Now #2
Inches from her face, I take her in. She’s barely changed.
The same perked-up nose, the same lush lips that used to wake me in the middle of the night for more sex, the same eyes that often begged me to take her harder, the same thick lashes that would get soaked with tears of pleasure as I forced orgasm upon orgasm on her.
Her cheeks are pink, lips parted with a slightly ragged breath, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s thinking about the same thing.
About me lifting her up against that steel door and driving into her, fucking her until she’s forgotten any idea of divorce, until we’ve made up for those seven years apart.
The things I’d give to be inside her one more time. One last time …
Although I was hers, Evie wasn’t my first sexual partner.
But it’s with her that I discovered sex—truly discovered it.
Together, we explored the complexities of the human body.
We learned what felt good and what felt best. We taught each other so much, I’d say we forged one another’s preferences and needs.
Then she stole it all, leaving me to chase that high with others, never quite finding it.
I could fuck a million women, and it still wouldn’t be as good as it used to be with her. Or at least the memory of it. But maybe I’m wrong, maybe my melancholic mind is blowing it all out of proportion, and sex with her was never as great as my memories make it out to be.
Let’s try it, I think to myself. Let’s fuck her and see if I remember it wrong. I’ve been going mad for years, finding intercourse lacking, unsatisfactory. Maybe this is exactly what I need to exorcise the ghost of her and appreciate sex with others again.
Though I’d want to put my actions on account of the whiskey, I know it hasn’t gone to my head yet when I lower my lips to hers. This is me, not the booze, dying for a taste.
Before I can kiss her, though, she twists her face away with a shocked gasp. I remain frozen in place, my breath fanning across the tempting slope of her neck instead.
“Jax, I’m—” she starts before swallowing hard. “I’m not here for that. Please.”
When her trembling hands push against my chest to set some distance between us, I comply and take two steps back. Seven years apart, and it took less than five minutes for me to break. And she wasn’t even trying.
Angry at myself and my weakness, I take a drag of my cigarette and walk back to the tray of liquors to pour myself another whiskey.
She sighs, then steps forward, entering deeper into the penthouse. “Listen, Jackson … It was a long time ago, we were very young. Too young, honestly. And we went through so much together. But it had to end. We were miserable, and it was better that way.”
“I wasn’t miserable,” I counter with honesty. “It was hard. Rough, even. But as long as I had you, I could have handled anything.”
“Well, I was miserable. That’s why I left, and that’s why now, I’m asking you to sign those papers and finally repair a mistake we should have never made.”
She throws the heavy brown envelope she was holding onto the glass coffee table between us. I glare at it as if it contains the bubonic plague itself, then say, “It wasn’t a mistake.”
“What?”
“Marrying you wasn’t a mistake, Evie. And I won’t let you pretend it was.”
She raises a dubious eyebrow and crosses her arms. “Right. I was nineteen, you were twenty, and we were married by an Elvis Presley impersonator in a crappy little chapel in Las Vegas. How was that not a mistake, Jackson?”
I sit down on an armchair. “Did it feel like a mistake that night, after that fake Elvis married us?”
I can see the way her face warms up at the reminder of our wedding night, and then she scowls at me disapprovingly.
When a clump of ash falls on my thigh, I place the glass in my other hand, holding it along with the cigarette, and swat it away.
When I look up again, she’s also sat down, her back rigidly straight.
“Did it feel like a mistake during the weeks, months, years that followed?” I ask next, expecting a reply this time.
“It didn’t,” she admits.
“Then when did it start feeling like a mistake, Evangeline? Help me understand.”
“I’d say at around twenty-five, when my frontal lobe fully developed and it all clicked.”
She answers my darkened glare with one of her own.
“Why now?” I ask after downing half of my whiskey.
“I … I met someone.”
“And you want to marry him?”
Her gaze shifts to the windows beside us when she says, “Yes.”
“Are you engaged?”
She nods once.
“Why don’t you have a ring?”
“I do. It’s in my bag.”
“Show me.”
She only hesitates for a couple of seconds before shuffling in her bag to take out a small velvet box. From it, she retrieves her engagement ring and brings it forward over the table between us. I lean in to look at it, unimpressed by the size of the diamond sitting on a boring band of gold.
“I take it he makes minimum wage,” I say as I retreat back into the armchair.
“He makes enough,” she defends herself before sliding it on her finger—the one where I once slipped a ring that looked even cheaper than this one.
“Why weren’t you wearing it earlier?”
“I didn’t want to wear it in case …”
“In case what?”
She meets my gaze again, a little more determined than before. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
A cynical laugh rips out of me. “A little late for that, don’t you think?”
“I was hurting, too, Jax. I was hurting, I didn’t know what to do about it, and I needed time to figure it out.”
“And you’ve had it. You’ve had …” I look at my watch, pretending to do the math, “… seven years and three months of it.” I don’t even try to hold back the resentment in my tone.
She easily catches it and replies with an almost snarky, “Don’t act like you tried that hard to win me back. If it was that much of a heartbreak, you would have come for me.”
Her answer angers me to an unreasonable amount. Is she genuinely putting the blame on me?
“You changed your phone number, Evangeline. I went back to Colorado. I fucking looked for you, but no one knew where you were, or no one wanted to tell me, at least. I genuinely fucking tried, but you made it impossible.”
She has nothing to answer to that, apparently, so instead, she stands from her seat. “Sign the papers, Jackson, so we can put the past behind us.”
“What if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll take you to court. And if you really like to keep your personal life private, trust me, you don’t want that.”
Touché …
I glare at the envelope again, frowning at it. “I’ll read it,” I decide. “But can you tell me what’s in there? How much do you want from me?”
Oh, she doesn’t like the insinuation. Not one bit. Her eyes are practically throwing daggers when she answers, “Nothing.”
“Hm … We never signed a prenup. You could ask for half of everything I have, and trust me, it’s a lot more than we ever dreamed of.”
“I’m not after your money, Jax. I’ve never been after that, and you know it.”
“And yet, money was a big point of contention, wasn’t it?”
“It’s not a problem for me anymore. Crazy how that happens when one doesn’t have to sink every cent into someone’s racing career …”
I almost smile but hold back. “Still, you should think it over. I do owe you some of my success, so it makes sense for you to get your share of it. You could even buy yourself a better engagement ring.”
She lets out a shocked chuckle. “You know, I’ve heard rumors about you being the most hated driver in the Formula world, the black sheep.
They say you’re an a-hole, a d-head. But I thought they were wrong because I know you, and you were the sweetest boy I’d ever met.
But I guess they were right, and I don’t know you anymore, Jackson. ”
“I guess you don’t, no. It’s been seven years, after all …”
For the first time since our reunion, she seems … hurt. As if the thought of not knowing me anymore is too much to bear. Or maybe it’s seeing that the boy she once loved is gone. He died the day she left, replaced by a cynical daredevil who drives like he has nothing to lose.
Because I don’t. I haven’t for a while now.
Neither of us says anything as she walks back to the elevator. I don’t even get up, watching her from afar as she waits for it to arrive. Once it does, she gives me a last look over her shoulder.
“Take care of yourself, Jax,” she says before stepping in.
Our eyes remain locked until the doors close, plunging me back into silent solitude.
The day I received the divorce papers, months ago, I decided I wouldn’t answer until she asked in person. So, I knew I’d see her again. I’ve been preparing myself for it for months. Hell, I’ve been hoping to see her for years. Still, I wasn’t ready for it.
I don’t think anything could have prepared me for the day I’d see my wife again.
But all things considered, I’d say I handled it rather well. I was only a little bit of an “a-hole.”
Can’t believe she still doesn’t curse …