by Cole Gibsen
“Says who?” I counter. “Where the hell is all this coming from?”
He drops my hand. “You don’t want to get married.”
“Of course I don’t want to get married. I’m not the one having a mental breakdown, Reece.”
He takes a step backward. It’s such a small step, but the distance between us feels like it’s expanding by the second. “Do you ever want to get married?”
“I don’t know.” Hugging my arms to my body, I turn away. “It feels like such an outdated institution, you know? We have something good going right now, why mess it up?”
“So, you’re saying commitment messes relationships up?”
“I don’t know. I’m just saying maybe marriage isn’t for me.” I run my fingers through my hair. God, why are we even having this conversation?
“You don’t want to get married? Ever?”
“I don’t know.”
“Emily, you have to know. This is important.”
“Why? Does it make a difference?”
He’s silent a moment. “I think so, yes. I need to know we’re not screwing around. That this is going somewhere.”
“Why does it have to go somewhere to mean something? Things are great the way they are.”
“Except they’re not.”
I stare at him.
“I want more,” he says.
“I don’t. At least…at least, not right now.”
His eyes flood with hurt. “I’m not enough?”
“Damn it, Reece. I’m not enough. My boss wouldn’t give me a chance because she doesn’t believe I can handle responsibility. Hell, maybe she’s right. Maybe I’m just a fuckup who’s destined to remain a fuckup for the rest of her life. But I refuse to get married because I have nothing else going for me.”
Surprise flashes across his face. “I’m sorry you had a setback, Em. I really am. But how can you call what we have nothing?”
I rake my fingers through my hair. “We’re not nothing, Reece, but we’re also not…enough. Why can’t you understand that?”
“The way I see it, there’s nothing to understand.” His jaw flexes. “You’ve just been screwing with me this whole time, haven’t you? Literally, huh?”
Hurt wrenches my heart. “How can you say that?”
“I should have known.” He inhales sharply. “You said no strings attached. I was too stupid to listen.”
“Reece, you’re not even giving me a chance.”
“No.” His head snaps up. “You’re not giving us a chance, Emily. And I’ve wasted enough time. I can’t waste any more.”
I hear every word out of his mouth, but it’s like my brain can’t make sense of it. “You’re saying if I don’t agree to marry you, we’re done.”
“I don’t need you to agree to marry me now, but I need to know it’s in the future. Is it?”
I’m losing him. I can feel him slipping away like water through my fingers. It would be so easy to lie. So easy to tell him, of course I can picture us getting married someday. But the truth is I don’t even know what tomorrow will bring, let alone months down the road.
His shoulders hunch. “I guess I have my answer.”
Tears well in my eyes, blurring my vision. As much as they burn, I refuse to blink. I won’t let them fall. “You’re not being fair.”
“Grow up, Emily.” His words hit me like a slap in the face. They’re the words I’ve heard nonstop from my brother and mother the last couple of years. “You’re not a child anymore. It’s time to figure out what you want.”
“You’re right.” I snatch my clutch off his dresser. “At least I’ve figured out one thing—I know I don’t want a man who gives me ultimatums.” I shuffle inside my purse for my keys. “And I don’t want to be here a second longer.”
I leave his bedroom and head for the door. Without turning, I feel him following me. Every cell in my body pulls toward him, aching to hear him call out my name and admit he’s made a big mistake.
But that moment never comes.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Reece
I stare at the door for ten minutes after she leaves, sure she’s going to come back. She doesn’t.
While part of me feels like my heart has been ripped in two, another part is relieved. I can’t figure out why. The first—and only—woman I could picture spending my life with just walked out the door. How sick in the head am I to actually be even a little okay with that?
I tell myself it’s a good thing I cut Emily loose sooner than later—especially if she’s just screwing around with me. But another voice, a much smaller one, says maybe I feel better because the one person who makes me happy is gone.
Because I don’t deserve to be happy.
Not yet, anyway. Not until I set my life right. Chad had a goal. His life would have had meaning. I might actually be able to rid myself of the guilt if I can do the same.
Every footstep is a struggle. I’m tired. More tired than I can ever remember being in my entire life. I sit on the edge of my bed and let my head fall into my hands. Thoroughly exhausted, I feel empty, hollowed out.
Em must have taken part of me with her when she walked out the door. I was already broken, but now I’m less—less a person, less a man—than I was five minutes ago.
How does a person recover after that? How do they continue on?
What the hell have I done?
Chapter Twenty-Six
Emily
The first thing I do when I get home is pour a drink. Earlier, after my boss rejected my business plan, I actually felt guilty purchasing the big bottles of Jim Beam and Belvedere now sitting on my coffee table.
My first sip came with the tiniest twinge of remorse. And maybe that was shame burning through my veins after I finished the first glass.
But now, tipping back another glass and swallowing the contents in one long gulp, I feel absolutely nothing.
Well, maybe not nothing.
I pour a second glass and a flicker of anger ignites within my chest. By the fourth glass, it’s an all-out raging inferno.
It’s not Reece I’m pissed at but myself. Because I knew better.
I knew the risks of getting involved with someone. I knew the trap, and still, I walked right in.
Even more than that, I’m pissed at how much pain I feel. Because it only proves how much I let my guard down.
I tip another drink back. My fifth? Sixth? Who knows? The room is beginning to wobble, and I’m finally, finally, going numb. Thank God, too. Because no matter how big the hangover will be in the morning, it won’t compare to the pain I felt when I walked out the door.
While he just silently stood by and let me.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Reece
I fucked up. I realize it the second my alarm goes off, reach over, and find the spot beside me cold and empty. Last night was not another horrible nightmare. Last night, my girl—the best thing that ever happened to me—walked out my front door.
Slowly, I pull myself out of bed as the events replay in my mind.
I was sure Em and I were headed somewhere.
She wasn’t.
If two people have any chance of ending up at the same destination, they at least need to be walking the same path. And we’re not. Pure and simple.
But if this is the right thing, the best thing, why does it feel so wrong?
Before I can stop myself, I grab my phone and dial Em’s number. Her voicemail picks up after the first ring. She’s probably already at work. Muttering a curse, I take a quick shower, shave, and dress. Minutes later I’m at the coffee shop.
But for the first time since we’ve been together, Em isn’t.
Alice, Em’s boss, smiles at me from behind the counter when I walk in. “The usual Americano?” Some young guy hands a steaming cup to a waiting customer. It slips from his fingers, splattering coffee and foam across the floor.
“Not today. I was looking for Em.”
Alice frowns. “She called in s
ick. I thought you knew.”
“No. But thanks.” I don’t offer any more explanation before heading for the door. Honestly, I’m not sure what I know anymore.
I don’t have enough time to stop at Em’s apartment before school. But when the last bell rings, I’m out the door before the kids and on my bike before the first bus pulls out. I still don’t know what I’m going to say to Em when I see her. Knowing that we’re not wasting each other’s time is important to me, but at the same time, I did go about it the wrong way.
I’m man enough to admit I lost my fucking mind last night.
I just hope I haven’t fucked things up for good.
I’m at her apartment in record time. Her car’s not parked in its usual spot outside the building, but I knock on her door anyway.
She doesn’t answer.
Since I left my cane at home, I’m forced to hobble back to my bike like the defeated asshole I am.
I keep my phone close by in case Em decides to call.
She doesn’t.
And she doesn’t the next day, either. Or the day after.
With each passing day that I don’t see Emily, panic swells inside my chest like an overinflated balloon on the verge of bursting. It’s always the same. She doesn’t answer my calls, she’s absent from work, and she’s never at her apartment.
After a week, I’m desperate. I dig out the card Lane gave me in the hospital and dial the number.
“Hello?” The voice is familiar, and distinctively not male.
“Ashlyn?”
There’s a pause, followed by, “Who is this?”
“It’s Reece.”
She inhales sharply.
“I take it Emily told you what happened.”
“Did you really ask her to marry you?” Ashlyn asks.
“I had a freak out. Listen, I need to talk to her. She hasn’t been at work. She won’t answer my calls. And she’s never at her apartment. Do you have any idea where I can find her?”
Ashlyn doesn’t answer.
“Please?” I ask. “I know I fucked up.”
“You really did,” she says. “Em’s only twenty-one. For you to put that kind of pressure on her was a real asshole move.”
“I know. That’s why I need to talk to her—to fix my fuckup.”
Ashlyn is quiet for several heartbeats before finally sighing. “Fine. There’s a bar she used to hang out at—the Wishing Well. She’s really good friends with the bartender. I bet you’ll find her there.”
“Thanks, Ashlyn. I’m going to make this right.” After saying good-bye, I hang up, grab my keys, and hop onto my bike.
I pull my bike next to several others already parked outside the Wishing Well. The bass thumps so loudly I can feel it in the soles of my boots as I walk toward the bar. When I reach the filthy glass door, I hesitate. Through smeared nicotine, I can see a crowd of thrashing dancers writhing to God-awful music inside.
At the very idea of pushing through a crowd that thick, my throat tightens. There’s no telling where an enemy might be hiding. Any one of the people grinding against each other could have a gun, or worse, and explosives strapped to their chest.
Fuck. Maybe I should just go home.
But then I see a flash of platinum hair tied with a red bandana, bobbing through the heads at the front of the stage, and I know there’s no going back.
Swallowing the jagged lump that’s pushed up my throat, I open the door and step inside.
I wince from the audible assault that’s supposed to be music. I make it two steps into the bar when the first asshole bumps into me. Reflexively, every muscle in my body tightens, and it takes all of my strength to unclench my fists. I can do this. I will do this. For Em.
“Reece!”
I turn in the direction of the voice. Tonya waves me over from a table beside the wall.
Before I head over, I survey the crowd for Em’s red bandana. But I lost it in the sea of bodies. Tonya’s table is close to the door. At least there, Em won’t be able to leave without me seeing her.
Sitting on a barstool, dressed in jeans and a tank top, Tonya smiles when I approach. “What the hell is Reece Montgomery doing in a place like this?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” I answer, still searching the crowd.
Tonya makes a face. “You know Lexi, my student teacher? This was all her idea. She begged me to come out because this band was so amazing.” She makes quotes with her fingers. “I guess I really am getting old, because these guys sound like somebody stuffed a bag full of cats and ran over them…with a Zamboni.”
I can’t help but crack a smile. “Nice visual.”
She shrugs. “I’d rather be at Mac’s watching the game. Instead, I’m stuck here babysitting.” She gestures to the crowd, and I spot Lexi grinding against some baby-faced guy with his pants hanging halfway down his ass.
“Is he even old enough to be in a bar?” I ask.
Tonya drums her nails on the table. “Don’t know. Don’t care. What I do find interesting, however, is solving the mystery of what the hell you’re doing here.”
“No mystery. Emily’s here.” I nod to the dancing mob. “Somewhere in there.”
Tonya arches an eyebrow. “The mysterious Emily is here?” She hops off her barstool. “Where? I’ve been dying to meet the girl who put a smile on Sergeant Scowl’s face.”
“What the hell did you just call me?”
She tilts her head. “You didn’t know that’s what the kids call you?”
“You’re making that up.”
She pats my arm. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Sarge.”
I grunt. “Doesn’t matter. What does is getting the hell out of here. I need to find Em.”
“I’ll help,” Tonya offers. “What does she look like?”
“Short, platinum blond hair, red bandana, tattoos.”
“Really?” Tonya’s eyes widen. “That’s your type? No wonder I didn’t stand a chance.”
I wave her words away. “Are you going to help me or not?”
“Chill. I’ll help.” She returns to her barstool and holds out a hand. “Help me up.”
Taking her hand, I help her climb on top of the table. Squinting her eyes, she surveys the crowd. Her lips move, but I can’t hear what she’s mumbling over the noise coming off the stage. Her head moves back and forth until finally, her eyes widen. Even though I can’t hear her, the word “fuck” is unmistakable on her lips.
Tonya quickly climbs off the table. “This was probably a bad idea.”
Ice fills my chest. “What is it?”
She waves a hand in the air. “Couldn’t find her. And you know what? I’m tired of babysitting. I bet we can still catch the last inning of the game if we head over to Mac’s. Wanna go?”
She’s lying. I can see it with each dart of her eyes and nervous wringing of her hands. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Tonya bites her lip.
“Fine. I’ll find her myself.” Hobbling to the edge of the crowd, I’m not gentle when I shove people out of the way. With every nerve in my body on high alert, I’m past the point of caring.
Following the flashes of red, it doesn’t take me long to find her.
Even shorter is the realization I wish I hadn’t.
Some skinny dirtbag wearing a mesh trucker hat stands behind her, with his hands on her hips. She leans her back against his chest, one arm around his neck, as he grinds against her so hard, they’d be fucking if it wasn’t for the fabric separating them.
The floor slips out from under my feet, and I’m falling. At least it feels that way. I move forward, hands clenched into fists. I don’t know what I’m going to do when I get my hands on that greasy little fucker, and I don’t care. My body’s switched to military mode, which means react first, think later.
Before I can reach them, a hand wraps around my arm and yanks me back. I whirl around, prepared to fight an enemy. Instead, I find Tonya.
Whatever look is on my face, it
makes fear flash through Tonya’s eyes. To her credit, she doesn’t let go. “Reece, don’t do anything stupid. Let’s just get out of here, okay?”
I turn back to Emily. She’s still dancing. Eyes closed and smiling. She spins around, facing the prick, straddling his leg as she runs her hands through her hair.
I taste bile on my tongue. Or maybe that’s just the flavor of rage. I try and move toward her, but Tonya tightens her hold.
“Reece.” Her tone has changed. She’s no longer asking. “We’re leaving. Now.” When I make no move to budge, she repeats, “Now.”
The fierceness in her voice sounds too much like an order for me to disobey. Tonya puts her arm around my waist. With my muscles still coiled and shoulders tight, I allow her to steer me toward the exit.
I pause only when we reach the door. I look back toward the crowd, and it could be my imagination, but I swear I see her face through the moving bodies, watching me. Even if she was, what would it matter? I came here to win her back. But it’s apparent I’m too late.
She’s already moved on.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Emily
I’m drunk. But since I’m only on my second drink, there’s no way that’s possible. Unless someone slipped me something. If that were the case, wouldn’t I feel all dizzy and sleepy and shit? I’m hot, very sweaty, a little tired, but overall, fine.
So why am I seeing visions of Reece? Wishful thinking? I mean, there’s no way he would venture into a crowded noisy place like this. He’d have an attack before he set foot through the door. Still, every so often, I glimpse a tall, blond-haired guy through gaps in the crowd.
I stop dancing.
Eddie, a friend of mine from high school, releases my hips. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head. “This sounds crazy, but I swear I saw my ex-boyfriend.”
“Is that okay?” He puts an arm protectively around my shoulder. “Do you need me to walk you out?”
I pat his hand. “That’s sweet. But it’s not like that. I’ll be fine.”
He frowns in disbelief. “You sure?”
“Yeah.”