CHAPTER TEN
Thatcher
I walked down Peachtree Street with Madison’s hand in mine, enjoying the cool fall air. I loved fall. It was the only season in the South that didn’t include too much pollen and was a comfortable temperature outside.
It was a perfect night.
My smile faded as I remembered walking away from Carrie at the work session for the Orchid Ball. I was a shitty husband. I dropped Madison’s hand like it was a hot potato.
“So, it’s going to be good to see the old gang again,” I said.
The text I’d gotten while working on the Orchid Ball décor was from Ashcroft, and old pal of mine and Madison’s from our days as undergrads at Emory University.
He’d gotten a few of our friends together and wanted us to meet him at Blue, a trendy bar and restaurant in Buckhead.
Mads smoothed down her extremely short, extremely low-cut cocktail dress. “I hope I look good enough,” she muttered.
She never had low confidence. “You’re breathtaking,” I assured her, honestly.
She smiled up at me. “Thanks. You’re sweet. It’s just… people judge. And, well, these people can be the judgiest.”
Memories came flooding back of our group of friends.
They were fun, but they were also brutal and vicious when it came to anyone who didn’t fit their standards.
They made sure other students were harshly excluded if they weren’t socially elite, which was code for born with super rich parents, grandparents, and probably great-grandparents.
In other words, ‘old money.’ The familiar pang of discomfort I’d felt around them back then returned, and I was a little less pleased to see our old friends.
It wasn’t that my family wasn’t old money. We were some of Atlanta’s oldest money.
But I hated excluding people based on stupid things they couldn’t control. I’d been born rich. How did that make me better than someone whose family recently became wealthy or someone born poor? It didn’t make me better. It just made me lucky.
Mads and I walked into Blue and looked around for Ashcroft and whoever else had come out with him tonight. He was seated at a large round table with eight chairs around it. Six of them were filled with people I’d lost touch with years ago. Two were empty for Mads and me.
I grinned and walked over when Ashcroft waved to me.
Everyone turned their heads and greeted us warmly.
I pulled Mads’ chair out for her, then my own chair and sat down.
“It’s great to see all of you,” I said, meaning it.
I pushed the bad memories aside. These people had been my best friends when Madison and I were together.
In fact, I realized that all of them had been members of the wedding party all those years ago before Mads had broken the engagement…
and my heart. I glanced at her. We hadn’t talked much about that.
I wondered if she would ever explain the real reason why she had to cancel the wedding.
She could have easily married me and then gone to Paris. I would have gone with her.
I hadn’t pushed her to talk about it yet, mainly because I was afraid of what she might say. Or that she would leave me again.
I pushed aside the thoughts and focused on my old friends. The group talked and laughed for an hour or so over drinks. When it was time to order, I turned to Madison. “What would you like?”
The table got quiet, and I frowned when I saw all of them staring at us. I didn’t understand their hesitancy.
“Sorry, Thatch. It’s just strange seeing the two of you being so cozy. You pulled out her chair, you’re checking on her order… we thought you were married to some other girl. We didn’t realize you and Mads were back together.”
I cleared my throat, my face flushing. “I am married. Mads and I are just…”
“Working on our relationship,” she said as she grabbed my hand and covered it with hers where everyone could see it.
I stared at her but didn’t say anything.
Was that what we were doing? We hadn’t really defined it.
In truth, I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.
My mind was all over the place. One minute I wanted to work on my marriage and stay with Carrie, and the other all I could think about was Madison. I was a fucking mess.
Her comment threw me off for a while, but soon we had ordered, the food arrived, and they spent time catching me up on what everyone had been doing since I’d lost touch.
No one brought up the reason that I’d lost touch was that they were all both my and Madison’s friends. I hadn’t wanted to make them choose. In fact, I hadn’t wanted to see anyone who would remind me of her after she broke the engagement.
Everyone was gracious enough not to bring up the reason I hadn’t seen any of them in years. Especially since the reason was sitting right next to me.
“And what have you been up to, Thatch?” one of my friends asked. Everyone fell silent in a way they hadn’t since we’d arrived together. It was clear they wanted a run-down of my personal life.
I cleared my throat. “Oh, I’m boring,” I chuckled.
“Hardly,” my friend Ashcroft said. “We know you took over as CEO after your father passed away. I was sorry to hear about your dad, by the way.”
Everyone else murmured condolences as well. I’d seen their names on floral sprays at the funeral and had my assistant send out thank you notes on my behalf.
“Thanks,” I nodded. “It was difficult right after it happened, but I’m starting to adapt to the new role.”
“And we heard you married a girl who’s not from Atlanta,” Elle Bancroft said. “I take it you’re… not divorced?”
“That’s right,” I nodded, uncomfortable.
I didn’t want to go into details about Carrie.
It wasn’t that I was ashamed of her exactly, but they’d all told me what their wives or husbands did.
Everyone was impressive. There were lawyers, doctors, politicians, real estate moguls, businessmen or women—no one was like Carrie.
“What does she do?” someone asked.
I took a long sip of my whiskey. “She doesn’t work right now.
She’s on several committees around town.
She’s been picked to chair an event that’s coming up soon, too.
” It occurred to me that I wasn’t sure if the Orchid Ball was tomorrow night or Saturday night.
I made a mental note to check with Carrie.
People murmured politely, but it was clear they were underwhelmed by my wife.
“And where is it you’re living?”
“Indigo Falls,” I said, hating that I felt embarrassed. “It’s a small town about thirty minutes from here.”
They nodded and conversation seemed to lag. Their smiles seemed forced, and I wondered if they were holding themselves back from being brutally honest because they’d matured and hid things better, or because I was an old friend they didn’t want to hurt.
Madison leaned forward. “Isn’t she a teacher?”
I sat up straighter. “She’s educated to be a teacher. She hasn’t used the degree yet, though.”
Ashcroft perked up. “A professor? Where does she want to work whenever she decides to use her degrees? Emory, perhaps?”
Madison laughed. “No, not that kind of teacher. She could teach middle or high school. Isn’t that right, Thatch?”
The smiles fell off everyone’s faces, and I saw Madison exchange snarky looks with a couple of the women.
“Yes,” I said, a muscle in my jaw flexing. I didn’t like everyone thinking badly of Carrie. Including me. “If she decides to work, she’ll teach history at the local high school.”
Everyone stared at me as if I’d said she was going to become a stripper or an off-grid chicken farmer. People in our social group were not schoolteachers.
“That’s… interesting,” someone said.
“What do you do in Indigo Falls for fun?” Ashcroft asked. “Is it a place we’d like to check out?”
Oh my God, no. I couldn’t imagine any of them in Indigo Falls. They’d look down on everyone and everything as if they were walking around a third world country. “I don’t think…”
Madison’s laughter cut me off. I didn’t appreciate her laughing about first Carrie’s job and now the town I lived in. “I can’t imagine it would be. Thatch,” she ran her hand over my arm possessively and didn’t move it after she finished talking, “tell them what you did in the river.”
Jesus. I didn’t want to tell them that. “No, that’s not necessary. Ashcroft, what did you say your wife did?”
“Fuck, I’m not married,” he grinned. “Not ready to settle down yet. But I have to know now. What exactly did you do in the river?”
If Madison hadn’t been there to call me out on it, I think I would’ve lied.
Why the hell had I told her? I could’ve said we’d worked to clean up the river for an environmental group or something.
Not that I was sure these people would be any more impressed by that.
Menial labor wasn’t exactly in their wheelhouse.
“My wife and I went tubing down the Indigo River with a group of friends.”
Everyone stared at me again, and no one moved for what felt like five full minutes.
“What is ‘tubing?’” Ingrid Reeves asked, looking horrified.
“You sit inside an inflated tube and let the current carry you down the river. It’s actually pretty fun.”
No one looked like they believed me.
“I think we need to all go out more often. It seems we need to save Thatcher from being too far removed from his roots,” Ashcroft said, curling his lip into a sneer at my life choices.
“No wonder your mother is upset about that girl you married. Could she not have at least moved to Atlanta?” Ingrid asked.
I was tired of talking about myself. And since when did Ingrid talk to my mother?