Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
Alex
june
I double-check the packages before signing. Looking at the delivery driver then back at the packages, I pass over his electronic signature pad.
“Em!” I yell over my shoulder into the house.
Following the sound of my voice, she and Delta round the corner.
“Wow!” she says excitedly.
“Were you expecting all this?” I ask.
She nods, smiling, then leans in for a quick kiss. She’s in a good mood. I’m practically hard from her kiss and smile alone. Not that I’ll let myself do anything about it… But I still can’t help admiring my wife’s ass as she stacks two boxes, one on top of the other, to carry inside.
“Stop, I’ll do that for you.” She shoots me a glare and I back off. I haven’t gotten used to her more recovered state.
She’s worked her ass off for two and a half months. 5:00 A.M. wake-ups for PT, hours of cognitive therapy, enough vegetables to feed a small country later, and she’s clawed her way back to her old self. Mostly. She’s gained an edge, but it’s one that I appreciate, honestly.
“Oh my god, they’re here!” Becks lets out a squeal I can hear from the entry. Picking up the last three boxes, I find them both in the dining room.
“What’s all this for?” Emma isn’t a package-a-day girl. She orders clothes when she needs them. And even then, most of the time, it’s Blanks telling her she needs something and then him getting it for her.
“It’s for next weekend,” she turns around, letting the box flaps fall shut. She bites her lip nervously.
“What’s next weekend?” I step forward, lifting a box flap, catching sight of garment bags. With designer labels? That’s not really Emma’s speed.
She clears her throat, and Becks steps out of the room.
“You might have noticed that I’ve been working really hard lately…” I nod because I’m not fucking blind. “I set a goal for myself.” She steels her spine, putting her shoulders back. “I’d like to go to the wedding next weekend.”
Whatever I was expecting, hoping for, maybe even just thought, whatever it was, it wasn’t that.
Her face falls with mine. I shake my head. “I told you I don’t want to go.” Her brows draw together.
“Then why did you keep the invitation hanging up for so long?” There’s that edge. That strength. Her brow furrows more, and she doesn’t wait for a response. “No, you said you probably wouldn’t go, not that you didn’t want to.” That she remembers?
I don’t have a good answer. Not one to tell her.
I kept it hanging because it was the last thing I had of her.
I kept it hanging as a reminder that she made her choice, and I made mine.
I kept it hanging because I’ve been preoccupied with my wife’s traumatic-fucking-brain-injury and hadn’t thought to take it down.
I’ve never really been mad at Emma. Until now.
I drop the box on the floor, and it falls with a loud crash, sending Blanks into the dining room to come to Emma’s rescue.
Emma gasps at my outburst.
“We’re not fucking going.” My words cut her. I can see it. Blanks sees it, and I immediately regret the harshness because I’m not mad at her. I’m mad at me.
“Don’t speak to her in that tone,” Blanks puts out a hand like I need restraining.
“Caleb, I’m fine,” Emma barks back at him. “I don’t need you to fight all my battles for me.” He looks at her, and she looks at him. I watch her eyes drop, confusion taking over. That still happens occasionally. When she gets worked up. It’s been far and few between lately, but I’ve pushed her.
I don’t care. My word is final on this.
“Caleb, please leave,” she commands him firmly. She’s become a worthy opponent. She isn’t going to cave easily.
When Blanks finally leaves, she starts in. “Tell me why you don’t want to go. Tell me, Alex.” It’s like she knows, even though she doesn’t. I could be convinced a hundred times a day she’s gotten her memory back and has just been fucking with me all along.
“I don’t need to defend my position. It’s inappropriate for us to go.”
“Why?” She’s pushing because she’s fuming, too. She crosses her arms, breathing hard until she suddenly turns contemplative.
“Oh…” she says, sounding crestfallen, “I thought you’d moved on. Sorry.” She pushes a stack of boxes out of the way and heads for the mudroom.
Fuck.
Jess isn’t something I think I’ll ever really move on from. There are days when I think about her less. Maybe even days when I don’t think about her at all. But still, it’ll always be there.
Or, more accurately, there would always be a part of me missing, like she took one of my appendages with her. Sure, life goes on, and I can still function without the appendage, but I wasn’t exactly whole either.
I would have to find Emma and talk to her eventually, but it wouldn’t be right now. I need to cool down, and I need to stop wanting to throw my fist into a fucking wall first.
I walk out the front door, avoiding wherever the hell she went on the opposite side of the house, and open the garage to my bike. A couple of hours on the road to clear my head is just what I need. Hopefully.
Emma
My hands tremble as I struggle to put on the sweatshirt I found in the mudroom. I don’t know whose it is, and I don’t care. When my hand gets stuck in the armhole, I curse, “Damnit.”
Telling Alex hadn’t gone exactly as I thought it might.
I imagined him smiling, telling me how proud of me he was for setting this goal and getting there.
I imagined after trying on all the stupid dresses for him, he would start seeing me as a fully functioning woman again.
Not just his charge. Because aside from a few kisses here and there, he hasn’t so much as touched me in a sexual way since before the accident.
Maybe hasn’t even looked at me in a sexual way, either. ..
I imagined a long flight, curled up against him, and leaving this place behind for a little bit. I imagined a lot of things, but none of them had come to fruition. Not even the scenes in my worst-case-scenario mental file.
There had been him being awkward as hell about it. There was the instance where I pictured him crying. I mean, I guess that’s a little far-fetched, and it would have been fucking terrible, but I think today was worse.
Whether he says so or not, it means a lot that he can’t do this. Sure, I knew he probably wouldn’t jump for joy, but I supposed — I’d hoped — he would think of me first. Not her.
But I know that’s not the case. I’ve known for some time.
My memory isn’t back, per se, but I can remember these feelings.
I can remember feeling gutted. I don’t know when, where, or why, but even just thinking about it, I can feel it all over again.
It’s the turning-in-your-stomach, ice-in-your-veins feeling.
It’s the “I feel like I’m dying” feeling.
It’s the “I’ll never be whole again” feeling.
He told me he wronged me, and I guess it doesn’t take a rocket scientist with three working brain cells, like me, to figure it out.
I’m panting when I make it to the cove. Feels like a record time. Five minutes max. I might have even run. Couldn’t tell you, though; my mind was too clouded with pain and rage.
I shake my hands out to my sides, trying to get the trembling to cease, but, “Ugh!” I shout, standing in the small landing area in front of the boulder.
I inhale and exhale. I think of all the calming exercises I’ve learned in therapy.
I try to think about happy thoughts. Puppies and flowers and sunshine.
But the thoughts are overwhelming. I feel trapped.
In this life. In this body. In these clothes.
The June sun feels like it’s baking me, burning me from the inside out.
Fuck this. I strip down to my underwear and climb the boulder.
Letting the cool mountain breeze blow my hair off my shoulders, I stretch my arms out and close my eyes.
Will the magic of this place still work without him?
I inhale the scent of the evergreens and the dry pine needles.
I smell the water that starts to take on an earthier quality in the warm months.
I breathe out the bad feelings. I breathe out the self-doubt and the jealousy.
And then all I’m left with is…acceptance.
I’m left with this moment. One I’ll never get back again. I would hate to waste it being angry.
I raise my hands up, bringing the tips of my fingers together, and I dive.
The crystalline water is frigid, shocking my system, but instead of fighting against it, I push deeper into the water. I kick and strain till I can almost reach the sandy bottom. I reach out a hand to grab a fistful of it when I’m pulled back.
I panic, fighting against the intrusion. I thrash. I push. I kick.
When my head finally crests the water, I have to gasp for air after expending the energy to fight.
“What the hell?” I shout at Caleb, who looks like he’s seen a ghost.
“I thought you were…”
“I was what??? Going for a fucking swim?” I shout.
He shakes his head. He actually looks scared.
“Oh god,” I sigh and swim closer to him. “No, it’s not like that at all. I was just hot, and I was trying to touch the bottom.”
He nods like he’s trying to calm down.
“I didn’t mean to scare you.” With both of us still treading, I lift a hand to wipe a bead of water away before it hits his eyes. Before I can pull away, though, he grabs my hand, surprising me. He holds it underwater, then threads our fingers together.
“Caleb?” My voice is slight.
“I’ve been waiting so long now, Em.” My throat burns. Confusion lines my features. There’s that feeling…
“I don’t know what you mean?” His fingers tighten against mine.
“Try.”
“Try what?” I ask back.
He looks stricken, and my gut turns, but my thighs also clamp together.
He starts pushing us to where we can both just barely touch the bottom while still keeping our heads above water. The gentle wake laps at my chin and the tops of his shoulders.
“I have to leave soon.” No.
“You said you wouldn’t leave,” I argue back.
“Come with me.” My stomach bottoms out. The trembling in my hands returns. “He still loves her, and if you could remember, you would know that. If you could remember—”
“I don’t need to remember, okay?” My voice shakes, undercutting my biting tone. “Trust me, I feel enough as it is. I don’t need to remember the details, too.” I try to pull my hand back, but he won’t let me.
“You do need to remember because the world doesn’t revolve around Alexander-fucking-Palomino, Em. You’re better than someone’s runner-up, alright.”
His eyes darken, boring into me. I want to wrap my legs around his torso. I want to hold onto him. Tight. I want whatever he’s selling.
The feelings I have for him rage beneath the surface, just barely containing themselves. I’m not sure it’s reciprocated, but then there’s the hand entwined with mine, the other hand at my hip pulling me closer, starting to make me feel otherwise.
I shake my head even as my body willingly moves nearer.
He’d taken off his shirt before jumping in the water, but his jeans are still on.
So reaching my other hand out, I use his belt loop to reel myself in and close the distance.
If I take one more step forward, I’ll be forced to tether myself to him or tread to stay afloat.
With his hand gripping me tightly, he pulls me in the last few inches, and like instinct, my legs come up, wrapping around him. His hand comes under my ass, and my chest goes flush against his.
Both of our breathing turns labored as his hand roams beneath the water. Learning the curves that have started returning to my body.
He releases our entwined fingers so he can run one hand up my back and the other around my thighs.
With one hand on his shoulder to keep me vertical, I run my fingers across his chiseled chest. I’ve never been like this with him.
He’s held me. I’ve curled up against him on the couch, but we’ve never touched each other before. Not like this. I haven’t been touched like this since…
“Emma!” Alex. My legs quickly retract from Caleb, and I push him away, putting space between us.
I panicked, and now he’s the one looking gutted.
“I’m sorry,” I mouth to him.
He doesn’t say anything back, just pushing a hand through his wet hair. It’s grown out, and the thick, dark locks come right back, dripping in his face. I want to take a step towards him.
I want…I want his hands back on me. But do I want that so badly just because Alex won’t? It’s wrong on every level. And I’m positive I just want what I can’t have. Or, more accurately, what won’t have me. My whole life has been wanting what isn’t mine.
I turn away from him and walk towards the shore, further from Caleb, further from the fantasy, and back to reality.
Back into Alex’s waiting arms. Arms that hug, and gently touch, but never more.
“We don’t have to go.” “We can go,” we both say at the same time. I would laugh if I wasn’t feeling like absolute shit.
Alex runs his hands up and down my arms, trying to warm me. The mountain air is still chilly in the shade in June, and a shiver racks my nearly naked body.
“I don’t know what I was thinking, sorry,” I apologize to him.
He runs a thumb over my lips, pulling my face upwards, “We’re going, okay?
” Sure, whatever, is what I want to say because I don’t care anymore.
I would go stand in front of his ex, play nice, and pretend to be happy and a devoted wife, all the while knowing Alex would be wishing this was his wedding instead.
I have nothing to say, so I walk around him, squeezing the water out of my hair and grabbing my clothes. I walk back to the house, alone and cold. And I mentally prepare for my trip to hell.