Now #3
“You always do during the third quarter of a race.”
“I know. I’ve been working on it.”
This time, when I notice his lengthy exhale, I ask, “Are you smoking?”
“I call it my victory cigarette. It’s a new tradition.”
“Those will kill you, you know.”
He lets out a chuckle full of self-deprecation. “I’ll probably crash and burn before my lungs can catch up, but thank you for the concern.”
In the past, I would have asked him not to say such things because they hurt me more than he knows. But it’s not my place anymore, so I bite my tongue and hold back from saying anything.
“I guess I could quit again,” he says after a moment. “I always preferred our old victory tradition, anyway. You in?”
I stare at the dinner table ahead of me, refusing to indulge in his teasing. We used to celebrate in a very naked, very intense manner whenever he won a race—big or small. But the greater the win, the better it was.
“When are you signing the papers?” I ask, reminding him he has no right to say such things to me.
“I gave you my price, Evie.”
“You were serious about that? You really want to meet Nathan?”
“Of course I’m serious. You’re my wife. I can’t hand you off to a perfect stranger.”
“Hand me off?” I repeat, stunned. “I’m not your property, Jax. You can’t ‘hand me off’ to anyone.”
“It was a figure of speech. Calm down, princess.”
Again, I bite down on my tongue. Hard. “What if I don’t want you to meet my fiancé?”
“Then you can take this to court.”
“Seriously? You’d rather go through all that than just sign the papers?”
“Yeah. I need to see who you’re replacing me with.”
“I’m not replacing you. Our story ended a long time ago, Jax. This has nothing to do with you. With us.”
“And yet, I’m right in the middle of it, aren’t I?”
I want to deny it, but he isn’t wrong. He is at the center of all this mess, and as long as I haven’t divorced him, I can’t marry Nathan.
“Is there anything else that I can do or say that will make you sign those papers, Jax?”
A long time passes as he thinks about it, long enough to take two drags off his cigarette, then he says, “You wouldn’t like that price either, Evangeline.”
Something in the way he says it tells me exactly what he has in mind. Sex. One last time. He’s right. I’m not okay with that either.
Resigned, I let out a sigh. “Okay.”
He sounds confused as he replies, “Wait, are you saying you’ll—”
“You can meet Nathan. I’ll let you set it up because your schedule is way busier than ours. But we’ll have dinner with you. And before we leave, before that dinner is over, you will sign the papers, Jackson.”
“I will. I promise.”
We stay like this for a moment, not talking. Together, but apart. He’s on the other side of the world, but I can hear him breathing in my ear, each deep inhalation of smoke, each slow release.
I don’t hang up, don’t say goodbye, because a part of me wonders how long he’s willing to stay like this. He likely has some plans with his team to celebrate the win. The sun will set soon on Melbourne, and they’ll probably go out to some beach club and party until it rises again.
At least it’s the way it used to be when I was a part of his world.
When he shows no sign of being done with this, I decide to be the reasonable one. It’s the middle of the night here, and while I don’t have to wake up in five hours like Nathan, I still like having my beauty sleep.
“I need to go to bed,” I decide. “Take care, Jax.”
“See you soon, Evie.”
I hang up, then stay for a few moments right where I am. This is almost over. Jax will meet Nathan, he’ll sign the divorce papers, then all of this will be behind me. Far in the past, where it belongs.
Nathan is still awake when I return to the bedroom, still looking at his phone.
“No water?” he wonders when he sees me empty-handed.
“Oh, crap! Sorry, I got into some stuff and forgot. I’ll be right back.”
This time, I take no emotional detour through memory lane and fill up two glasses before heading back upstairs. I set them on each nightstand, then join my fiancé under the covers.
Nathan dismisses his phone and lowers onto the mattress to welcome me as I plaster my front to his side.
He looks at me with his gentle blue eyes, then his hand comes to graze my temple and soothe back my hair. “I wish I didn’t have to wake up in five hours. I really want to make love to you right now,” he confesses.
His confession makes me smile. “When you come back,” I offer as a compromise.
“Deal. Will you come to my place, or …”
“I don’t mind either way. Let me know what you prefer.”
“Will do.”
He leans in for a soft, long kiss, then twists away enough to turn his light off. When he returns to me, we settle into each other, finding a comfortable position for the night.
“Good night, honey,” he whispers in the dark.
“Good night.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too, honey.”
But when I let myself slip into a peaceful slumber, it’s not Nathan’s cerulean gaze that populates my dreams. No, it’s a pair of mismatched irises, one blue, one brown.
I’ll wrestle with my conscience in the morning. Right now, I’m too tired to fight it.