by Nia Arthurs
No, don’t think about that.
That scent. I had to get it off me, but I couldn’t return to the bathroom. It was too nasty in there. I’d need to tie up the garbage and take it out, but I had no strength to walk, much less tramp all the way downstairs to the trash cans outside.
The garbage would have to wait. I’d throw open a window and hope the scent went away on its own.
First, I’d clean myself up.
My eyes wandered across the small apartment to the refrigerator buzzing ahead.
The kitchen.
Three steps and I was in. My hands extended to the faucet. Up and to the right. Water poured from the spout, releasing the tears I wouldn’t cry. The stream made a hissing sound as it hit the metal sink.
I washed my hands, my wrists, in between my fingers. I grabbed my shirt and slathered it in soap. With angry, rough movements, I washed the vomit off. Water splotched against my skin. I shivered. It was cold.
I scrubbed my shirt. Kept going until there was no need. Harsh tears pressed the back of my eyes, blurring my vision. If only I could scrub what I’d seen from my eyes, my heart.
More soap.
I reached for the dishwashing liquid and then froze.
What am I doing? Water couldn’t wash away the truth. Denial was a sweet comfort, but I was done pretending that everything was the same.
Life had thrown me another crisis, as if the past few months hadn’t been crazy enough. The only way to get over it was to go through it.
My hands stopped shaking.
I slammed the spout and the water stopped. Silence swiftly filled the room. I hadn’t realized how frightening the quiet could be until now. It wasn’t the lack of noise that got to me. It was what it represented.
I’m alone.
But I wasn’t completely. I had Harley and Angie. I had my mom and dad. I should call one of them. They’d rush here if I said the word.
I should…
Another wave of pain slammed into me. I bowled over. My fingernails struggled for purchase on the edge of the sink. I held on for dear life, clamping down until the wave of anxiety passed. Slowly, I straightened and staggered into the living room.
The air was stifling. I skirted the mess on the floor and wrestled with the window. It creaked and moaned, refusing to budge. I wasn’t the one who usually opened the windows, but things had changed. I was done relying on someone else to save me.
This pane would go up or I would die trying.
The springs screeched, protesting my urgency. I didn’t stop, didn’t give in until the window moved. Immediately, a harsh breeze hit my face. I collapsed against the glass, my forehead absorbing the coolness.
The window had only cranked up a few inches, but I still called that a victory.
White curtains fluttered. The moonlight lit a path on the floor. The broken shards turned into stars that rivaled the ones hanging in the dark, velvet sky. My gaze followed the scattered remains to the large picture frame wilted against the wall.
The photograph was of a happy, smiling couple. The girl had curly black hair, dark brown skin and a wide grin. She wore a white dress that fell just below her knees. It was flaring as if a gust of wind had risen the moment the photographer captured the picture.
The sparkle in her eyes matched her grin. She was twisted slightly, one arm linked with the boy at her side. He had pale skin, dark hair and a smile that was tinged with tenderness. A few moments before that picture was taken, he’d promised to love, cherish and honor her until death.
But those were just words.
And this was just a picture. One that had crashed in a fit of anger. The glass had splintered, leaving a mess on the floor.
I moved toward it, drawn by a strange force I couldn’t quite name or understand. My slippers crunched against the glass, crushing the shards beneath my feet and scattering them further. Some skittered beneath the ugly green sofa, some beneath the TV stand.
I wasn’t trying to be careful.
Nothing mattered here, in this darkness. Sharp glass? Blood? Cuts? Bruises? Whatever damage done to my body was like a mosquito bite compared to the gouges on my heart.
I stared at the girl in the photograph. Emotions swirled in my chest.
I hated her.
Loved her.
Wanted the best for her.
Wanted her to suffer.
I sank in front of the frame. Something white glinted beneath it. A piece of paper had been caught under the picture’s crushing weight. My knees creaked as I leaned forward. My fingers feathered the surface of the document.
Slowly, carefully, I pulled it out.
It was an empty form. Yet to be filled. My eyes caught on one word in the heading. ‘DIVORCE’. Slowly, I reached out and smoothed the paper. It crackled in the silence, bouncing slightly with every brush of my hand.
I stretched my arm and grabbed the pregnancy test that had found purchase on the other side of the living room in its own pile of glass. My fingers tightened on the end of it, the one with the small display. Its weight was heavy compared to the paper.
The pain in my chest started again. My ribs were being bent and reshaped like a piece of iron in a welding shop.
One rib.
Two ribs.
It kept going until all my ribs had been stretched taunt, leaving my heart exposed. In the quiet of the apartment I once shared with my husband, in the rubble of our love, I knew that there was only one path for me to take.
Only one.
Whichever I chose, the hurt in my heart would multiply and life would never be the same.
CHAPTER 1
A Few Months Earlier
Monique
THERE WAS something beautiful about being tangled up with someone. Legs over legs. Arms interlocked. Chests pressed together. It was a quiet intimacy that I treasured almost as much as having sex.
And I really, really loved to have sex.
I’d discovered a lot of things about myself since getting married, but that was probably the most surprising.
James pressed a kiss to my forehead. “You tired?”
I nuzzled closer to him, so close I could hear his heart beating—a deep, steady rhythm. It was a beautiful sound and I almost drifted off until I felt him nudging me away. “Babe?”
“Hm?”
He chuckled and his chest rumbled with the sound. “I guess that’s a yes.”
“I can’t believe summer’s almost over.”
“Me either. It went by faster than usual.”
I sighed. “They say time flies when you’re having fun.”
“Are you insinuating that married life is fun? Because… ”
I popped one eye open. “Are you saying it’s not? And be very careful how you answer.”
He smirked. “It’s more than fun. Anything I do with you is perfect, Monique Hughes.”
“Monique Sawyer.” I winked and then sat up, gathering the blankets to my chest. Even though James assured me over and over that my body—with all its flaws—was beautiful, my insecurities lingered. “I should make breakfast.”
James wrapped his strong arms around me and pulled me on top of his chest. “I’m not interested in food.”
“Down, boy. I haven’t eaten since last night.”
He kissed my neck, sending tingles down my spine. “Stay.”
I considered it but, in the end, my control-freak tendencies won out. “Tempting, but we’ve got school tomorrow and I have a lot to do to prepare.”
He tilted his head. “Like what?”
“Like packing my school bag. Choosing what to wear. Figuring out what I’ll say to Harley and Angie.”
“Oh right.” His brows slanted. “You haven’t told them yet.”
“Not about this, no.” I glanced at my wedding ring. It was a simple gold band. Nothing too fancy. But in my eyes, it was a treasure. James bought it with his own money and I knew how much he’d sacrificed to afford it.
“Harley will be pissed.”
&n
bsp; I flinched, imagining my best friend’s face when I told him the news. He’d spent the summer at his grandmother’s, but we hadn’t spoken since before school let out. I still remembered Harley’s anger when I told him I’d gotten back with James. I couldn’t imagine what he’d say if he found out I got married.
“You know what? Maybe I just won’t wear this ring to school.”
“Are you kidding?” James’s eyes widened. “I want the world to know you’re mine.”
“We don’t need rings to prove that we’re together.”
“Still.”
“Still what? Girls will go crazy if they find out you’re off the market for good. I’d rather not deal with that kind of drama.”
“Who cares about random girls? I don’t. You and I are all that matters.” His dark brown eyes narrowed. “I vote we wear them.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
I cocked my head to the side. “You don’t have a good argument, do you?”
“Nope. I just know what I want. Don’t need a reason.”
“How poetic.”
He kissed my cheek and let me go. “Enjoy packing your bag or whatever. I’ll just stay here and admire you from afar.”
I laughed and climbed out of bed. Gingerly, I wrapped the blanket around me and walked forward. My body lurched and I almost stumbled as my feet tripped on the cloth. I regained my balance and glared over my shoulder.
James held the other end of the sheet in his big hands, a mischievous smile flirting with his lips.
“What are you doing?”
“I changed my mind. Come back.” James tugged.
I laughed and dropped the blanket so I could move around freely. “You lose.”
James stared at me, admiration in his gaze. “Nope. I definitely win.”
I dressed quickly and laughed as James moaned in disappointment. Turning around, I shot him a scolding look. “If you’re hungry—for food—I’ll be in the kitchen.”
I sailed out the door and down the short corridor. Our apartment was a lot like the one I grew up in—cramped with questionable wallpaper and very few amenities.
Which was understandable. We weren’t exactly raking in the dough right now.
My parents tried to help where they could, but we were teenagers paying for our own living expenses. All we had were our minimum wage jobs and pure grit. Thankfully, the cupboards were filled with fine china and pots and pans—courtesy of Mom. Even if we ate simply, at least we ate in style.
When it came to the living room décor, I’d gone for a minimalist approach. It was a tactical decision. This place couldn’t fit a lot of furniture and we couldn’t afford big gear anyway, so it worked out.
The sofas were yard sale steals and the television was a gift from Natasha who allowed James to take everything from his bedroom as a wedding gift. His computer desk and guitars were squished into one corner while the dining room table filled the other.
I’d placed pictures of us all over the room in an attempt to hide the atrocious wallpaper. My favorite snapshot of our wedding day was placed in the largest frame. It was a candid—James was stealing a glance at me while I stared off-camera. I looked stunning and he looked like a man in love.
I blew the picture a kiss and grinned. Humming quietly, I opened the fridge and pulled out all the condiments. Then I grabbed the pack of bread from the cupboard and slathered one side with mustard.
Footsteps shuffled in the distance. A minute later, James appeared. His black hair was mussed and messy—from sleep and my exploring fingers. He wore loose jogging pants and no shirt. I let my eyes linger over his broad shoulders and lean, muscled torso.
I’d memorized every plane of his abs, every inch of his pale skin, every mole and every mark. I knew James Sawyer, experienced him in a way I’d never experienced anyone. And yet I still found more things to admire as he stood bathed in the late afternoon light.
His piercing eyes found mine. “What?”
“Nothing.”
He grunted as he poured a cup of water. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m trying to behave.”
“Sorry.” I tore my eyes away. “You want a sandwich?”
“Sure.”
I hurried to finish making lunch, my cheeks heating as it hit me. I was married to James Sawyer.
Insane.
I still couldn’t believe my parents had agreed to the marriage. The way Dad had bawled his eyes out at our wedding ceremony told me he would have jumped in and put a stop to it all if he had a chance. But he’d kept his peace and now it was too late.
In the eyes of God and the state, I was James’s wife.
I slid the sandwich over to him and got to work on my own. James waited for me to finish and then dug in. I munched slowly while he inhaled his sandwich and burped. “That was good. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
He rubbed his lower back and pulled out his cellphone.
“Is it still hurting?” I asked.
He glanced up and seemed to notice where his hand was. “No,” he said quickly. Too quickly.
“You’re lying.” I frowned. “Why’d you push yourself to work at that construction site anyway?”
“The pay was good and I needed to make more than what Pizza Joe’s was offering. Not that I didn’t miss their awesome hats.”
I laughed. “Yeah, those hats are embarrassing.” I took a sip of water and chuckled. “But it was worth it, right? At least you won me back.”
“I didn’t go to Pizza Joe’s to win you back. Ask Angie.”
“Like I believe you.” I rolled my eyes. It was fun to tease him. “You came to the pizza parlor looking like a lost puppy. Of course I’d fall for you again.”
He screwed his lips.
I laughed.
James shot up, grabbed my sandwich and stuffed it into his mouth. “Delicious.”
“Hey!” My jaw dropped. “That was mine!”
He arched an eyebrow in response.
“You could’ve just told me you wanted another one,” I mumbled, getting up to make myself a new sandwich.
“Sit.” James gestured. “I’ll make it.”
I turned my chair around and watched him work with the condiments I’d left out. “James?”
“Yeah.”
My gaze wandered to his instruments. “I haven’t seen you pick up the guitar in a while. Maybe… now that we’re going back to school, you might have some more time to play.”
“Probably not. I can’t take care of you on the peanuts managers pay me for a four hour set.”
I thought of how hard he had worked this summer. Bad Boy James Sawyer, whose father owned half the town, worked twelve-hour shifts and came home utterly exhausted every night.
Sometimes, he barely had any energy to kiss me before he rolled over and started snoring.
“Even if it doesn’t pay well, it’s your dream.”
He screwed the mayonnaise lid back on the jar and said calmly, “You’re my dream.”
“You say that like it’s true.”
“I say that because it is true.” His long-legged strides ate up the floor. He was beside me with the plated sandwich in two steps. “Before your dad gave me his blessing, he made me promise to take care of you. I told him I would and I meant it.”
“Still…”
“What? Am I less sexy in your eyes because I don’t play guitar anymore?”
“You’re always sexy in my eyes,” I said. “But I can’t help feeling guilty. You deserve to have a dream. Especially since you’re the one who helped me find mine.”
He tilted his head. “I did.”
“While I tutored you, I realized I love teaching people. I love seeing the light in their eyes when they get a question right. I love helping them reach their potential.”
“And that’s great. You can go out and be a teacher. I’m good. There’s nothing to feel bad about.”
“You’re so talented, James. When you sing, I get goosebumps. The wor
ld deserves to feel that, to hear that.”
“My dad and I didn’t agree on much but he was right when he said music was a dead-end career. I’m not staking both our lives on a dream as flimsy as that.”
“But—”
“Enough,” he said in a gentle, weary voice. “I’m gonna take a shower.”
I frowned and watched him disappear down the hall.
My stomach twisted into knots. I understood the burden of responsibility that James felt. It was the same pressure I put on myself when my dad was struggling with gambling. But I didn’t want him to struggle alone. We were in this together.
Pushing my plate away, I rose from the table and walked determinedly to his guitar. My fingers slipped around the neck and I tightened my grip as I carefully removed the instrument from the stand. It was heavier than I expected. I’d never held a guitar in my life.
Awkwardly, I waddled with the guitar in my arms and stepped into our bedroom.
James turned when he heard me. “Mon, I’m sorry for—” His brown eyes landed on the guitar. “Why do you have that?”
“James, my super hot hubby…” I strummed a bunch of strings that produced a sound close to a cat’s angry howl and croaked, “Oh how I love thee. Your voice is like honneeey!” Another strum. “Green leaves on a tree…”
James leaped forward and grabbed the guitar. “Okay, that’s enough. I don’t want our neighbors to call the cops.”
“Ouch. Was I that bad?”
He grinned.
“Look,” I wrapped my arms around his neck and stared deeply into his eyes, “Obviously, I can’t live your dream for you so out of the two of us, it has to be you.”
“I’ll think about it.” He gave me a kiss. “But please never do that again.”
I laughed. “You’ve got a deal.”
CHAPTER 2
James
“BABE, we’re gonna be late for school!” Monique yelled from the living room. “What are you doing?”
“I’m almost ready.” I ran my fingers through my hair and grabbed my bag from the corner. My footsteps thudded against the floor as I ran into the living room and faced my wife.
She gave me the stink eye. “This is why I tried to wake you up at six. You always take forever to get ready.”