The proposal story.
The flutter turns sharp, my breath shallowing. Does he… remember? Is that why he went quiet? Did I freak him out?
Shit. So stupid, Jordan.
Why? Of all the places I could have picked for a fake proposal, why did it have to be that one?
I tell myself it was just the first believable thing that came to mind. A setting. A backdrop. Something romantic enough to sell the lie. I needed a story, and I needed one fast.
But I know the truth, even if I don’t want to admit it.
That cove was never just a place. It was quiet and dark. The kind of night where everything feels heavier because there’s nowhere to hide from it.
Except that’s exactly what I was trying to do.
Hide.
From everything.
It was the hardest time in my entire life. Matt came and got me in the middle of English class and drove me to the Hamptons to escape.
We talked. He was there, and it meant everything to me that he was.
After hours of sitting in that spot on the sand, he told me that he loved me. That he’d always be there for me. Then he kissed me. Made love to me.
And somehow, that became the moment I never learned how to let go of. The moment everything else failed to measure up to.
I swallow, my throat tight, tears springing to my eyes. God, those words hit even harder now than they did then.
Does he even remember that night?
Or was it just another moment to him, something said and forgotten, while it lodged itself into me and never left?
I stare out the window, pulse racing. He probably doesn’t remember. And I’ve held onto it like buried treasure. Rare. Valuable. Special.
Because those words, I love you, are words he’s never spoken again. Not to me, anyway.
I try to shove it all away. Compartmentalize the fuckery that tonight turned into. Jesus, I just dove headfirst into something I wasn’t even sure about.
Now we have to get married. We told everyone we were.
Correction: I told everyone we were.
I pull my gaze from the window and fix it on the side of Matt’s face. The hard set of his jaw. The faint lines at the corners of his eyes from years of laughter. The crease in his forehead that tells me he’s somewhere else entirely.
His dad.
Oh, shit. I almost forgot about that.
Maybe this isn’t about me and what I said. Maybe it’s about his dad. Maybe it has everything to do with him.
“I saw you,” I say, breaking the silence. “With your dad at the bar. You looked pretty pissed. What’d he say?”
He glances at me with that same indifferent frown and shakes his head. “Nothing. Not a big deal.”
Cool. He’s gonna be like this.
I poke harder, which I don’t usually do, but I can’t sit in this torturous silence anymore. “You were looking at me. Right before you said something. Before you walked away from him. Was it about me?”
“Nah. No, babe.” We stop at a red light, and he steals another glance, this one paired with a forced smile. “It wasn’t about you.”
He grabs my hand, lifts it, and presses his lips to my palm. It’s soft and warm, intimate in a way that doesn’t make sense for whatever we are.
And I like it.
I like it too much.
He laces his fingers with mine.
He’s lying.
“Okay,” I say, keeping my tone light. “I’m here if you need to talk.”
“I know you are,” he says. “Tomorrow.”
He gives my hand a squeeze.
Fucker.
He’s so hard to be mad at. Even when he’s holding something back. But if he’s not telling me something, he has his reasons. I trust him.
I remind myself that he’s not only grieving but has a lot on his plate right now. And whatever happened with his dad, it’s eating at him more than he will ever admit.
His phone dings with a text from Jensen.
I reach for it. “Do you want me to read that?”
“No,” he says sharply, then softens. “No—sorry. I just… I have no idea what that’s going to say.”
“That sounds ominous.”
He lets out a breath through his nose. “It’s Jensen. Ominous is kind of his baseline. He’s probably calling bullshit.”
That gets a small smile out of me. “So, what’s next?” I ask.
He gives me the same damn frown. “Guess we get married. I have to be in New York Wednesday and Thursday this week.” He glances at me. “We could do it Thursday after work. If that works for you.”
“Wow,” I say grimly. “Every woman’s dream. Let me check my calendar.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“I’m kidding,” I say. “Mostly.”
“How about I make it up to you?”
“Oh?” I grin, already bracing myself for some wildly inappropriate joke about how many orgasms he can give me. “And how exactly are you planning to do that?”
“Switzerland.” He flashes a grin. “Come to Zurich with me in a few weeks. Could be a sort of honeymoon-type thing.”
Well shit.
What a smooth son of a bitch.
I try like hell to suppress the smile breaking across my face. “A sexless honeymoon,” I remind him.
“Whatever you say, babe.”
“Hmm.” I pretend to mull it over, while everything in me wants to scream yes. “I’ll think about it.”
“You’ll think about it?” He cocks a brow, smirk tugging at his mouth. “What’s there to think about? It’s Switzerland.”
“Well, there’s work, for one,” I counter. “I have to make sure I can take the time off. I’ve got that big account I’m working on.”
“We’ll stay at the best hotels,” he says easily. “I’ll get a suite. You can even have your own bedroom.”
I hold up a finger. “I’m not done. Then there’s my annoyingly charming husband who’s going to try to get in my pants the entire time. That could get old fast.”
“Christ,” he mutters, then laughs. “For fuck’s sake. Baby, trust me, once you see these rooms, it’s you who’ll be trying to get in my pants.”
“Oh, dream on!” I laugh, playfully smacking his arm.
He keeps chuckling, and God, it feels so damn good to see him laugh after the heaviness of today.
I lay my head back against the seat, letting it fall to the side, watching him as our laughter subsides.
“Yeah,” I say finally. “I’ll go. I’ll see if I can take the time off.”
“That’s great, babe. We’ll have fun. We haven’t been in a long time.”
“It has been a long time,” I repeat mechanically. A really long time.
My eyes drop instinctively to the inside of my bicep. To the one and only tattoo I have, a small, simple outline of the Matterhorn. Matt got one too. Only his is on his chest, larger, and more detailed.
That was a good trip. One of the happier times I remember of us.
I glance out the window, lost in thoughts of the past, as Matt pulls into the parking garage and eases into his front-row space.
The elevator ride is quiet, but not uncomfortable. Matt’s face is buried in his phone, texting Jensen back, I’m sure. I close my eyes, resting my head against the wall, exhausted and eager to crawl into bed.
The doors slide open, and Matt slips his hand into mine like it’s second nature, leading me down the hallway.
He enters the code for the lock. It whirs and clicks before he pushes the door open and gestures for me to go first. I flip on the light and head for the kitchen, the sound of my heels echoing through the stillness.
“So… Thursday then?” I ask.
He gives a slight nod. “Thursday.”
I assume that’s it, so I start toward my room, but he stops me.
His hand wraps gently around my arm. “Hey. Come here.” He pulls me toward him and wraps his arms around me, then completely relaxes against me. “Get some sleep,” he murmurs, voice low, his hand rubbing my back.
“You too.”
He leans in and presses a kiss to my temple, brief, familiar, careful.
Not romantic.
Not platonic either.
Just us.
Except not. Because the us I’ve always known would already be all over each other—mouths, hands, bodies. We’d be stripping each other’s clothes off. The heat of his body would warm mine.
An ache pulses in my core, soft and quiet, but there, all the same.
My lips press tight, and I close my eyes for a moment. Then I take a slow breath through my nose and step back.
“Night, Matt.”
“Night, babe.”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t head for the hallway. Doesn’t not look at me.
I turn and walk to my room, closing the door slowly behind me.
I slip off his jacket and bring it to my nose.
It still smells like him. I breathe it in.
The faint trace of his cologne wraps around me in a familiar way, waking old memories I thought I’d put to rest, stirring something inside me I don’t want to name.
The warmth and comfort, it settles so deep in my body it feels like it reaches my soul.
And that feels like a problem.