by J. J. McAvoy
That Thing Between Eli and Gwen
J.J. McAvoy
Copyright
This ebook is licensed to you for your personal enjoyment only.
This ebook may not be sold, shared, or given away.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
That Thing Between Eli and Gwen
Copyright © 2016 by J.J. McAvoy
Ebook ISBN: 9781943772414
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
No part of this work may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without prior permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
NYLA Publishing
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Open your heart to a love that makes you feel like you’re dreaming,
a love that leaves you breathless.
Chapter One
Telltale Signs
Guinevere
I should have seen the signs that morning. They weren’t massive, but they were there. I had almost slipped and killed myself coming out of the shower—okay, that one was a big, giant sign, but the others were pretty small. I couldn’t find the left shoe to my favorite pair of red heels. The pearls he had given me slipped off my neck and scattered all across the bedroom floor. And when he did show up, twenty minutes late, Taigi would not stop barking at him…like my dog knew March 1st would be a day that would live in infamy for me.
Taking a seat in his brand new midnight blue Mercedes, he didn’t say anything as we pulled out of the Hampton beach house. His knuckles were almost white as he gripped the steering wheel. The back of his hand rested just under his lips, something he had done hundreds of times in our three years together, but only when he was either really worried or upset.
“Bash?” I touched his leg and he jumped as if he had forgotten I was sitting next to him.
Turning to me, his light brown eyes met mine. “Yeah?”
“Are you okay? You look like we're going to a funeral, not a wedding,” I joked, smiling. He shook his head and took hold of my hand.
“I’m fine.” He kissed the back of my hand. “Just work stuff. I’m hoping we can do our rounds and get out of there before it gets too late.”
Nodding, I looked back out at the beach as we drove. Sebastian—or Bash as I called him—was the owner and founder of both Class and Rebel magazines. It was the reason we had met, actually. He had attended one of my gallery openings and loved my photography. I had told myself I would never contract myself with any corporation or brand; I liked being a freelancer. I painted and shot what I wanted, what mattered to me. Yet there was just something about Sebastian Evans. No matter how many times I bluntly denied his request or ignored his emails, he never gave up. After all, no matter what Sebastian Evans wanted, he worked until it was his. Eventually, I agreed to shoot their spring cover. It was only supposed to be that one cover, but three years later I was a contracted photographer and his fiancée.
“Welcome to The Chateau Rouge,” the valet said when we pulled up to a gated mansion. As Bash spoke to him, I found myself staring at the decorated landscape; everything was in beautiful greens and blues. Projected on the pure green grass were the initials E & H, and around them was a small orchestra, just for the arriving guests.
Only when I stepped out of the car was I able to see what had to be the icing on the cake: as if these people needed to prove they had money, there were even peacocks walking around.
I looked to Bash.
“What?” He looked at me, confused.
I pointed at everything. “Really?” was all I managed to say.
“You make it seem like you’ve never seen rich people before. You should have worn the red dress I picked out for you.” He frowned and took my hand as we walked toward the seats for guests.
This was another point at which I should have seen the signs, but again, I was blind to it. I can still remember how cold his hand was as I held it. As we mingled with the rest of New York’s elite during cocktail hour, I felt as if I were standing in the middle of the Arctic Circle in a bikini.
“Wow, she’s beautiful,” I whispered as the bride walked up the aisle, her makeup flawless to the point that her skin glowed. Her soft, honey-gold hair shined and her strapless heart-shaped dress clung to her every curve. Her blue eyes filled with unshed tears as she held her roses tightly, walking slow and steady. For a quick second I thought I saw her glance over to us.
I hope I look half as good as her on my wedding day, I thought, my eyes never off her as she made her way to the front.
It passed in a blur. One moment the pastor was saying something, and the next, Bash was no longer holding my hand.
“Hannah,” he called out, moving to the center of the aisle.
She looked toward him, looked to her groom, and then back at Bash.
My Bash. What…
“Don’t, Hannah.”
What…is…this...?
“Hannah,” Bash called to her.
Stop! My mind screamed.
But, to my horror, she let go of her groom’s hands and ran toward Bash.
I couldn’t breathe. I was up, knocking over my chair. “BASH!” I yelled.
But they were already running…hand in hand.
By this point, every other guest was up. Those around me moved away, allowing everyone to see the girl who’d just gotten dumped. I knew the only person who had it worse than me was the man up front. For the first time since I’d gotten there, I truly looked at him: tall, ivory skin, short dark hair, piercing green eyes watching his bride run from him. He stood there so still, so shocked, I almost forgot my own pain.
Why hadn’t I seen the signs?
Eli
Even if I lived to be one hundred and fifty, I would never forget that March 1st. It was supposed to be one of the happiest days of my life. After two years of dating, I had finally asked the Hannah Michaels to be my wife.
We had met as medical interns at New York Presbyterian, and on the first day she’d had the attention of every straight male at the hospital. What was sexier than beauty and brains? She was dedicated not only to her work, but also to her patients. The Hannah Michaels… My Hannah was soft, sweet, focused, and precise. No matter what goal, she worked to achieve it; I liked that about her. Whenever we were around each other, we just clicked. She and I were so alike on so many levels, there were times we would end up finishing each other’s sentences. We became close early on, but didn’t actually start to date until we both became attendings.
I couldn’t imagine dating anyone else.
“You nervous?” My younger brother, Logan, placed his arm around my shoulder as I stood in the dressing room.
I shrugged him off, fixing my cuff links. “Why would I be nervous?”
“Eli Davenport is finally taking the plunge. I just can’t believe it. I thought you guys were never going to get married.” He pushed me out of the way to fix his tie.
I smacked him over the head.
“Really? Even today you two fight?” My mother sighed, coming into the room. Her gray-auburn hair was cropped at her shoulders, and her soft green gown kissed the ground as she came close and pulled me into a light hug. The tears in her eyes were already starting to build.
“Ma, he's getting married, not dying.” Logan chuckled.
She gave him a glare. “Now.” She frowned, looking to me.
“Are you sure about…this?”
“Mom.” I held on to her shoulders; she was being ridiculous. “You like Hannah. I like Hannah. Why wouldn’t I be sure? You're finally getting the daughter you always wanted.”
“I know.” She placed her hand on my chest. Even with heels, she was still a full head shorter than me. “I just can’t shake this feeling. Who knew letting you go would be so hard?”
My mother and her dramatics, I’d thought. If only we had listened to her gut.
“You still have me,” Logan added, proving he was more like her than our father.
We both looked at him before turning away.
“Wow! Okay, I see how it is,” he muttered before walking toward the door, leaving our mother laughing.
“If your father was still with us, I’m sure he would have been proud of the man you’ve become, Eli. I know I am.” She wiped away a few tears.
I wasn’t sure what else to do but give her my arm. I was never the affectionate one, but that day I went through so many different emotions.
She held on to me tightly as we entered the grounds. She and Hannah had gone crazy with the decorations, but they really enjoyed it, and I honestly didn't care. I just wanted to skip to the important part.
I stood in front of all our family and friends with Logan to my left. Finally the music started, and my gaze shot toward the doors of the mansion, waiting for them to open. I had known she would be beautiful, but she was absolutely radiant.
God, I’m so lucky.
With every step she took, the grin on my face grew, until her hand was in mine.
“You look beautiful,” I whispered.
She smiled, but didn’t say anything in return. In that instant, as the pastor began to speak, all the moments we’d ever shared together played in my mind: the very first time we met…our first operation together…first kiss…first night… Everything ran though my mind like a movie, the highlights of our life.
And this is just the beginning of so much more. Today is—
“Hannah,” someone called.
Hearing her name pulled me from thoughts. My head snapped to the man standing in the aisle with his hand outstretched to my soon-to-be-wife.
“Sebastian?” Logan questioned beside me.
Sebastian… The man calling out to my Hannah was Sebastian Evans, one of Logan’s closest friends. We weren’t close, but I knew of him.
“Hannah,” he called again.
Enough! My mind hollered as I took a step forward, but it was too late.
Hannah released my hand. She let go and never looked back as she ran toward him.
I stood there, too shocked to move or speak. That moment was hell on earth.
For hours, I could not speak. My mind was blank. I tried to understand, but my brain, my heart—both were shot. I leaned on the balcony of the dressing room, staring out at the ocean until the sunset. Only then did I regain function of my body, and I ran. Stupidly, I ran out toward the front. All the guests, with the exception of family and the cleaning crew, had left. When I got outside, I saw my brother ripping the “Just Married” sign from the Bentley.
“Eli—”
“Keys.” I walked around to the driver's side of the car. As I opened the door, I saw a woman dressed in blue step in front of me. She had long wavy brown hair and warm brown skin. Her brown eyes were now puffy and red, presumably from crying. She stood tall with her head held high.
“This is your number, right?” She pointed to the phone number on the RSVP card before quickly texting something on her phone and adding, “Please kick his ass.” She turned toward her taxi without waiting for another word from me.
“Gwen!” Logan called out to her before groaning. “Jesus. He was her fucking fiancé.”
Feeling my phone vibrate, I pulled it out of my coat pocket.
He left his email open on my phone. I got a confirmation for a room they just booked.
Prescott Hills
Montauk, NY
Room 1204
“Eli, don’t—”
Ignoring him, I got into the car, and without a second thought I drove, the rage in me growing with each passing mile. I gripped the steering wheel, gritting my teeth as I thought. They were no more than twenty minutes away from the chaos they had unleashed on my life.
When I pulled up at the Prescott Hills, I was prepared to kick the door down. I immediately saw both of them walking toward me, completely oblivious, still holding those godforsaken hands.
“Eli!” Hannah gasped, no longer in her dress, now wearing jeans and a gift shop shirt.
Ignoring her, my fist collided with his jaw and he fell against the wall, but that didn’t stop me. Grabbing him by the collar, I kept punching until my knuckles cracked on his face.
“STOP! Eli! Stop or I will call the cops, I swear,” she yelled.
I wanted to kill him, but by some miracle, I managed to stop. “Call the cops?” I stood rigid, ignoring the pain in my hand and the fucker at my feet. “What's stopping you, Hannah? Make this day even more special!”
She hung her head, dropping to her knees beside him.
“I understand that you hate—”
“You understand nothing.” I cut him off. I couldn’t even look at them anymore. I turned to leave but stopped, pulling out my phone to take a picture of his bloody face. It gave me no real satisfaction, but what the hell. Maybe that other woman would get some peace of mind out of seeing it.
All I could wonder as I drove was, how? How could this happen?
Chapter Two
Dr. Asshole and the Con Artist
Guinevere
A month had passed since the worst day of my life, and since then I had been able to confirm a universal truth: music was God’s gift to the brokenhearted. The first week, I cried to Adele and Mariah Carey. The second week, I was on to Beyoncé and Pink. The third week, Eminem was speaking my language, and the fourth was dedicated to the ‘90s.
“Gwen? Hello? You still there?”
“Yeah, Dad, I’m here.” I adjusted the phone on my shoulder, packing my shoes into the box.
“Are you sure you don’t need me to come down there—”
“Daddy, I promise you I’m okay.” That was a lie. Yes, it had been a month and I still felt like shit, but I knew I would feel like that for a while.
“When things like this happen, you need family, Gwen. It’s the only way to get over this. Besides, New York has nothing on Cypress.”
Exhaling deeply, I grabbed another empty box as I headed into the bathroom. “How about I promise to come visit in a few weeks, okay? I still have a lot of work to do in the city. Plus, you know I can’t come back home now. People will be staring and judging…”
“Since when has my Gwen ever cared about what others thought of her?” He chuckled into the phone.
Since I was publicly humiliated. “You're right. Screw them all, and tell Mom I want the biggest welcome home party in the state.”
“Thatta girl. Chin up.”
“Head high. Bye Daddy, love you.”
“Love you, too,” he replied, hanging up.
Sighing, I threw the box on the ground and Taigi, forgetting he wasn’t a puppy any more, tried to use it as a bed but broke through it. Dismayed, he walked away from it and curled up into a ball of white and black fur in the corner. I was about to curl up into a ball next to him when I heard the doorbell ring.
Taigi’s head shot up, but he stayed in his corner.
“Don’t get up, I'll get it,” I said to him when the bell rang again.
“Coming!” I groaned, moving through the maze I had created. I checked to see who it was before opening the door. “Logan?”
Logan Davenport, one of Bash’s closest friends, stood at the door with two cups of coffee on a tray in one hand and a bag of groceries in the other. Since the incident, he had taken it upon himself to check up on me every few days.
“You've gotten skinnier.” He frowned.
I looked down at my yog
a pants and oversized shirt. “Yay?”
“Not yay,” he snapped, entering the apartment. “You need to eat, Gwen.”
“Logan, I told you, you don’t need to do all of this for me.” I followed him into the kitchen, where he unpacked some of my pots and pans. “Hey!”
“I’ll put them back when I'm done.” He flashed me a smile before looking for more utensils.
“Seriously, Logan—”
“Gwen, please let me do this,” he muttered over the stove. “You have no idea how guilty I feel. My best friend ran away with my brother’s girl while leaving his fiancée alone to pick up the pieces. I introduced them to each other, Gwen. I feel guilty toward you, too. So please, let me do this much… I know we aren’t that close, but still.”
I stared at him for a moment. It was true, I really didn’t know Logan. He and Bash were fraternity brothers. He came over for game nights and dinners we threw, but other than that, Logan and I had never been close. Logan had only just turned twenty-two, five years younger than Bash and two years younger than me; maybe that’s why I always saw him as Bash’s little brother…and in a way, my younger brother, as well. He and Bash even looked alike. They both had hazel eyes and brown hair, though Bash’s was sandier in color. Seeing Logan so serious now was odd.
“Can you even cook?” I grinned, looking through the bag he'd brought.
“Can I cook?” He mocked me as if he was horrified I'd asked the question. “I will have you know I make the best damn omelets in all of New York.”
“All of New York?” I crossed my arms.
“You heard me.” He winked. “Now, where is the rest of your stuff?”
“It’s in those boxes.” I pointed to the ones labeled 'KITCHEN' behind him. “Oh how is your music coming along? You’re pretty popular, right?”
“Define popular. Besides, I need to focus on school… Jeez, all of these are yours? Did Bash buy anything when you guys lived together?” he muttered, already opening the box. I was not blind to how he tried to change the subject, but I let it go.