“I’m so sorry,” she says, smile fading as she slides off me. Her hands wrap around the nape of my neck, her fingernails lightly dragging against my skin. “I woke up yesterday with a horrible migraine—I get those sometimes—and the only way I can deal with them is by taking one of my pills, turning off my phone, and shutting out the world until it goes away. I slept all day. I’m so sorry. I would’ve told you, but it hurt way too much to even look at my phone. Forgive me?”
Dragging in a deep breath, I press my lips flat and nod. “Of course. I was just worried, that’s all.”
“Let’s go do something. I want to get out for a bit.” She stretches her arms over her head before turning and walking back toward the door. Stopping, she glances back at me, waving her hand. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
Her shoulders lift and she smiles. “I don’t know? Anywhere. I just want to be with you. I don’t care what we’re doing.”
My feet are still planted, my mind fixated on how and when I’m going to end this with her. The thought of that beautiful smile vanishing sends a shock of literal pain across my chest. And I sure as hell can’t have this talk with her in public.
“What?” she asks, half-laughing. “Why are you just standing there staring at me like that?”
Love hooks a hand on her hip, her nails still painted the same shade of dusty rose that she wore all week for the wedding, and I’m instantly taken back to the night of the reception, dancing until the very last song when her feet were so sore she had to carry her heels, but she refused to stop because she said it was one of the best nights of her life.
Dragging in a ragged breath, I run my hand through my hair and shrug.
One more day.
I’m a selfish bastard and I want one more day of this.
One more day to hold her, to hear her voice, to kiss those berry soft lips.
Love moves to my side, slips her hands gentle around mine, and pulls me toward the door. I grab my keys and wallet from the console in the foyer and follow her out the door. As soon as I’m finished locking up, Love wraps her arms around me from behind. The sensation of her cheek pressed against my back as her arms hold me tight nearly takes my breath away, and when she finally releases me, I turn to face her.
“Overcompensating much?” I ask.
She smirks. “Just making up for lost time.”
“It was just one day.” I pretend it didn’t matter to me, that I didn’t spend every waking second of those twenty-four hours wondering about her.
“Didn’t make me miss you any less.” Love slides her hand into mine and we head for the elevator, and within minutes we’re strolling along Fifth Avenue hand in hand like it’s any other summer day.
We pass one of Love’s favorite coffee shops and she pulls me inside, ordering my usual before I have a chance to protest. Caffeine is the last thing I need. I already can’t sleep as it is.
“Thanks,” I say, taking the iced coffee from her hands. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“It’s the little things, Jude,” she says. “And you’re the one who’s shown me that.”
“I have?”
Her golden-brown gaze locks onto mine as we walk and the corner of her mouth lifts. “Why do you act so surprised? You’re always doing things for me. You’re probably one of the most selfless men I’ve ever met.”
A lump lodges itself in my throat, but I swallow until it subsides.
“It feels like a dream … being with you.” Love slides her dainty hand into the bend of my elbow and sighs. “And I never want to wake up.”
I keep my eyes trained ahead. I don’t have to look at her to know she’s smiling. Her exuberance is palpable, radiant and more blinding than the sun. Leading her on for another twenty-four hours would only be adding another layer of cruelty to this shit sandwich.
“Love …” I say, chest tightening as I try to force the words out. For a second, they get stuck, and I have to take a moment to breathe, to compose my thoughts. “Could we go some—”
The pull on my arm tells me she isn’t paying attention, and a second later, she’s dragging me into some pop-up museum called The Future Is Now on 77th.
“I’ve been hearing about this,” she says. “Everyone says it’s amazing. Want to go?”
We’re already here …
“Sure,” I say. Love leads me inside, and I get us two tickets at the front desk and the woman behind the counter offers us two headsets for the self-guided tour.
We spend the next two hours immersed in futuristic technology and displays of what scientists are predicting life to be like in the next twenty, fifty, and hundred years as the pre-recorded tour guide explains what we’re looking at.
Toward the end of the experience, Love yanks her headset off and slides my arm over her shoulders. I pull my headset down, resting around my neck as she looks up at me with sparkling eyes full of life.
“I love this stuff,” she says. “I love thinking about what comes next. All the possibilities … all the different directions we can go.” Love exhales, resting her cheek against my chest. “Anything is possible, right?”
Clearing my throat, I concur. “Right.”
“I don’t know about you, but this place gets me really excited for the future.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Love
Jude’s fingers rake through my hair as I lie in his lap, a throw blanket pulled up to my shoulders. We’re catching up on The Leftovers at my place and every so often, I find myself forgetting that this isn’t real because it feels like it did before.
But the truth changes everything.
And the truth doesn’t let you forget for long.
Glancing up, I study the underside of his chiseled jaw before lifting my hand to cup his face. As soon as he feels the warmth of my palm, he glances down at me, smiling, but there’s something missing in his eyes.
He’s been quiet today. Withdrawn.
We started out with a coffee and an impromptu trip to a museum followed by brunch and a matinee before heading back to my place to cool off once the afternoon sun took full effect.
The shades are drawn, the lights are low, but he hasn’t so much as tried to make a move on me. Last time we tried watching this show together, we had to stop and rewind the show halfway through every episode because we were so focused on each other that we weren’t paying attention to the storyline.
Maybe I’m coming on too strong?
Maybe he thinks he has to pull back a little and keep that perfect equilibrium between us in order for his little scheme to work?
“One more?” he asks when the credits begin to roll.
It’s the third episode we’ve watched today, and I’m beginning to get sleepy from sitting in a cool, dark apartment all afternoon, but I nod.
I’m going to smother him with togetherness.
After all, that’s what he wants right? He wants me to be smitten with him, to be madly in love, to never want to leave his side until after he walks me down the aisle.
Halfway into the next episode, my lids are anchored and I’m fighting to stay awake. Jude’s fingers stroke lightly through my hair, tickling my scalp, and it all but puts me in a trance. Allowing my eyes to close, I succumb to the gentle nap that’s been calling my name since I first lay down.
Turns out pretending to be someone you’re not is exhausting and the day is finally catching up to me.
I wake to the sensation of Jude’s arms scooping beneath my shoulders and lifting my limp arm around his shoulder. I’m not sure how long I’ve been out, but a slitted glance toward the windows shows me it’s already night.
“Shh,” he says.
“Why are you carrying me to bed?” My voice is soft, half of me still planted in a dreamlike state.
He says nothing, only deposits me on the left side of the mattress, tugging the covers up to my chest and adjusting the pillows behind my head.
“Are you leaving?” I ask, growing more awake by
the second.
My room is dark, and all I can make out is the shuffle of Jude’s feet against my hardwood floor, followed by the soft rumple of clothes falling.
“No,” he says, almost whispering. “I’m not going anywhere.”
A moment later, he slides in beside me, the heat of his body making its way to me before he does. When his arm slinks around my stomach, he pulls me against him. His skin is hot to the touch, his breath warm on the back of my neck. Our bodies meld together, forming a perfect S where every part of him is cemented to every part of me. And then he holds me tighter. Tighter than before. Like he doesn’t want to let me go.
In this still, small moment, I can’t help but wonder how much of this is fake.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Jude
I didn’t sleep a minute all night.
I couldn’t.
I lay there, watching Love the entire time. Soaking up our last night together, replaying the perfectly low-key day we spent and how she never left my side.
I wanted to tell her yesterday, but every time I tried, something thwarted my efforts or she was looking at me in a way that made it impossible for me to break the news right then and there.
I put it off and put it off until the opportunity slipped away and the day turned into night, and then I carried her to bed. I was going to leave because I wasn’t sure if she was going to want to make love or not, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to. To go from wild, passionate sex to dumping her the next morning isn’t something I could ever bring myself to do to her.
I go over everything in my head for the thousandth time.
You’re an incredible woman.
Any man would be lucky to be yours.
You’ve made me happier than I’ve ever been with anyone else.
But you deserve better.
I wish I could tell you more, but that’s all I can say and you’re going to have to trust that this is for the best.
I’m never going to forget you.
And I’m sorry that it didn’t work out for us—sorrier than I could ever put into words.
I hope someday you can forgive me, and that you can find someone who makes you feel as wonderful as you always made me feel.
The sunrise peeks through her bedroom curtains, and she stirs, rolling toward me. Her eyes are still closed, her expression still peaceful and lax. As if she can sense me watching her, Love’s mouth curls. A second later, her eyes squint open and she reaches, hand slowly extending toward my cheek.
“I think I’m in love with you, Jude Warner,” she whispers before letting her hand fall to my chest. Love shifts closer, nuzzling into my arm with a soft sigh.
I keep quiet, watching as she falls back asleep, waiting for her breathing to steady.
If things were different, I would tell her.
I would tell her I think I’m in love with her too.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Love
He’s gone when I wake, and the alarm beside me reads a quarter past eight. When my blurred gaze comes into focus, I spot a little slip of paper folded next to the clock.
Love,
Went for a run. Didn’t want to wake you …
Jude
Tossing the note back where I found it, I drag myself out from the heap of covers and press my bare feet against the floor. It’s odd that he didn’t invite me … we always run together.
Regardless, I try not to read into it and instead head to the shower to get cleaned up for the day. When I’m finished, I grab my keys and wallet and run out for coffee and bagels. He’s always starving after he runs, so this will give me a chance to show up and show out as the besotted woman he believes me to be.
Twenty-five minutes and a milelong line out the door later, I’m strolling down the sidewalk, arms full of breakfast, when I spot a familiar face up ahead.
A heavy glug fills my stomach and I glance around for an opportunity to avoid the inevitable, but before I get a chance to make a move, he’s already standing in front of me.
“I’m going to have to call you back, Drew.” Hunter pulls his phone from his ear, stopping in front of me, and it’s only then that I spot a pretty young thing on his arm, her baby face covered in five layers of Instagram-worthy makeup. Her arm hooks into his as she studies me with an unapologetic curiousness, and from the corner of my eye, I catch the glint of a giant rock on her left ring finger. “Love.”
I don’t say anything at first. The last time I saw him was after the alimony ruling and now … knowing what I know …
“You can say hi, you know,” he says, his mouth drawing into an enchanting smile, one I know from experience to be fake. “It’s good to see you. How have you been? Oh, this is Maleenia, by the way.”
Maleenia …
I’m pretty sure I’ve heard of her. If I’m not mistaken, she’s some twenty-one-year-old Yugoslavian pop star wannabe with over three million followers on Snap Chat.
Of course, he’s engaged to her.
In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s the one whose graphic text message I received the night my marriage imploded. Guess all it takes to win over a girl like Maleenia is a few dick pics and the promise of a record deal.
“Really?” I ask. My brows rise and I ignore the young woman. If I didn’t spend the better part of the last half hour standing in line, I’d toss this coffee all over his YSL button down.
“Really, what?” Hunter plays dumb, which only makes me clench the brown paper bag in my left-hand harder.
“You’re just going to pretend everything’s fine?”
He lifts his hand to his jaw, glancing away as he chuckles. “Love, we’re grown adults. Let’s act like it.”
“Wow,” I say. “Not even married anymore, and you still can’t speak to me without your signature condescension.”
“Love …” His head tilts as he studies me, and for a moment, I can’t help but wonder if he’s missing me or patting himself on the back for making the right decisions. Either way, it doesn’t matter. “I’m sorry. I just … we’re going to be running into each other from time to time, and I don’t want it to always be so strained. That’s just not healthy.”
“I see you’ve been talking to Dr. Kissinger?” I ask, referring to the marital counselor we were ordered to talk to when we first filed our legal separation.
Talking or fucking. Probably both.
The woman had this Machiavellian look in her violet eyes during each and every session, like a cougar waiting for the right moment to pounce on her prey, and she did nothing but guide us toward divorce the entire time, saying it was her professional opinion that we had both changed and grown too much over the course of our marriage to make it work any longer.
But that’s neither here nor there.
“I’m sorry, Love,” he says, uttering a word I’d never once heard him say before. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out. I just wish you the best. That’s all.”
No. He doesn’t get to take the high road. He doesn’t get to have the last word and walk away looking like a hero while I stand here feeling like a jaded ex-wife.
He doesn’t get to do that.
He doesn’t get to make me feel like the one with a chip on their shoulder.
Hunter begins to walk away, but I can’t help myself.
“Apology accepted,” I call toward him, forcing tenderness into my voice and a smile on my lips.
He stops, turning back to face me, eyes squinted as he searches mine. What is he looking for? Honesty? The man wouldn’t know honesty if it smacked him across the face.
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” I say. “But I have to tell you … I really think everything happens for a reason.”
“Of course. I couldn’t agree more.”
“Actually, it’s funny because, I’ve met someone recently,” I say, glancing up at the cloudless sky for two seconds as I release a contented breath. “And he’s amazing. It’s so strange, it’s like he just … came out of nowhere. And he’s ev
erything I could ever want in someone. Perfect for me. Eerily perfect. And I never would’ve met him if we were still … you know.”
Hunter’s eyes light.
Either he thinks his plan is working, that his freedom from alimony is just around the corner.
Or he reads between the lines and realizes that I know exactly what he did.
Either way I win because as soon as I get the chance, I’m going to make sure that rug is pulled out from under him so hard, so fast, he won’t know what hit him, and all those things he fought so hard for with his cold, dead heart will be forever out of reach.
Just like that.
“Speak of the devil,” I say when I spot Jude up the sidewalk.
He’s shirtless, his smooth, tanned body glistening with sweat under the morning sun, and I manage to wave him over.
Hunter turns to follow my gaze, and then he watches as Jude sidles up to me and kisses the top of my forehead.
“Hey,” I say, rising on my toes to kiss his salty, minty mouth like I’d done so many times before.
The two of them exchange looks for a brief second but avoid eye contact after that, each of them focused on me and me alone.
It feels unnatural playing the two of them. I’ve never been a manipulator and it feels akin to wearing tight, dirty clothes. I want to take them off and change into something clean, something better fitting, but all’s fair in love and war.
“Hunter, this is Jude,” I say, realizing I haven’t technically introduced them yet. “Jude, this is Hunter. The ex-husband I told you about.”
I watch Hunter’s eyes flash for a moment. He hates when anyone talks ill of him behind his back, but what does he expect? Jude glances down at me, one brow raised like he’s confused. And he should be. Now that I think about it, I haven’t ever said much about Hunter to Jude. I’ve only ever referred to him as someone I once knew.
“Anyway, we should get going,” I say, eye snapping onto Jude’s. “I got us breakfast. Thought you’d be hungry after your run.”
War and Love Page 13