Chapter 63
HARLOW
Waking up, I find that my body is feeling the effects of sex in Spencer’s car. After we cleaned ourselves up the best we could, he drove me home in silence and dropped me off. I suppose he figured he’d said and done everything he could.
I press my hand to my forehead.
I have to talk to Jameson.
I’m not ready to be with Spencer, but Jameson is a good man, and he doesn’t deserve this. I’m not good enough for him. Nor am I good enough for Spencer, but I need to tackle one thing at a time and that means being honest with Jameson even if it’s going to rip me apart to do so.
Rolling over, I check the clock and find that it’s a little past six-thirty.
I scoop up my phone to see if I have a text from my mom on how Monroe is doing, but there’s nothing as of yet.
There is, however, a cryptic message from Spencer that shows it came in around five this morning. Probably when he was heading to set.
I squint at the screen, trying to understand what the message means.
Spencer: I’m so fucking sorry.
He’s sorry? About last night? Or something else?
I quickly type back.
Me: What do you mean?
My phone begins to ring, but it’s not Spencer calling me. It’s my sister.
“Willa?” I answer.
“I guess I know why you avoided me, and we didn’t chat again after the engagement.” There’s a tone of incredulity in her voice. “Harlow, I … you’re my sister, I love you, nothing can change that, but what the hell were you thinking?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She sighs. “Let me text it to you.”
A second later the phone chirps with the incoming text and I switch her to speaker.
I don’t even have to click on the link from one of Hollywood’s leading gossip websites, because the photo attached to the article is damning enough.
“Oh my god.”
I drop my phone on the floor with a thump and have to scurry to get pick it up.
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” I chant. “No. No. No. This can’t be happening.”
I pace the length of the room.
How did paparazzi find us?
Even though you can’t see much, it’s obvious we’re having sex in his car, and while to the casual observer you wouldn’t be able to place the woman in the photo—anyone who knows me is going to have no doubts on the identity.
My parents are going to see this. Spencer’s parents. My sister obviously already has. Jameson. And worst of all, this is going to be out there forever for Monroe to find one day.
I stumble across the hall to the bathroom and my knees slam into the tile. Emptying the meager contents of my stomach, I hear Willa asking if I’m okay from where I dropped my phone on my way into the bathroom.
I heave until there’s nothing left in me.
Tears burn my eyes as I climb to a standing position and wash my hands and brush my teeth. All the while, Willa asks if I’m okay. I finally scoop my phone up.
“I was going to talk to Jameson today. I was going to call of the engagement. I was. I swear,” I cry. “I panicked when he proposed so I said yes and I … I never meant to hurt him.”
“It doesn’t matter what you meant,” she says softly. “This is going to devastate him.”
“I know,” I cry.
“And you’ve already hurt Spencer so much.”
“I know,” I say again.
I’ve made foolish, in the moment, selfish decisions and now I’m going to have to face the fall out. There’s no one else to blame here other than me and I know that.
“But as your sister, I have to ask, are you okay?”
I cry harder. “No.”
If I thought I was confused years ago when I broke up with Spencer, it has nothing on how I feel now.
“Oh, Harlow,” she says softly. “I’m coming to stay with you.”
“What? You don’t have time for that. Don’t be silly.”
“You’re my sister. I’d do anything for you,” she reasons.
“I’ll be okay,” I assure her. I don’t know how true that statement is, but I don’t want my sister abandoning her studies.
I can tell I’m not doing much to assuage her, but she finally relents with, “If you change your mind, tell me, and I’ll be there as quick as I can.”
There’s a harsh knock on the door and it feels like all my blood drains from my body at the sound.
“I’ve gotta go,” I tell Willa quickly. “Love you, bye.”
The banging intensifies and I hurry to the door and swing it open.
I figure it can only be one person, and my suspicions are proven correct when I find a red-eyed Jameson on the other side of the door.
I’m surprised he didn’t use his key. He shocks me when he slams the open door out of my hand and shouts, “Where the fuck is he?”
He pushes past me, making for the bedroom. I quickly shut the door and run after him.
“He’s not here.”
He whips around and I jump back from the sudden movement.
“I’m going to fucking kill him,” he curses.
“I knew it, I always fucking knew he was trying to get you back. Imagine my surprise when I wake up to a news alert on my phone and it’s a picture of your ex having sex in his car with you.
” I flinch. He laughs harshly, pain and panic warring in his eyes.
“You’re not going to deny it?” He says it in a way that I think he wants me to deny it.
I shake my head and whisper, “No, it was me.”
His face contorts with pain, and I hate myself for being the one who put it there. I feel like all I do anymore is hate myself.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Jae.”
He shakes his head, looking away from me. The muscle in his jaw twitches, bottom lip wobbling, and I know he’s barely holding it together.
“Was this the first time?” he asks. “The only time?”
I close my eyes, because I don’t want to see that hope in his eyes dim. “No.”
A small whimper escapes me at my admission, and he holds back a cry of his own. “When? When did it start?”
“Last Monday.”
“Fuck!” He slams the side of his fist into the wall. “Fuck!” he screams again. “Why did you say yes?” He looks down at my hand. “Do you even want to marry me?”
My eyes burn with unshed tears. “I was taken by surprise. I was still wrapping my head around what happened with Spencer and how to tell you about it. I wasn’t expecting you to propose. After last night…” I shake my head. “I knew I couldn’t go through with this. I love you too much for that.”
A humorless laugh escapes him. “This is what you call love?”
I flinch. “I deserve that.”
“Yeah, you do, because clearly how much you love me didn’t factor in one time while you were fucking your ex.”
“I didn’t plan for this to happen.”
“Oh, Harlow,” he drawls sarcastically. “I’m ecstatic to hear that. That makes it all better.”
I scrub my hands over my face. “I’m not trying to make excuses. I’m owning what I’ve done, but I’m just saying that it wasn’t like I’d been plotting to do this or something.”
“I forgave you,” he says brokenly. “I forgave you for the kiss and then you do this.”
“I know and I’m so sorry.”
His chest shakes with uneven breaths. “I love you, but I can’t … I can’t do this. I can’t get past this.”
I nod in understanding. I didn’t expect him to. Frankly, I don’t want him to, because I don’t deserve his forgiveness. Even if he wanted to forgive, forget, and move on I can’t do that. Every time I would look at him, I would know what I’ve done.
I tug the diamond ring off my finger and hold it out to him.
He looks at it with such crippling pain, like with me handing it back every hope and dream he had for our future is disappearing right before his eyes.
“Keep it,” he says.
I shake my head and grab his hand, depositing the ring on his palm. “No. It wouldn’t be right. See if you can return it.”
He slides the ring in his pocket. Wiping a tear from his cheek, he asks me, “How did it end up like this? Things were so good.”
“I don’t know. I know that’s a horrible answer, but I don’t.”
“Is there something I could’ve done?”
It’s a stab to the heart to hear him ask that. “No. You were … you are an amazing man, Jameson. And I … you deserve better than me.”
“This is it, then?” he asks softly. “We’re just over?”
“Yeah.” I can barely swallow. “I guess so.”
We stand there in the hallway, and even though there’s not much space between us it feels like miles.
“I’ll …uh… grab my things.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I whisper. “You can get them any time.”
“No.” He rubs a hand over his jaw. “I’d rather just be done with it.”
I flinch again.
Done with it.
Done with me.
Can’t say I blame him.
“I’ll wait out here.” I point to the living room.
It doesn’t take him long to pack up his stuff in a backpack he keeps here, and I stand from the couch when he heads for the door after putting his key on the counter.
“I’m really sorry. I mean it.”
He looks back over his shoulder at me. “I’m sorry, too,” he sighs.
And then I watch my present, the man I believed was my future, become my past.