by Ashwood, Eva
Preemptively packing up my art room the day after our last heart-breaking conversation, I thought back to the first time I had faced losing Walker Prince. The unbearably long silence that’d followed after he moved to Tokyo with his dad had left a huge crater in my overall outlook on love.
What had I been thinking, trying to fill the hole in my heart with this insane scheme? It made me no better than Walker, at the end of the day. He wasn’t the only person cutting a paycheck out of this arrangement.
Maybe Walker and I truly weren’t meant to be. Maybe the two of us were just meant to blip in and out of each other’s lives, like a stray idea that could never quite come to fruition. If that’s all we were destined for, then at least I’d own it, even if it pained me to do so. I wouldn’t fight to cling to something that had never really existed in the first place.
* * *
“And you’ll sign here, and here… Good, here as well… Wonderful.”
Wonderful. That’s what Vincent Marguiles, Walker’s lawyer, was calling this.
I signed my name on the dotted line, agreeing to the terms of the divorce. It was a pretty standard document, according to Vincent, that stated I had no stakes in Walker’s company, that we’re parting on amicable terms, and that as his ex-wife I’d be entitled to a year of health insurance under his provider as well as a hefty monetary compensation—just like Walker had agreed.
I almost couldn’t fathom the number that’d been scrawled out over the check Vincent drew up. There were too many zeros; I had no way to quantify them, no way to make them real in my head. I was going to be a millionaire.
That was the price for pretending to have Walker Prince’s love.
There was a fog in my brain as the meeting continued on. Walker signed on his own dotted lines, quiet and more than a little stoic. We hadn’t conversed much since the short-lived discussion about our divorce. We’d maintained polite civility around the house, but that was about all we could manage. I had invited him out a total of once to walk Bruno with me; he’d declined—politely, of course, since that’s all we ever were to each other now—and I’d taken the dog on a long, solitary walk, tears streaming down my cheeks.
When the last signature was put down, Vincent nodded in satisfaction and gathered the paperwork. I had a hollow ache in my chest as I pocketed the check. It felt weightier than paper should. I wondered if the money was the reason so many people married billionaires, and if the pain ended up being worth it in the end when they finally cut the chord on their relationship.
“Well. All of this should be fine and dandy. Everything will be finalized at the courthouse, which I assume you’ve made an appointment for?”
Walker nodded. “Just last week.”
My jaw clenched as I fought against the tears stinging my eyes. I’d overheard him on the phone making the call. He’d sounded so clinical, so distant. As if it was already over.
Vincent nodded again and looked toward me, holding his hand out to shake. “Pleasure meeting you, Mackenzie. Though unfortunate, under the circumstances.”
“Uh huh.” Don’t cry. Don’t cry. “Pleasure to meet you as well, Vincent.”
We got up, leaving Vincent’s office together in silence. It was a quiet, awkward trek down to the lobby. I was less than three feet away from Walker, but the space between us felt like an ocean. Shivering, although it wasn’t particularly cold, I shoved my hands in my jacket pockets. The check felt like sandpaper against my skin.
“We’ve got an hour or so before the courthouse meeting.” Walker looked at me, his cobalt eyes dark and unreadable. “Do you… want to grab lunch?”
Tempting. Too tempting.
Make a clean break, Macks. Take a page out of his book.
“No,” I said. “It’ll take too long to go grab a bite and then be back in time to make the appointment.”
It would have been an amazing excuse to put this off a little longer though. Oh, sorry, we’ll have to reschedule because we were too busy stuffing our faces instead of making our way over to get our divorce sent through.
“Right,” Walker said. “I guess we should head on down then.”
Instead of taking a cab or a town car, we walked. It wasn’t that far away, and part of me was glad to avoid getting into a confined space with Walker right now. I didn’t want to have to smell his cologne, to feel the heat of his body so close to mine. But walking took longer, and every step seemed like a march down the Green Mile. Neither of us spoke. The air seemed heavier than usual—even for New York. I kept an intentional distance from him, only stepping closer when I had to get out of another pedestrian’s way.
It seemed almost cruel to have to do all of this on the same day. Finalizing our post-nuptials, cutting my check, filing for divorce. I wondered if it was a sign that Walker was just particularly ready to get rid of me; he must be really anxious to go back to the life that I’d been only temporarily inserted into.
“Here we are.”
Pulled from my thoughts by his voice, I looked up to the front stairs of the courthouse. They appeared so much more ominous than they had the day Walker and I had gotten married. Each step up made my stomach sink a little further. I felt sick.
Inside, the coolness of the air conditioning helped with the jittery feeling in the pit of my stomach.
In, out. Breathe.
You can do this.
I repeated the mantra over and over, although didn’t know why that was even a question in my head. Of course I would do this. What other choice did I have?
We approached the clerk’s desk. The red-haired woman behind the desk was young, and I wondered for a moment how on earth she’d ended up at a job like this. She clearly didn’t want to be there. She was chewing a thick wad of bubblegum, smacking her lips loudly, stretching it out of her mouth with her tongue.
Walker and I exchanged a glance, the first we’d shared since leaving the lawyer’s office.
“Ahem.”
Walker cleared his throat when she didn’t look up or acknowledge our presence in any way. She blinked her heavily shadowed lids—pink glitter, though I couldn’t see how that was office-appropriate in the slightest—and looked up at us.
“You guys got an appointment?”
“Yes.” Walker tilted his head. “For Walker Prince and Mackenzie Henson?”
It occurred to me then that we’d never even bothered to change my last name. A choice for a modern couple, we had called it.
“Hmph.” The young woman looked entirely unimpressed with us. “Hold on.”
She turned to the computer, clicking away. Her nails made the most obnoxious clackity-clack-clack sound on the plastic keys as she typed something into the system. She kept popping the gum in her mouth too. It would have been wildly annoying had Walker not nudged me, pulling a mocking lip-smacking face with his eyes screwed up. I couldn’t help but snort, hiding my face behind my hand.
The woman looked up at us, her penciled brow raised. Walker’s mocking expression was suddenly and conveniently gone.
“Something wrong?” she asked, her tone even less helpful than it had been when we’d arrived.
Walker cleared his throat. “Nope. Nothing at all.”
She didn’t look convinced but went back to clicking away on her keyboard.
“I don’t see your name on here,” she huffed out. “Like, are you sure that you even have an appointment?”
“Positive.”
She groaned and rolled her eyes.
“It’s really good to be out here with such good vibes and positive attitudes today,” Walker said, overly chipper as he leaned onto the counter. “Just a day full of sunshine.”
I snorted again as the clerk looked up at him, her expression flickering from mild inconvenience to outright irritation.
“Are you trying to be funny?”
“Nope.” He grinned brightly at her, and I almost laughed at the confused look on her face.
“Whatever.” She stood up, pushing herself away from the desk.
“Let me go see if you’re written in somewhere.”
She sauntered away, her heels clicking as hard as her nails had against the keyboard. Walker and I watched, and for just one tiny moment, the distance between us seemed to vanish. I wouldn’t have thought it would take a gum-chewing, fake-nail wearing bimbo to ease the tension between us, but I found myself suddenly, oddly grateful for her.
“You think if we talked with, like, a lot of likes and mouth smacks, she’d talk to us like we were clients and not hobos off the street?” he mused, turning to me. A smirk tugged at my lips.
“I doubt it. We’d probably confuse her even more.”
We snickered, and I let myself forget for a second what we were even here for. It was just me and Walker, having fun as we dealt with some snotty woman behind a counter. But eventually, that snotty woman came back, holding papers in her hands. She looked highly unimpressed.
“Apparently, someone pushed a lot of your paperwork through already,” she informed us, her eyebrow arching. “Must be nice to be able to have things catered to you like that.”
“Oh, it is,” Walker said dryly. “Just like that song—push it. Push it real good—”
I nudged him, snorting at the corny joke. The girl rolled her eyes and smacked her lips again.
“All you need to do is sign these,” she said, sliding one of the papers onto the counter. She put a pen between us. “I count as a witness.”
All the lightheartedness bled from my heart as I stared down at the paper and pen in front of me.
This it. The final plunge.
Unbidden, my mind thought back over the last two months. Seeing Walker for the first time again—how amazing and confusing and wonderful yet painful it all had been, wrapped up in one bubbling little bundle of confusion. We’d done well with each other though, hadn’t we? It was like no time at all had passed between when he’d left in high school and now. It was like we had always been…
And yet here we were, having gotten what we needed out of each other, signing away everything else.
It’s kind of ironic, really, I thought, as I stared down at that little piece of paper like it had personally offended me. Years ago I would have fought for this—for Walker. If he’d only given me a sign that there was a chance for us.
“Mackenzie?”
I looked up in a daze when Walker called my name. He sounded confused. To be fair, I’d be confused in his shoes, too. Wasn’t this what we’d both wanted? What we’d planned? My hand hovered over the paper, the pen caught between my shaking fingers. There was nothing in this world that I wanted less than to sign my name on that thick black line.
Actually… no. That was wrong.
There was something I was even more afraid of than signing my name, and that was having to watch Walker sign his first. Having to be the second in line to make the choice that would pull us apart. Always having to live with the knowledge that I was the one left behind in the dust while Walker Prince went on about his business as though there was nothing else in the world but himself, his business, and his money.
I couldn’t bear that. Maybe it was a strain of too-strong pride or self-preservation that I’d developed over the years, born of too many disappointments and the need to have a tougher-than-nails armor wrapped tight around my body.
“Macks—”
Rather than waiting for Walker to finish, rather than letting him say the words that would break my heart, rather than letting him put ink to paper first, I gripped the pen tightly and signed my name.
My hand shook as I did. My mouth went dry.
When I was done signing in a sloppy scrawl, I handed the pen over to Walker.
It was probably my reckless imagination and stupid heart playing tricks on me again, but I could’ve sworn he hesitated for a heartbeat before he pressed pen tip to paper and put his name to the page.
And… that was it.
It was done.
20
Walker
Movers walked in and out of the house, carting carefully packaged art pieces and boxes full of Mackenzie’s things out to the moving van parked out front. She had more art and art supplies than other things; it would have been an endearing quality, had it not been for the fact that every piece removed from my home left me feeling more and more empty.
I hung back as they worked. I didn’t want to interfere too much with the process. I didn’t want it to feel like I was hovering or trying to… I don’t know. Be too much in her space.
Bruno, however, had other ideas.
He darted between the movers, sniffing and barking. His nails clattered on the floor as he moved restlessly around the house, and whenever he could, he nosed at Mackenzie and whined. She patted him on the head, comforted him, but Bruno wasn’t buying it. He could tell something was up, and he didn’t like it.
Smart dog.
Bruno was doing what I wanted to. Protesting, whining, trying to prove that no, no, no, Mackenzie wasn’t supposed to leave the house. It was tempting to join him on the floor at her feet, to see if our combined efforts could make her stay, but… who the fuck was I kidding?
We had already signed away our relationship; Mackenzie had already cashed her check.
There was no point.
When it got to the point that Bruno was actually getting in the movers’ way, I went ahead and tugged him upstairs toward the bedroom so he wouldn’t get a box dropped on his head. As we reached the landing, he let out a pitiful howl, and Mackenzie’s gaze met mine. I had to tell myself the regretful look on her face was all in my head.
I stayed in the room with Bruno while the movers got the rest of Mackenzie’s things. He walked back and forth between the door and where I sat on the edge of the bed—a bed that hadn’t been made up from where Mackenzie and I had slept in it the night before. There had been so much space between the two of us that it was hard to believe that at one point, we’d made love in that very bed.
I sighed. Bruno came back to me and nudged my hand with his nose until I scratched his head. Why was it that the right thing, the smart thing, was the thing that hurt the most?
Eventually the commotion filtering in from the rest of the house died down. Footsteps trekked to the room, and the door opened. Mackenzie stood in the doorframe, looking in with an air of apprehension.
“They’re… they’re done. They’re taking the truck to Alex’s place.”
She was going to be staying there until she found an apartment—which wouldn’t be that hard between her check and the money she was now earning through her commissioned art pieces.
I nodded. “That’s good.”
Bruno went over to her, nudging her hand with his nose. Mackenzie crouched down in front of him, petting him and running her fingers through his gray hair. Bruno gave a pitiful little whine, snuggling into her side.
“Aw, it’s okay, Brunoie,” she cooed at him. “You’re still the best pup.”
He licked her cheek; I could have sworn there was a doleful tear that slid down it before he did.
She stood up and straightened out her clothes. With a soft sigh, she looked to me.
“Well. I guess this is it.”
“Do you want a ride?” Anything to have a little more time with her.
Her eyes widened in surprise before she blinked rapidly. “Um, no. That’s all right. I was just gonna get a cab. Something quick and easy. Besides, I know all the—the divorce stuff took time away from your work. I’m sure you’ve got a lot to do.”
So much. But still…
“Yeah,” I said eventually. “Yeah, there’s a lot to do around here.”
Mackenzie nodded. We stood there awkwardly with each other. It felt so wrong… And I wouldn’t quite put my finger on why it felt wrong, just that when she came up to me and wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug, it felt like it was going to be the last time.
“Thank you for everything, Walker,” she said, looking down as she stepped away. “I’m glad I could help you out.”
�
�Yeah… yeah me too.”
And just like that… she was gone.
* * *
Three Weeks Later
“You look like shit.”
I glanced up from my computer as Grant strode in. I vaguely remembered my secretary telling me he was coming in; my attention had been steadfastly focused on the work in front of me. I couldn’t recall Grant telling me that he was coming here, and I couldn’t recall asking him to do so. How he got here, then, was a mystery.
Shaking my head, I turned my attention back to my laptop. Grant scoffed and came to seat himself on my desk, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at me.
“You haven’t been returning my calls.”
“Yeah. I’ve been busy.”
“I hear you’re not taking breaks.”
“I’m a CEO; of course I’m not.”
“Heard Mackenzie was doing well.”
My hands froze on the keys as my heart struggled to beat.
“That’s good.” Back to typing I went.
Grant let me continue for a few minutes before he gave a long-suffering sigh.
“Dude, come on. Take a break and talk to me.”
I gave my own sigh, paused again, and looked up at my friend.
“What, Grant? What do you want? I’m busy—and aren’t you supposed to be, too?”
“Nah. The shoot wrapped a week ago. I have a month off before my next project. Don’t change the subject.”
I gave him a hard stare. I knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to talk about Mackenzie.
Well, no fucking thanks. I had done a very good job thus far forcing myself to not think about her, let alone talk about her. I had thrown myself fully into work, pulling the company out of the rut that I had walked us into when I’d first married her, and I wasn’t going to break stride now.
“I’m busy, Grant,” I repeated. “There’s nothing to talk about—”
“Is that why your secretary called me begging me to talk to you? Because she’s pretty sure you’re going to burn out soon. She knows your schedule better than anyone, and she said you’ve been nonstop for the past three weeks.”