Regrets Only (Sequel to The Marriage Pact)

by Pullen, M. J.

  “Some of us don’t live on a tour bus with ten other guys,” she countered, with the haughtiest air she could manage. “You’re like the richest person I know but your belongings fit in a duffel bag.”

  He came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders, pretending to strangle her, and then softened at their reflection together in the mirror. “You’re just lucky you’re so damn cute,” he muttered, burying his nose in her hair.

  “Easy, cowboy,” she said, turning to face him. “Marci will kill us if we’re late.”

  “She might kill you,” he said, pulling her closer. “But she loves me. I’m a superstar.”

  Suzanne laughed and pushed him away, nearly causing him to lose his balance and fall over the same box he’d just kicked. He gave her a stern look. “Unpack it tonight. Seriously.”

  A couple of weeks before, just after the new year, they had closed on a three-bedroom townhouse in Buckhead, a little farther from the city proper than Suzanne’s condo had been. Because Suzanne was not yet drawing a salary for her work with the foundation, and she insisted on contributing equally to the cost of the house, they’d had a budget of exactly twice what she’d been able to get for her condo in November. Dylan had protested this arrangement at first, as he could have bought them any house she wanted. But then he realized that arguing with Suzanne was fruitless. She had, however, graciously agreed to let him pay the utilities and association fees until she was earning regular income.

  And of course, the mountain-sized diamond he’d slipped on her finger at Christmas had been all his doing as well.

  She toyed with the ring in the passenger seat of Dylan’s truck, watching the soft light of the afternoon play off the three-carat diamond with the same mixture of awe and giddiness she’d been feeling ever since her trip to New York in October. Though it was growing smaller each day, there was still a part of her that kept expecting to wake from the dream.

  They pulled up to the little Presbyterian church Marci had attended since she was little, and where it seemed she and Jake also intended to celebrate those moments in their family life that called for religious rites. Now that she and Dylan were engaged, Suzanne supposed they would need to start thinking about things like that, too. Engaged. Her heart still palpitated at the word—mostly in excitement, only partly in terror—and she squeezed Dylan’s hand on the seat between them to calm herself.

  He smiled and gave her a kiss as he turned off the truck. “Come on, Scarlett. Don’t want to make ourselves later than we are.”

  When they entered the crowded vestibule, Suzanne exchanged quick pecks on the cheek with Rebecca, and Beth and Ray, while Dylan followed behind, shaking hands. She waved at Chad and David, who were on the other side of the room talking to Nicole and Ravi, Marci’s sister and brother-in-law. Nicole held their six-month-old son on her hip. Their little girl Ayanna, now four, was hiding behind Nicky, watching shyly as Beth and Ray’s children played with Jake’s niece and nephews. Jake’s sister Leah broke off a conversation with Marci’s parents to scold her twin boys about something.

  The friends, the parents, the kids. Everyone chattering and smiling, hugging and wishing one another well. Suzanne marveled for a moment at how two people became a family—both because of the people they brought into the world, and the people they simply brought together. The happy chaos in the little church was all an extension of Jake and Marci, who at one point in time had been just strangers in the same freshman English class.

  She felt a tap on her shoulder as Jake approached from behind. “They’re in the back,” he said, motioning Suzanne toward the sanctuary doors. “Dylan, let me introduce you to my parents. My dad’s a huge fan, but he pretends it’s just my mom who likes your music.”

  With that, Jake had confiscated her fiancée and sent Suzanne to find Marci and the baby. Bonnie Theresa Stillwell was having her dedication today, and Suzanne’s job was to stand in front of this little group and talk about Bonita Daniels, the woman who had saved her life and given this baby girl her name. And also, to stand up and promise to be Bonnie’s godmother. Both were heavy responsibilities. She hoped she was up to the task.

  “Hey,” Marci said as Suzanne poked her head into the pastor’s office.

  “Hey yourself,” Suzanne said.

  Marci was nursing Bonnie beneath a blanket, but motioned with her head for Suzanne to come in and take a seat. She looked radiant as a mother. They had just seen each other for dinner a couple of days before—Marci’s first night out without the baby—but today she looked different somehow. Motherhood had given her best friend a new kind of grace.

  “Is it crazy out there?” she asked softly.

  “Only in the best way,” Suzanne said. “How are you?”

  “We’re good,” Marci said, gazing down at little Bonnie. They sat quietly for a while, listening to the baby’s soft suckling and the light rain that was now falling outside.

  “So how’s the unpacking going? You still driving Dylan crazy?”

  “Yes. I know it’s awful. I’m just a terrible procrastinator.”

  “No. You’re not.” The words might’ve been reassuring, except that Marci’s tone was more firm than generous.

  Suzanne hesitated for a second. “Um, what?”

  “You’re not a procrastinator. I’ve known you since you were a kid. You either do things or you don’t, in my experience.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I’m wondering whether you’re delaying putting away those boxes as one last holdout. Like your subconscious anxiety about living with Dylan, and committing your whole life to him, is manifesting itself by you not unpacking all those boxes.”

  Oh great, she’s back in Columbo mode. Or she’s been reading Psychology Today again. “Come on, Marce. I moved in with him. I sold my condo. I accepted his proposal.” She held up her left hand and wiggled her ring finger. It had a disco-ball effect in the low-lit office. “You really think I’m trying to keep a foot out the door by not unpacking a few boxes?”

  Marci merely arched an eyebrow in response and handed a well-fed Bonnie to Suzanne while she re-buttoned her blouse. Bonnie was a lovely, pudgy little thing with wispy brown curls. She’d been born on Halloween, and Suzanne had already purchased a baby princess costume for her to wear trick-or-treating on her first birthday. She held the tiny girl close to her, cooing softly and saying a silent prayer that Bonnie wouldn’t choose the pink cashmere as the place to spit up her lunch. Before she could challenge Marci any further, Reverend McClosky knocked to tell them he was ready when they were.

  By the time they got back to the sanctuary, the crowd had tripled to include aunts and uncles and grandparents and cousins. Once the reverend had spoken, the blessings had been offered, and both Suzanne and Jake’s dad made their speeches for the occasion, not a dry eye remained in the little church. The guest of honor, however, seemed oblivious of the whole affair, sleeping soundly in Marci’s arms throughout the ceremony. They gathered again in the front room for punch and cookies, where Suzanne and Dylan hung back from the crowd.

  “Thanks for doing this with me,” she said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. This is what we do now, right? We go to each other’s stuff.”

  “Well, yeah,” she said. Of course.

  Dylan pulled out his phone and looked at it, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Anyway,” he said, “you’d better get ready for more of this stuff tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  He held out the phone. “Just got a text from Jeff. Kate just went into labor.”

  “Oh!” Suzanne’s hand flew to her mouth in excitement.

  Dylan was still grinning. “Can you imagine my whole family at the hospital? They’re not going to know what hit them.”

  “Definitely not,” she agreed. “The tabloids are going to have a field day.” For Kate’s sake, she hoped she was wrong.

  Suzanne had found that her relationship with the press, while certainly challenging, had not been as
bad as she’d anticipated. Since Dylan’s announcement of his hiatus back in October had formally launched their relationship, they had been the topic of gossip on and off as people tried to figure out who Suzanne was and why Dylan had chosen her. Several grainy pictures and a few shaky videos of the two of them on the hotel balcony had made the rounds—apparently at least a few people in New York still looked out their windows and knew enough about country music to recognize Dylan in his boxers.

  And, of course, the pictures from the debacle at the High had reemerged, to her utter embarrassment. The press seemed to be spinning them differently these days, however, with variations according to media outlet. Some came close to reality when they reported that Penny had spiked Suzanne’s drink that evening, while one fringe tabloid claimed Dylan and Suzanne were rogue members of the same nudist cult, who disrobed in public whenever microchips in their brains were activated. Marci had sent a clipping of this particular view to Suzanne. “Yeah, I think I might be forced to write a song about that one,” Dylan had said stoically when she read it to him. “So where do you want to go for dinner?”

  She was learning from Dylan, slowly, about not taking herself too seriously. Suzanne thought this might be a longer journey for her than for some, but the last year had certainly forced her to make a start. She found that her work at the foundation was teaching her something new about character and love and loyalty every day. She was getting a makeover she had never realized she needed.

  Chad and David approached, hands linked. Suzanne kissed them both and re-introduced Dylan to David, as her memory of their meeting at the High last year was more than a little fuzzy. “How’s the new job going?” she asked Chad, with the air of an ex-girlfriend asking about someone’s dating life.

  David rolled his eyes. “Oh, you had to ask,” he said. He rubbed Chad’s back affectionately and turned to Dylan. “Gorgeous, you and I better pretend we have something in common pretty quick. This could be a loooong conversation.”

  Suzanne gave Chad a look of concern. “What’s going on?”

  “Ugh, Suze. It’s fine, really. It’s just…so predictable. I mean the money is great and I love working near David—”

  “Not in the same department,” David put in hurriedly.

  “Right. My boss is a nice guy and everything, but it’s just not—”

  “Challenging? Fun?” Suzanne ventured.

  “It’s not the same as working with you,” Chad said. “Apparently, I don’t function well with sane people. I am motivated by craziness. I don’t know whether I need a job change or shock therapy.”

  Suzanne laughed. “Well, you know, the foundation is doing really well. We are looking at expanding some of our services by the summer. We might be looking to hire someone soon.”

  “Says the woman who doesn’t even draw her own salary yet,” Dylan muttered. Suzanne ignored him.

  “The pay isn’t great, obviously, and you might need to do some volunteering with us so you can get to know the board first and see what you’re in for,” she said. As much as she loved the idea of working with Chad again, it was probably a big step down for him salary- and prestige-wise. She didn’t want him to be unhappy.

  “Oh, Suzanne, I’d love to,” he said in a rush. “I’ll bring your coffee every day.”

  She smiled. He really did hate his job at the law firm. She felt the same thrill at the thought of having Chad back with her as she had nearly five years ago when Marci had moved home from Austin. But she tried to keep her emotions even so he wouldn’t feel pressured and regret his decision. “Let’s have lunch next week, okay?”

  They said goodbye, and Chad kissed her cheek again, promising to call next week. David surprised her by throwing his arms around her in a farewell bear hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” he whispered urgently. Apparently working in the same office was putting a bit of strain on Chad and David’s relationship.

  #

  That evening, Suzanne and Dylan sat on the couch together, she with a glass of wine, he with his phone handy waiting for news from Kate and Jeff. The pregnancy had been difficult; Kate had often been overwhelmed to the point of tears by the misguided intrusions of her family. To his credit, Jeff had banned everyone—including their parents and Dylan himself—from the hospital until the day after the baby was born. Dylan had seemed surprised at first, but Suzanne had a hunch that he actually respected his brother-in-law for holding his ground.

  A warm fire crackled—the first one in their new fireplace—and Suzanne looked through some work papers while Dylan watched a Tennessee Titans playoff game in his lucky socks. The socks were a ragged old pair of plain white athletic tube socks with holes in the toes and paint stains on the bottom, but he claimed the Titans won more often than they lost when he wore them. How he had kept track of this statistic, she didn’t know, but it was one of the hundreds of endearing little things she had learned about him since October. These were the kinds of things she hadn’t known about anyone before—except Marci—and certainly had never shared herself, at least not with anyone she’d dated.

  But Dylan knew now. He knew that Suzanne still sometimes slept with a teddy bear she’d had since childhood, and by either great sympathy or great restraint he had not made fun of her about it. He knew she loved crime dramas and hated scented candles and was a tragically bad dancer. He knew she did her best painting after midnight and liked to sleep in at every opportunity, but could also appreciate a sunrise if properly lured with a cinnamon latte and sweet words. He knew she’d spent the first half of her life so far afraid of letting her father down, and the second half afraid of letting everyone else down, too. He knew all of this and more, and yet, he loved her. For the first time in her life, she believed those words when she heard them.

  They were still working on everything else.

  So far, the news of their engagement had somehow not made it to the press—Suzanne didn’t wear the ring in public yet—but it was inevitable, and she knew they needed to decide some things soon. The idea of planning a wedding right now was so far from desirable that she had suggested they simply go to the local courthouse on a Tuesday or something. She had a fantasy of getting married in jeans and a t-shirt on the way to the grocery store and then sneaking away undetected on a honeymoon in the middle of the night. Dylan had laughed at what he called an “anti-Suzanne” idea, and suggested that even at the local courthouse they’d be unlikely to escape the press.

  He didn’t pressure her about setting a date. He also hadn’t said anything about his career, but she knew that he was itching to go back to work soon. It only seemed fair, considering she had the foundation and her painting to keep her more than occupied. The three months they’d been together had been the longest break he had taken from his music career since middle school. In many ways, she could tell he was refreshed by it. They’d spent a few days here and there at his cabin—alone, amazingly enough—or down at the beach near Savannah. He’d caught up with old friends—like Jesse McCreary, who Suzanne felt sheepish meeting personally after publicly criticizing his batting average—and he frequently went out to listen to small-time bands in bars and at little local festivals. When she could, Suzanne went with him. Occasionally he’d introduce himself after a show and get a promising band’s CD to pass on to his father, but he had yet to re-create their first dive bar experience by singing James Taylor to her.

  It had been an amazing three months for both of them but Suzanne knew that if he stayed away from his work too long he would begin to wilt and die. Not to mention everyone else who depended on Dylan for their livelihoods, too. She had been thinking it was time to talk about their plans for a while now, but there was always something else more pressing, or more fun, to do. She was waiting for the right opportunity to bring it up and somehow while he was yelling obscenities at a line judge on TV didn’t seem like the right time.

  This time it was Marci’s voice that came to her. You’re delaying…one last holdout…subconscious anxiety…committing your wh
ole life…

  No. This time Marci was wrong. “Dylan?” she said sweetly.

  “What, babe?” he said, not taking his eyes off the screen, split into three parts. The two head coaches paced in their little boxes, waiting for a referee in the third box who was watching a replay under a large black hood.

  Suzanne hesitated. “Could we—”

  “Aw, dammit! Come ON!” he said, throwing his arms up in exasperation. Apparently the call had gone against Tennessee. He turned to her and composed his face into a semblance of normalcy, but apparently under some effort. This was not a good time.

  “Could you keep me posted, about Kate?”

  “Sure, Scarlett,” he said, glancing peripherally at the television. “You going somewhere?”

  “Nope. Just going upstairs and I don’t want to miss the baby news.”

  “Everything okay?” he said. Now he looked concerned.

  She crossed to him and gave him a soft kiss, tugging gently at his bottom lip with her teeth as they parted. “I’m fine. Just going upstairs.” She gave him a grin. “Don’t get all swept up in football and forget about me, okay?”

  He growled slightly and leaned toward her. “What football?” Suzanne knew she’d never get tired of that lopsided grin.

  #

  The work took her nearly five hours. By the time she’d finished, it was one in the morning and she had lost all sense of time. She went downstairs to find Dylan asleep on the couch with the TV flickering. She shook him gently and he startled awake, grabbing for his phone. They read the text together: It’s a boy! Adrian Burke Wendell, born 11:16 p.m. 6 lbs, 8 oz. Mom & baby GR8 :) Luv, Jeff

  “We’ll leave first thing, eh?” Dylan said, grinning.

  “Definitely,” Suzanne agreed. “They’ll need your help controlling the rest of the family.”

  Dylan nodded and stood, stretching. His white t-shirt rose with his broad shoulders, leaving an exposed gap of perfect stomach between it and his jeans. The three months of relaxing had done Dylan no harm whatsoever. Tired and achy though she was, she felt the familiar longing for him rising in her lower abdomen.