by Elias Taylor
Just as Natalie managed to put aside her thoughts and start focusing on her computer again, headlights flashed across her window. Her head snapped up just in time to see Brent’s car pull into his driveway.
Are you kidding me? He was gone this entire time? Natalie could have actually turned on lights in her house for a few hours.
Or you could have just turned them on anyway, the logical part of her brain told her. If Brent asked, you could have said things didn’t work out with your mom.
But I don’t want Brent to ask me anything, her emotional side protested. I never want to talk to him again.
As usual when it came to Brent, Natalie’s emotions won out over logic and her bedroom light remained off. If Brent came over right now, Natalie would probably lock herself into the bathroom until he left. An overreaction, maybe, but Natalie had never wanted to see another human being less.
Speaking of the devil... Natalie’s phone lit up with a call, and, of course, it was Brent. She just stared at it and counted the seconds until the screen went dark, then tossed the phone onto her bed so she couldn’t see it anymore.
She shouldn’t feel this way. She shouldn’t be so torn up about this. Natalie had never wanted to be in a relationship, let alone get married. The Road Warriors, her Valkyrie and her plans for starting her own shop—those were supposed to keep her content, happy and free to have fun without the pressure of commitment to another person.
She got caught up in the romance of it all, that was it. After limiting herself to one-night stands and flings for so long, a relationship had been new and exciting and set off clouds of butterflies in her stomach.
Out of the corner of her slightly-teary eyes, Natalie realized that there was another light in the room—the constant, single spot of green light from the printer on its little glass-topped desk.
After their visit to Vegas to talk to the judge, Natalie had told Brent that the printer was out of paper. That had been true up until a couple days ago when Natalie had decided she wanted to print some of her business plan. Now, there was lots of paper in the tray.
The porch light next door flicked off.
Suddenly, Natalie didn’t care if Brent saw the lights on in her house anymore. She turned on her bedroom light, dropped into her office chair and subjected her computer to a frenzy of clicking until she found the right document on the website the Vegas judge had given them.
The printer hummed to life, beeping and whirring as it cheerfully went about its job. One, two, three and then four pages slid into the finished tray. Natalie didn’t wait and snatched them before the ink dried.
The next few minutes were a flurry of red, itchy eyes darting back and forth across lines of text and pen scratching on paper, entering personal information. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she noticed that her usually-neat handwriting was more of a hasty scrawl.
It’s legible, Natalie decided when she sat back to review her handiwork. That’s all that matters. She even knew enough about Brent to fill most of the blanks reserved for him.
Then, Natalie turned to the last page—the one that required her final signature.
Her abrupt burst of energy drained from her body. Her hand hovered above the paper, poised and ready but incapable of movement. No matter how much strength she put into lowering her wrist, nothing happened. Her own body fought back, refusing to let her touch the point of the pen to the paper.
Maybe she forgot something. Maybe her mind was subconsciously telling her that she missed a line somewhere.
Natalie flipped back to the first page. She read and reread it until she could probably recite every line from memory, then went to the next page to do the same.
Then she reached the last page again. The blank line for her signature was the only one left for her to fill—she was sure of that now—but that didn’t make it easier to sign.
After minutes of struggling, Natalie only managed to make a single tiny black dot on the line. Finally, she just closed her eyes, blotting everything out and scribbling her signature on the page.
There. Done. This was for the best. Everything about this relationship had been a mistake from the beginning, and after what Natalie heard yesterday, she knew how Brent felt. Signing the divorce papers was the only way to move on with her life.
In a day or two when she felt ready, she would take these papers next door, confront Brent and start the process of getting over this. Tonight, she just wanted to sulk miserably in the dark, wallowing in her regrets and nursing her broken heart.
Chapter Twenty: Brent
Brent’s chat about Natalie over beers with Gideon had given him a lot of insight into parts of her life and her actions Brent hadn’t understood before. However, nothing Gideon told him helped Brent understand why Natalie had completely and totally refused to answer any of his calls since she told him she was spending the night at her mom’s house two days ago.
After the first day of unanswered calls and messages, Brent had gone next door after work to snoop. The garage door was closed, the front door was locked and the house showed no sign of inhabitants, but when Brent stood on his tiptoes and used every inch of his 6’2” height to peer through the row of windows along the top of the garage door, he saw both her car and her bike. She couldn’t be gone, right?
Thinking that had to be the case, Brent had knocked on the front door.
No answer, and one of the other neighbors looked at him oddly.
Realizing what that must have looked like, Brent waved in an attempt to look innocent and went back home. Unsatisfied, he spent the rest of the afternoon sitting on the armchair next to one of his living room windows, sipping beer and watching the road.
Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zip. Not a single bit of activity happened next door. No cars came or went, no curtains so much as rustled and no lights turned on when dusk faded to darkness. There was no way Natalie was home.
Now, it was the next day—a Saturday—and Brent still hadn’t seen Natalie. He heard the Valkyrie once, early in the morning. He didn’t actually see it, but he didn’t have to. The bike had a sound as distinctive as Natalie herself, and he couldn’t mistake either of them for anything else.
Brent knew something was wrong, but beyond that he was stumped. They had done so much normal-relationship stuff together, and Natalie had seemed fine with it. All the times they met for a meal, went out on a date, kissed, touched and had sex—none of those had triggered anything like this in Natalie.
So what was different this time? Brent thought back to the evening she had faked sick. They ate dinner together almost every day, so that wasn’t unusual. He hadn’t dropped to one knee and professed his undying love for her or said anything else that might have freaked her out. He had done absolutely nothing out of the ordinary that day or the days leading up to it.
Women. Brent tried to hush the harsh, negative voice in the back of his mind, but it always broke through when he had nothing to do but sit in his house and think about Natalie. He had really, truly believed Natalie was unlike any woman he had ever met before. She made him feel like the luckiest man alive every second they spent together, and those little sparks of doubt and waving red flags that he had brushed aside when he was still dating his ex had never even made an appearance when it came to Natalie.
Could Brent have been wrong about her? He had put his whole heart into believing this woman was different from the rest—different from the ones who had hurt him. To think he could be that wrong frightened him. He had been afraid to trust women ever since his ex betrayed him, but he had never thought to fear trusting himself.
Brent’s frustration grew and he stalked to the laundry-room door to do some pull-ups. Why couldn’t she just call him back so they could figure this out? Leaving him in the dark was a dick move.
Gideon had told Brent to give Natalie space, but Brent was starting to wonder if a better solution might be sitting on her front porch steps until she either showed up or left the house. He had made a run to the store earlier, so s
he could have come home while he was gone and be inside right now. The idea that she was so close yet refused to talk to him was driving him crazy.
Crazy enough to sit outside her house and wait for her? Not yet, Brent decided. Cleary he had done something or something had happened, and effectively setting siege to her house would just make things worse.
He would have to wait. Brent hated waiting.
Today was only supposed to be legs day, but Brent turned it into a full-body workout with a five-mile run. He only added the run because he hoped he might see Natalie and find a chance to talk to her, but that didn’t happen and Brent peeled off his sweat-soaked clothes when he got home to jump in the shower.
None of the food in his kitchen looked good when Brent emerged from the bathroom, his hair still damp, in search of sustenance. After that grocery run, he had plenty of food—he just didn’t think he could enjoy any of it alone.
It took Brent about half an hour, but he finally settled on microwaved leftovers. He tossed a tupperware into the machine, set it for two minutes and left it to do its thing.
With thirty seconds left on the clock, three loud, formal knocks sounded on his front door.
Brent’s heart jumped, only to sink again. Natalie wouldn’t knock like that—she wouldn’t knock at all.
This line of reasoning made it a thousand times more shocking when he opened the door to find Natalie standing there, holding a handful of papers just as she had been when she surprised him almost two months ago during work at the gym.
She shoved her way past a stunned Brent and went straight to the living room to set the papers on the table. “I filled most of them out. I just need you to check that your information is right and sign.”
“And—and sign?” Brent blinked, still holding the door wide open.
“Yes, sign. With this pen. Right here.” She raised her eyebrows at him, cold and expectant.
“Sign what?”
“Gideon’s birthday card,” Natalie snapped. “The divorce papers, idiot. The ones we’ve been meaning to sign for weeks.”
“Meaning to sign?” Brent’s confusion mounted. “We didn’t even have them printed out! I thought we agreed that there was no rush to get them done.”
“There wasn’t, and now there is.” She gestured him toward the papers.
Brent didn’t move. “There’s a rush now? What is it?”
“I printed them out and they’re right here in front of you, ready to sign. Is that not enough of a reason?” Natalie’s chilly attitude quickly gave way to anger.
Brent still had no idea what was happening. “I’m not signing anything until you tell me what’s going on.”
“What’s going on is that we were stupid enough to accidentally get married, and now it’s time to sign the divorce papers like we should have from Day One.”
“Natalie, I thought we were having fun. I thought we were going out and getting to know each other, and enjoying the time we spent together. You’re acting weird as hell and I’m not signing anything without an actual explanation.”
“I’m acting weird? I’m acting weird? Acting is just that—an act. Everything was an act for you since we went through that ceremony.”
Brent paced back and forth to let some energy out so he wouldn’t explode into a thousand fragments of confusion and frustration. “I don’t understand where this is coming from,” he said truthfully. “I thought we were fine and you were okay with us.”
Natalie slammed the papers down on the table and stood upright. “I was, Brent! I was happy. I was having fun. But I was the only one. I heard you talking on the phone the other day. I’m sorry that I live next door to you—I’d sure as hell move now, if I could. I’m sorry you’re afraid to ditch me because I would be a drama queen about it.”
She laughed, a single harsh sound. “In fact, I’m doing it right now, aren’t I? I’m being dramatic, exactly what you didn’t want.”
Brent’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. “I—I—you heard—”
“Oh, I heard everything. Like ripping off a bandaid, right? Well, let me rip it off for you.” Natalie snatched the papers back up and shook them.
“I didn’t mean any of that!” Brent protested, suddenly fully and horribly aware of why Natalie had been acting this way for the past couple days. “I was talking to my dad, and he—”
“I don’t want to hear it, Brent,” Natalie said. “I never wanted to be in a relationship in the first place. You just reminded me why, and now whatever we did or didn’t have is over. Sign the damn papers, please.”
Chapter Twenty-one: Natalie
Natalie could hardly keep herself from breaking down in the face of Brent’s cluelessness, hurt and desperation. It all seemed so real, like Brent actually meant the things he was saying.
Except, he didn’t mean them. Natalie knew better. She had been taken in by his act before, and she refused to let it happen again.
“Natalie, please, just listen,” Brent pleaded. “My dad, he—”
“‘My dad, my dad’,” Natalie repeated. “No one made you say those things.”
“I know. Believe me, I know. I wanted him off my back because I knew he wouldn’t approve, and I just wanted to get off the phone so I could meet you for dinner. I should have just—”
Natalie had almost—almost—started to believe Brent. Then, she realized what he was doing. He was saying he wanted to hurry and get to dinner with her. He was saying what he knew she wanted to hear.
She breathed in deeply through her nose, forcing herself to stay calm. “Just sign the papers.”
“Natalie—”
“Just. Sign. The. Papers. Look, even if you hadn’t been stringing me along this whole time, it wouldn’t matter. I don’t want a relationship, and that’s all there is to it. I just... I just let everything get away from me.”
“I haven’t been stringing you along! If you weren’t so caught up in the past, you would see that.” Brent was raising his voice now.
As Brent’s temper began to rise, Natalie’s shot through the roof. “Sure. Yeah. Turn this around and blame it on me.” She was shouting now, her furious voice echoing through the house. “Blame me for believing that you actually cared. Blame me for happening to hear a truth you didn’t want me to hear.”
“You know what?” Brent snatched the papers away from Natalie, grabbed the pen and signed them against the back of the couch. “There’s your papers. I’ll even do you one better and take them to the post office.”
“Great! Perfect! I don’t have to waste any more of my time on you.”
“I guess you don’t!”
Natalie stomped out of the house and slammed the door so hard it was a wonder the glass didn’t shatter. Her hands shook with the strength of her anger. How dare Brent turn the blame back on her? Natalie hadn’t done anything wrong. Brent was completely and totally one-hundred percent to blame.
The anger followed her all the way back to her house. She locked both locks on the front door with a couple violent twists of her wrists, closed all the blinds and curtains and sat on the couch, seething.
“Asshole,” she muttered aloud through clenched teeth, as she slowly and methodically shredded a couple pieces of junk mail so she wouldn’t do something more destructive to things she actually cared about.
She left the pieces on the living room table and banged into the kitchen to get a glass of water. She went through two glasses of freezing ice water before it even started to cool her off.
Quickly, she realized that was a mistake. She should have held onto that anger, because it protected her from another emotion, one she didn’t want to feel—loss. She never had anything, not really. How could she feel bad about losing nothing?
But she did, and now that the shouting match was over, the hot, strong pressure of tears formed behind her eyes. She had refused to let them fall for days—not after she heard the truth, not after she told Brent that she was sick and not during any time in between.
/> He doesn’t deserve them, she reminded herself almost frantically, scrubbing at her eyes. Natalie hadn’t cried over anything or anyone in years. She couldn’t let herself cry over Brent Cooke of all people.
But the tears were already falling. Nothing Natalie told herself helped stem the flow. She had built up this perfect fantasy world full of nothing but Brent Brent Brent, and now it was all crashing down around her.
Natalie lay down on the couch, gathered every one of the four soft, fluffy pillows to her body and cried. When she moved her head and noticed one was soaked, she tossed it aside and buried her face in another pillow. This continued until she had no more pillows, and then she just curled up into a ball to cry some more.
She didn’t know why she couldn’t stop the tears. She didn’t even know if the tears stemmed from the exhaustion of sleepless nights or heartbreak. She only knew that they fell for Brent.
When Natalie finally lifted her head, sniffling noisily and wiping puffy eyes, she felt like she had been trapped in her own misery for hours. It hadn’t been hours. The rays of sunlight on the big living room rug had moved a foot at most.
Natalie didn’t know whether to feel proud of herself for containing her emotions this quickly or to wish she could feel nothing at all. It wasn’t fair that one person could make her so happy, then rip that happiness away without so much as an apology.
Natalie needed to talk to someone. She couldn’t spend another night sitting in the dark, suffering silently. She needed to hear a voice that wasn’t Brent’s, talk to someone who could help her somehow.
Natalie allowed herself one last, stuttering sniff and felt in the crack of the sofa for her phone. She didn’t call Jasmine, though. She called her other best friend—the one who had been through so much in her own relationships and whose advice she trusted and respected.