Chapter 47
LOREN
Megalodon
Come by the house when you’re done!
I assume the woman who cornered Elliott is his mother since he is her carbon copy—minus the blonde hair.
If she’s anything like his dad, I have nothing to worry about.
When I bumped into Ernest Grant while trying to find my way through that maze of a house, I knew immediately who he was.
Elliott might look like his mother, but the dark hair and blue eyes came from his father.
It was like running into future Elliott, and let me tell you, the future looks bright.
Not for the first time, I wonder what the heck Elliott’s ex was thinking, giving him up. If anyone tried to take him from me, I’d cut them.
That’s right. I’m talking straight up shivving.
As long as that man wants me, I’m his, and he is all mine.
“That’s Elliott’s mom, right?” I whisper to August, not wanting everyone else here to realize I haven’t met Elliott’s parents yet. Not that I’m going to lie if asked; I just don’t see the point in broadcasting the fact that this relationship is brand new.
All I get is a nod of confirmation.
I guess any information I’m going to glean will have to be from the woman herself.
“Oh, shit.” August twists, burying his face in his beer. Whatever color was in his cheeks drains away completely.
I take a beat before glancing over my shoulder to where he was looking only a second ago. All I can see is a woman with glossy red hair in a pair of heels I’d kill to get my hands on. Literally, because there is no way I would ever be able to afford them otherwise.
“Don’t look!” he snaps, snatching my wrist and tugging me closer.
August has always seemed a little nuts, but this is weird, even for him. “What’s wrong?”
He darts a look over my shoulder, then curses again. “Alice is here.”
Alice? I know I’ve heard that name before but—
Holy shit.
“Alice, Alice? As in, Elliott’s ex-girlfriend Alice?”
August looks at me as if I’m the one who’s nuts. “Ex-girlfriend? You mean his ex-wife.”
Yeah, okay. This is one of August’s jokes. This guy really needs to give it a break. Elliott doesn’t have an ex-wife. He would’ve told me if he did.
Wouldn’t he?
From the way my boyfriend continues to chat casually with his mother, he clearly has yet to notice the newcomer.
As if Elliott knows I’m silently begging him for some sort of explanation, his head lifts, gaze catching mine.
At first, he smiles, but that smile quickly fades as his eyes shift to August. My companion tilts his chin toward the driveway.
I watch Elliot’s brow furrow. Then I watch him turn and his shoulders go stiff when he sees her.
Ex-girlfriend, ex-wife, there really shouldn’t be a difference because both are past tense, but there is a difference.
That woman shared not only his heart and his bed, but also his last freaking name.
What’s worse, she could be Rebecca’s twin. I bet she’s nice too, which makes me hate her even more. And here Elliott assured me Rebecca “wasn’t his type.” I knew he was lying, didn’t I? Clearly Rebecca is exactly his type.
He told me this family reunion was a casual affair, so why the heck does she look like she just glided off a runway? At least if I’d worn something with a heel, I wouldn’t feel so dowdy, standing here in my sundress like a child on Easter Sunday.
Elliott whips back around and starts for me.
I can’t talk to him in front of all these people.
This is his family, and I’m the outsider.
When I make a scene in front of them, they’ll never forgive me.
Because a scene is about to be made. I head off toward Elliott’s truck.
At least in the parking lot, we may be afforded some privacy.
These tears aren’t going to stay put for long.
“Loren, wait,” he calls.
Yeah, okay. Like I’m going to listen to him.
“Loren, please.”
Oh, look. There are those southern manners. Maybe his mother should’ve taught him about the importance of telling the freaking truth.
I can see the truck. It’s right there, parked up against a massive wall of rhododendrons.
Two more steps.
One more step.
I reach for the handle like a lifeline only to find it locked.
I’m going to breathe through this, swallow my tears, and drive away like the composed, mature woman I am. “Give me the keys, Elliott.”
His hand flies to his pocket, as if I’m about to dig around in there and find them myself. “No.”
“I would like to leave.”
“I didn’t know she was coming.”
That’s all well and good, and do you know what? I believe him. Mostly because, if he’d known, he probably wouldn’t have invited me. “Did you know she was your wife?”
His jaw begins to pulse. “Loren…”
What is that wince supposed to do? Make me feel bad for him? I don’t. “You know how important honesty is to me.”
His fingers rake through his hair, his searching eyes looking as lost as I feel. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would matter. We haven’t been together for four years.”
How do I even know if that’s true? “Then why is she here?”
“I don’t fucking know.”
Maybe. Maybe not.
“Tell me everything,” I say, giving him one more chance.
“You already know—”
“Everything.”
His hands fall to his sides, and he stuffs them into his pockets. “We grew up neighbors. Started dating in middle school. Got married our sophomore year of college.”
“Why did you break up—oh, wait. I’m sorry. I mean why did you get a divorce?” Hold on. “You are divorced, right?”
“Yes, we are divorced. And I already told you. She thought the grass was greener on the other side.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, really. We were together for so long, I guess she thought she’d missed out on living, on dating around and the whole rebellious phase.”
“That’s all?”
His jaw works.
“Elliott, please… I’m giving you one more chance to tell me the truth. All of it.”
“She was pregnant.”
My heart doesn’t just stop. It falls completely out of my chest. “You have a kid?”
His head shakes slowly. “We lost the baby.”
Holy shit.
Now the fact that he lives alone in a two-bedroom apartment makes complete sense. He had a wife and a baby on the way. After she left him, he never moved out. That isn’t just because of rent controls or whatever other crap he told me. That’s good old-fashioned grief.
Growing up in a funeral home, you see plenty of people holding onto whatever they can because moving on means having to let go.
Elliott still hasn’t let go.
If he had, he would’ve told me about his ex-wife.
His throat bobs with each rapid swallow. “When we…when it happened, it was like she realized she never got to live, that she never got to experience dating or going out or just being single.”
Too bad I hadn’t met her back then. I could’ve told her that being single sucks.
Then again, if I’d done that, maybe she and Elliott never would’ve broken up, and he and I might never have met.
It’s all shit, isn’t it?
That he and his wife had to suffer such a tragedy. That their relationship didn’t last. Everything about his story sucks. “I’m sorry that happened to you. I can’t imagine how difficult that must’ve been. But you should’ve told me. I deserved that much.”
His head falls, and he nudges a leaf with the toe of his shoe. “I know. Fuck. I’m so sorry.”
I can’t say it’s fine because it’s not. I thought our relationship had been built on trust and honesty.
Instead, it’s been built on a foundation of lies.
Why didn’t he just tell me the truth? Does he not trust me?
Am I just someone to fill the gap she left behind?
Now that she’s back, is he going to want to be with her instead?
They have years of history together. Why wouldn’t he?
I just…
I need a moment to think without him staring at me.
I hold out my hand. “I would like your keys, please.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to leave.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I do.”
His keys jangle as he withdraws them from his pocket. “Let me drive you.”
I don’t want him to drive me. Right now, I don’t want him near me.
“I’d like to be alone. Besides, you have lifeguard duty, remember?
” At least that will give me some time to sort my shit out, because standing this close to him, seeing the remorse in his eyes, makes it impossible to think straight.
“I assume you can get a ride to the apartment?”
He drops the keys into my palm with a sorrowful nod. “I’m sorry, Loren.”
“I know you are.” But that doesn’t make the lie hurt any less.