Chapter 14 #2
My breath sharpens, and a pang of panic zips through me at the memory. All I could think about the minute I left was how I needed to talk to Matt.
Matt, my fiancé… for today, anyway.
My gaze flicks to the ring on my finger, the diamond suddenly feeling heavier than before, like a weight pressing into the delicate bone beneath it.
My next breath is a struggle, short and constricted. Shit. This is not the time to panic. I bring my lips into an O-shape and inhale a deep rigid breath, forcing myself to calm down.
Twisting, I peer behind me, searching for Matt, like having him close might calm my nerves, even though he’s partly to blame for making them misfire.
Can I actually do this?
Can I marry Matt?
The fake engagement today? No problem. I can cling to Matt and pretend he’s mine for the day. I know how to do that. I would have been here and held his hand regardless. People would assume we’re together anyway. They always do.
I can go back to New York tomorrow morning a single woman and pretend none of this ever happened.
But marry him?
Move in?
Matt and I have never lived together. We almost did. Once. Ten years ago, on my birthday, when he wanted to play rock, paper, scissors and let fate decide.
I stare down at the diamond, lost in the thought.
Matt flashed a wicked grin, confident as hell he was going to win.
l brought my hands up, ready to play, and he did the same.
“Best out of three?” I asked.
He gave a sharp nod.
“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot,” we said in unison.
Movement pulls me from the memory as a couple takes a seat in front of me. The man wraps an arm around the woman’s shoulders, and she leans into him, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw.
My brow furrows.
Matt won that round of rock, paper, scissors.
But I never moved in.
We broke up a few weeks later, before I ever packed a single box.
Fitting. Matt’s never believed in fate anyway.
I used to. Back when I was young and naive and everything felt simpler.
Thank God I don’t anymore. Because sitting here, in this pew, with a ring on my finger after all these years?
Old me would have called this meant to be.
I scoff quietly to myself, and seconds later, Cole walks by with an older woman. This must be Cece.
“Cole,” I whisper sharply.
He cranes his neck as he passes, stopping when he sees me. His sad eyes go wide with surprise, then fill with moisture, and my God, it’s excruciating.
His chin quivers. “Is Matt here?”
Cece stiffens beside him, and her lips press into a tight, disapproving line.
I smile softly, my own eyes filling, threatening to fall if I so much as blink wrong.
“Yeah,” I say gently. “He is. He’s out front somewhere. He’ll be here soon.”
He looks up at his grandmother. “Can I sit by Matt?”
Her chest rises with a deep breath before she glances at me, her eyes dropping to the ring on my hand. She pauses, then says calmly, “You should be seated in the front.”
His shoulders sag.
“But,” she adds, “if you want to sit next to Matt, then why don’t we ask—” She looks at me and waits.
I startle. “I’m Jordan.”
I extend a hand, and she takes it, giving it a firm shake. “Cece,” she says. “Cole’s grandmother.”
She turns back to him. “Why don’t we see if Jordan and Matt would like to sit in the front with us.”
Cole doesn’t smile, but some of the ache etched in his face seems to disappear, erased by the comfort of knowing Matt will be by his side.
I’m already standing. “Sure. We’d love to sit by you.”
I follow them both to the front pew and take a seat, leaving a space between me and Cole.
Five minutes later, Matt fills it. His hand grips Cole’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze before falling to his lap. His other arm drapes around my shoulder.
He leaves it there, fingers softly brushing my skin, replacing the anxiety I felt earlier with something else. Something that carries the same nervous buzz, but somehow feels calming at the same time.
He leans into Cole, whispering something in his ear, and Cole smiles. He smiles. It’s small and barely noticeable, but still, a smile.
Matt’s lips press to my temple, warm and soft. My stomach bows, a tremor of heat shooting up into my chest. My fingers fidget in my lap. My gaze flicks from Matt, to Cole, to the casket right in front of me.
An overwhelming rush of emotion hits all at once. Confusion. Grief. Fear.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
Not yet. Not before the service even begins.
A few minutes later, the priest steps forward, standing front and center. He welcomes everyone and begins the service with a prayer.
Sometime between now and twenty minutes ago, Matt’s hand found mine, and now they’re both resting in my lap.
And honestly? It feels like the most natural thing in the world.
How can I love that so much and hate it at the same time?
The priest has been going on for a while now, delivering his sermon. It’s been nice. I’ve even gotten teary-eyed a few times, but it’s starting to drag.
I keep stealing glances at Matt. He’s restless, shifting every few minutes, letting out heavy breaths.
He hates this. Anything to do with church and Mass.
He grew up going every week with his mother. He was even an altar boy. It was something he always dreaded, but back then, he would have done anything to please her.
He stopped going around eighth grade, when he realized he’d rather be at Jensen’s, watching football with his family. It was a place he didn’t have to earn approval just for existing. Something every kid aches for.
“Nate now rests in the peace of the Lord…”
Matt leans in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “This is bullshit,” he mutters, voice barely there. “Nate didn’t even believe in an afterlife.”
There’s no anger in it. Just loyalty. Just… Matt being Matt.
There are so many things I could say to that. One of them being don’t say bullshit in the middle of Mass.
Instead, my lips curve into a soft smile, and I squeeze his hand, letting him know I hear him. That I understand.
Restless myself, I twist slightly, scanning the crowd. My gaze catches on Jensen’s.
God, he looks like he’d rather be eating rocks.
He nudges Alley, whispers something, then nods toward me. She follows his line of sight and smiles when she sees me, mouthing a hi, and giving a subtle wave.
I return it with a smile. I’m in the front row. I obviously can’t wave or mouth words, but I’m excited to see them afterward. It’s been way too damn long.
They were both at the wedding. But we all know how that turned out.
I didn’t get to see or speak to them. It’s probably been over a year since I have.
Another thirty long minutes pass, and by the time the priest blesses the casket and offers his closing remarks, there isn’t a dry eye in the room.
Matt stands, joining the other pallbearers as they gather around the casket.
My stomach clenches when I see his father step in beside him. Matt goes rigid.
I pray no one notices the look he burns into his father’s back.
Pure hatred.
Matt loathes him.
And he has every reason to.
I look back and spot Matt’s mother seated a few rows behind me.
I take her in, diamonds, designer everything, hair swept into a perfect chignon, not a strand out of place. She’s stupid beautiful for a woman in her early seventies, thanks to a very expensive surgeon, I’m sure.
She looks like money. Control. Power. Perfectly curated for public consumption.
I see her for who she truly is, buried beneath the Chanel and Cartier: weak, petty, selfish.
A fraud.
She plays the role well, though. Perfect marriage. Loving mother.
Sure, she loves Matt now. Now that he’s older. Now that he’s someone. Now that she can brag about him and all of his success.
I think I hate her more than him. At least his dad never pretended to be a good father. At least Matt knows exactly what he is.
She glances my way and our eyes meet, stone cold and full of nothing. I quickly look away. I won’t pretend anymore. She made my life a living hell for far too long.
I no longer have to impress her. Even if I am fake engaged to her son today.
It only makes me more excited to tell her. Show her my Cartier.
People slowly begin to rise, and I stand, following Cole as we all make our way out of the church.