“Oh, um—” I bit my lip nervously as my phone buzzed again. “I don’t know. I, um—”
He nodded, tossing a towel over his shoulder and stepping even further back. “Okay, no worries. You don’t have to come up with an excuse.”
My phone buzzed again, but I placed it face down on the bar, focusing all of my attention on him. “It’s not an excuse, it’s just…well, I would love to go, but I don’t come to Atlanta often. Ever, actually.”
“But you’re here tonight.” His crystal blue eyes locked with mine in the dim bar light, and I sucked in a breath. No one had ever taken my breath away the way he did.
“But I may not ever be again. What happens after tonight?”
He chuckled under his breath. “I didn’t just propose marriage. I just wanted a burger and thought it might be nice to not be alone.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not a one-night stand kind of girl,” I said firmly, setting the empty glass down and running a finger across the rim.
He furrowed his brow, placing a hand in front of his mouth. “Am I—am I not speaking clearly? I thought I said I wanted to take you to get something to eat, but apparently you heard drunken sexcapade and maybe even marriage proposal in there somewhere.” He laughed, waving his hands in front of him casually. “Seriously, there’s no pressure. If you don’t want to go, just say so.”
I twisted my mouth in thought. “I never said I don’t want to go.”
He grinned, patting the bar with his palm. “All right, then. It’s settled. Give me fifteen minutes.”
An hour later, Mark had cleaned up from his shift and we were in a small, quiet diner across town. The black-and-white tile floor reminded me of a restaurant from several decades before, but Mark assured me they had the best burgers in Atlanta, and who was I to argue?
By the time the waiter brought us our food, my stomach was growling for sustenance. It had been years since I’d allowed myself anything as tempting as a greasy fry, but as I picked it up, I began to wonder why.
I let out an embarrassing moan as soon as the fry touched my tongue, and Mark snorted. I felt my cheeks turning pink, from the warmth of the food, his attention, and the self-consciousness I felt for eating like a pig in front of him.
“I told you it was good,” he said.
“It’s not that. I mean, it is good, it’s just…I don’t really eat this stuff. I forgot how good it was.”
“This stuff?” he asked, one brow raised as he glanced to his plate. “Food?”
“Food that’s bad for me. I’m kind of a food addict.” To my surprise, he didn’t take one look at my thin figure and argue with me like most people did when they learned my secret. “I used to be much bigger. It took me a long time to lose the weight, and I haven’t let myself go back to the old way of eating for fear of losing control and gaining it all back.”
His expression turned instantly serious. “I’m so sorry, Hannah,” he said, pushing his plate away from him. “I should’ve asked. Do you want to go somewhere else?”
“No,” I assured him. “Honestly, it’s fine. This is…good for me. A healthy relationship with food and all, right?”
He didn’t look so sure. “You aren’t going to offend me if you don’t want to eat this. I don’t want to be the thing that causes you to falter with your progress. They probably have salads here…what do you eat?”
“Salads, mostly,” I said, squeezing the fry between my fingers until its insides exploded before placing it down on my plate.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked. His tone wasn’t accusatory as much as curious.
“You were so excited about Atlanta’s best burger and fries, I didn’t want to disappoint you.”
He looked down and sucked in a breath, then stood from the booth, grabbed our plates, and walked toward the counter. When he returned a few minutes later, he had two salads in his hand. “Here, Atlanta’s best salad.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, worried he was angry.
“I’m an alcoholic, Hannah,” he said matter-of-factly. “An alcoholic who works in a bar. If anyone understands temptation, it’s me. So, you’re going to have to be gentle with my addiction,” he paused, “and I’ll be gentle with yours.”
With that, he dug into his salad without another word. It was the simplest gesture, and yet bigger than a dozen roses. In that small moment, I’m pretty sure the first piece of my heart began to fall for him.
Chapter Four
Her
Our relationship moved quickly. After that first date, we kept in contact despite my demanding work schedule and his equally demanding school schedule. Phone calls were exchanged, and any chance I had to make a pit stop in Atlanta, I took it.
After six months of this exhausting exchange, Mark asked me to move in with him. The thought was terrifying. I had a good job, though it was admittedly getting more frustrating to be away from him for weeks at a time, and I’d never been a fan of warm weather or the stereotypes that came with living in the South, but I loved Mark. Despite everything I was unsure of, I was so sure of that. I could do my job based out of anywhere, but he was nearly finished with school and wasn’t in a place where he could transfer. We could’ve waited a few months and reevaluated after he’d graduated, but we were crazy kids in love, and nothing could keep us apart any longer. Without allowing myself to think of all the reasons it could’ve been a bad idea, I said yes, agreed to take that step, and the decision was made.
A month after that, everything I owned was being unloaded by movers into Mark’s cozy two bedroom townhome. Things in the South were more affordable, at least.
I remember Mark asking me if I was happy I’d moved home with him. Home. It was already my home before I’d unpacked the first box. Though I’d been unsure about it up until that point, hearing those words from him was all that I needed to seal the deal. I was home. He was my home. For a girl who lived on the road, having a home was a really good feeling.
In the beginning, things were great. I flew home to Atlanta a few times a month, a few times a week if we were really lucky, and despite the strain, we made the best of the moments we had together. Mark would always request off the nights we knew I’d be home and we’d go out together, exploring the city I was beginning to fall in love with.
I think the distance made things better between us, sometimes. There was never any time for the usual stupid fighting couples eventually do. We only had a limited amount of time together, and so we had to make the most of it. In theory, it should’ve been a mess, but somehow it just worked.
Another six months went by with that arrangement, and then, on the day Mark graduated, he asked me to marry him. The proposal happened in the middle of the lawn of his law school, surrounded by hooping and hollering classmates as they threw their caps in the air, celebrating their achievement. Despite the noise, it felt intimate, like we were the only people in the world. That’s how it always felt with Mark, like the two of us were completely alone in the world. Nothing, no one, mattered but us. Looking back, I guess that’s how he wanted it.
Despite feeling, in the moment, that we were the only people there, we were literally surrounded by screaming people. I was so sure I’d heard him wrong the first time that I had to ask him to repeat himself. He did, without hesitation. And I’d heard right.
I thought maybe he was just asking in the heat of the moment, but he pulled a ring from his pocket and proved me wrong again. As he kneeled to the ground, my eyes filled with tears and I began to cry. I couldn’t even answer through the tears, but he seemed to understand.
“I love you,” he whispered as he pulled me into his arms and kissed my lips.
“I love you, too,” I choked out. No words had ever been more true.
Things were perfect. I’d never been happier than I was from the time we met until we got married. In the beginning, there was only light.
After the wedding, everything changed.
Chapter Five
/> Her
PRESENT DAY
The lawyer interrupts my words by clearing his throat. I blink from my trance, ghosts of memories in my eyes: the way it felt the first time Mark kissed me, the night we made love for the first time, the way he smelled when he’d come back from a run, the way he’d hold me close when we’d watch a movie together. Many, many moments—big and little, but good nonetheless. There is so much good in our love story. So much. I want him to see that, but I know he won’t. No one will see it now, once they hear our story, but it was there. Despite it all, it is still there. He lays his pen down for a moment and smiles at me sadly.
“You know you don’t have to tell me everything, Hannah. Not if it doesn’t affect the case.”
I nod. I do know. I could tell him what he wants to hear—about that night—and be done with it, but it isn’t that simple. Nothing’s ever really that simple, is it? Yes, I remember it all. Yes, it’s all my fault. Yes. Yes. Yes.
But it’s not a simple yes or no. Not this time. There’s always a why. Within my why is the story of our love and where it all went wrong. And it’s a story worth telling, so if he wants to hear the truth, he’ll have to sit through the whole thing.
“I know,” I say finally, clasping my hands on the table in front of me. “But I think you have to hear it all. You won’t understand if not.”
He nods, picking his pen back up and allowing me to continue. “So, you met your husband two years ago?”
“Mhm,” I say. “Three in May.”
“And you two were married just a year later?”
“A year and three months.”
“And you say the marriage went sour pretty quickly?”
Sour. As if we were a bad batch of grapes. As if the two of us, our lives intertwined, could be reduced to a poor produce choice that you would throw out with the garbage. I nod stiffly, not bothering to argue. Does it matter anymore? “Yes.”
“Okay, go on. Tell me more about how things changed so quickly.”
Chapter Six
Him
PRESENT DAY
The lawyer turns over the paper in his notebook, ready for the next page. He stares at me, his mouth pressed into such a thin line it almost disappears.
“Tell me about Hannah,” he says.
I grit my teeth, my blood boiling with anger. “What about her?”
“Tell me how you met.”
“You know how we met,” I say. He thinks he can play me, that I’m a fool, but he’s wrong. He’ll know that soon enough.
“I’d like for you to tell me anyway,” he presses on, and I can feel the vein in my temple pulsing.
My heart thuds in my chest, an angry warning that he is asking too many questions. What does he know? What has she told him about me? What filthy lies has she spewed from that putrid mouth? “You shouldn’t trust her,” I say finally. If I say much more, I’ll explode.
The lawyer looks at me with a strange expression, one hairy eyebrow higher than the other. “What makes you say that?”
“She’s a liar. That’s all she is. She’ll manipulate you into doing whatever she wants—believing whatever she wants you to believe. And she’ll destroy your life in the process. You think you know her, but you don’t. You don’t know what she’s capable of.”
“Damon—”
“Mark,” I correct furiously. “I don’t go by my first name.”
He clears his throat. “Right. Mark. Sorry. Can you tell me something specific about why you believe Hannah is a liar?”
I listen to his tone and the way he stares at me, and I already know the truth. I see the way he fiddles with his watch while I talk, as if he’d rather be anywhere else. He doesn’t believe me. Not a word I’m saying. I can see it all over his face. That’s when I realize she’s already gotten to him. He interviewed her first, listened to all of her lies, and now, I stand no chance. Women are so pure and innocent, aren’t they? It’s always the men who lie, right? Wrong. Hannah’s the best liar there is. I never stood a chance as long as she was involved.
“Mark—”
I pound my fists on the table angrily to shut him up. “What does it matter?” I scream. “What’s the point? You don’t believe me. I can see it all over your face. You don’t give a fuck what I say about any of it. You’ve already got your story, don’t you? The innocent little housewife already spun you her web of lies, and you took to it like a fly.” Too late for him. Too late for me. I can feel the anger rising to the surface. The first explosion was just a splash in the bath compared to the tsunami that is coming if he doesn’t watch himself. No one ever listens to me. No one wants to see the truth, not where she’s involved. She seems more trustworthy, I get it, but I know better. I know her so well.
“Now that’s not true,” he says. “I want to hear your version, Mark. I want to hear what happened.”
Chapter Seven
Her
THEN
“How was work?” I asked as Mark hurried in the door with a bright smile plastered on his face. He seemed happy, the happiest I’d seen him in a while.
“Fantastic,” he said, laughter filling his voice. “This place is…amazing, Han. The partners are going to be great to work for, I can already tell. I have a real office there—I can’t wait for you to see it—and I have my own secretary, a door, a separate phone line. It feels like it’s all coming together.” He held his arms out and scooped me up as I walked toward him, spinning me around and kissing my lips. He planted his hand firmly on my butt as our kiss grew more intense. All too soon, he pulled away. “All we’ve worked for, babe, it’s finally happening.”
“I’m so happy you had a good day,” I told him, rubbing my thumb over my lips. It was true. Mark had been working for a small, not-for-profit law firm as his first job straight out of college, and though he’d never been one to seem greedy, I knew it was taxing work. He’d been working long hours with little pay and too many clients to keep track of for months. When a position opened up at Lyman and Associates, we knew it was a long shot. When he actually got the position, we were both shocked. I’d been half expecting him to come home and tell me it was all a prank.
“Good doesn’t even cover it. The best, that’s more like it. The best day imaginable. I’ve got so much to tell you. We need wine,” he said, setting me down on my feet and hurrying past me. “Something to celebrate.”
“Wine?” I asked, shocked by his words. It took me a half-second to process because it was so out of character. It was then that I recognized the strange taste on his lips. Champagne. “Have you been drinking?”
“I had a glass,” he said with a shrug. “No big deal. They opened a bottle at work, and I didn’t want to be rude.”
I furrowed my brow at him, following as he dismissed me on his way to the kitchen. “Mark, you’re an alcoholic. You shouldn’t be drinking.”
He pulled open the door to the refrigerator but shut it and turned around to face me without getting anything out. “Thank you very much for telling me about my own ailment, Han. I hadn’t realized.” There was a smirk still on his face, but it was fading fast.
“It’s true. You shouldn’t be drinking. You’ve done so well—”
“Yes, I have. And if I choose to have a glass of champagne to celebrate years of hard work, why shouldn’t I?”
“You know as well as I do, one glass leads to one hundred. You’ve said it a million times. It’s why you worked at a bar. So you could build up a tolerance for being around it and not be tempted. So you could handle being offered alcohol without having to say yes.”
“I can handle it,” he said indignantly. “This time was different, okay? I’m new. I couldn’t say no, Hannah. It would’ve been rude, or embarrassing at least. It’s fine. I’m fine. It was just one glass.”
“You just asked for one more!” I yelled, slamming my hands to my sides.
He sucked in a breath. “Well, fucking excuse me for thinking you’d want to celebrate with me on the biggest day of my career.”
He shoved past me, hurrying from the kitchen in a cloud of anger.
“Since when do we celebrate with alcohol?” I asked. I myself had given up drinking around the house to help ease his temptation.
“Well, we can’t celebrate with anything else good, can we?” he screamed back from the other room.
I hurried after him, following him up the stairs and to our bedroom. “What the hell does that mean?”
He was fuming by the time I reached him, his hands shaking as he unbuttoned his dress shirt. “Just that every once in a while I’d like to have a slice of pizza or, god forbid, a piece of cake.”
“I never said you couldn’t—”
“It’s the unspoken rule, isn’t it? None of us gets what we want around here.”
I stepped back as if he’d slapped me as hard as his words stung. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
His head hung down as he pulled the shirt from his back, wadding it into a ball and tossing it into the hamper across the room. He shook his head. “Nothing, forget it. I didn’t mean that.”
“What exactly did you mean, then?” I asked.
He stepped toward me, the anger suddenly gone. “I didn’t mean anything, Han. Sorry. I just…I was in a good mood, and you’re right, I shouldn’t have had anything to drink. I don’t like the version of me that I am when I drink. You deserve better.”
“I don’t want to limit what you eat. I’m a grown woman, Mark. I can resist temptation. If you want pizza or cake, by all means—”
I Said Yes Page 2