“You fucking cheated on me, Angel!”
She flinched at that, swallowing. “Your word against mine.”
That made my father frown, his fury the substance mine was born of. “Now listen here, young lady, this is absolutely uncalled for. You and Jamie clearly did not get married after what happened. We need to go make this right.”
“I am making it right,” she spat at him. “Your son is my husband, and whatever transpired between us is in the past.” Her eyes met mine then. “Please, Jamie. I want to make things right. I want us to have the future together that we always wanted.”
“And I want you to jump off the nearest cliff.”
My dad squeezed my shoulder again in warning, but I saw his lips quirk up just a bit.
Angel’s face flattened. “Fine. You want to play hard ball? Then, let’s play.” She stood then, her chair making a screeching noise against my parents’ dining room floor. “My lawyer is already well aware of our situation. And with all my bridesmaids willing to swear in court that I was so drunk I only thought I cheated and confessed to you not in my right mind, when really they’d all carried me home and put me to bed? You don’t have a leg to stand on.”
I frowned. “Claire wouldn’t.”
“Oh, she would. And,” Angel said, leaning over the table. “I know exactly where you were the night of our wedding, and who you were with.”
I clenched my jaw, not admitting it even when she stared me down.
“Lucky for me, there are cameras in that hotel lobby bar, and if we had to go to court over this, I’m sure I could obtain the footage from that night if I needed to.”
“And do what, exactly?”
“Show proof that it was you cheating on me.”
Fury flamed in me, and I felt it going through my father, too.
“We can either work this out like adults and be together the way we were supposed to be before that home wrecking whore showed up here,” Angel said, standing. “Or, you can get a lawyer and divorce me like you want. But with this little piece of evidence on my side, just know I’m coming for half of everything you own.” Her eyes met my dad’s then. “Including the firm.”
I stilled. My father stilled. Everything was so damn still.
Ice water trickled through my veins, my worst nightmare that I hadn’t even considered coming to fruition right in front of me.
“Take a few days to think on it,” she said calmly. “And call me when you come to your senses.”
My dad and I both sat there frozen as she left the house, and then Mom, Sylvia, and Santana rushed in, their faces paling at the sight of us.
I snapped out of my daze, reaching into my pocket for my phone. I had to call B. I had to talk to her. I had to—
“No,” Dad said, grabbing my phone before I could unlock it. “Not yet. Not until we talk to Jim.”
Jim.
Our family lawyer.
My stomach somersaulted as I turned to look at my father, who wore an expression like he’d just seen exactly how his death would play out and when it would happen.
“You really think she has a leg to stand on, Dad?”
He frowned, looking at my mom first before he found my gaze again.
He didn’t have to answer for me to know.
And so, the most hellish two years of my life began. I couldn’t so much as send a letter to B without it raising flags, without it being something that could be used against me in court. My lawyer tried his best to keep me positive, to make me believe him when he said it wouldn’t be long before it would all be over with.
I snuck phone calls to B from the only payphone in town, maybe still in existence, but she never answered. Leaving a voicemail was too risky — especially since Angel’s lawyer could request access to B’s phone record if she got crazy enough.
And taking this case alone, I knew she was crazy.
So, I tried my best to just work and bide my time, to get the green light from my lawyer and the damn divorce done so I could finally call B. No, fly to her, take her in my arms, and know she’d never be out of them again for as long as I lived.
She said she’d wait for me, I assured myself on the hard nights.
B was always a woman of her word, and I knew no matter what — even if she was angry with me, even if she had questions, even if I’d hurt her with my silence… she would wait.
But the day the divorce was finally finalized, I got an invitation in the mail.
To her wedding.
EVERYONE TRIED TO STOP me.
My parents. My sisters. My friends at the office. Hell, even Ethan — who had bigger fish to fry as a lawyer out in California — took the time to tell me it was a stupid idea to fly to Pittsburgh and track B down.
I didn’t care.
Rationality had been obliterated, emotions taking the wheel, and they steered me onto a one-way flight to Steel City.
She had her address as the return address on the invitation she sent, so it was easy to track her down after I checked into a hotel and dropped my bag. I didn’t plan to stay there longer than one night. I planned for B to fall into my arms, to tell me the wedding was a joke, to finally fucking be with me.
Finding her apartment building was easy. Getting upstairs without her knowing… well, that proved a bit trickier. Luckily, the doorman was easily persuaded with a fake story about how I was her long-lost half-brother and I was there to surprise her. He rang me right up after that and wished me luck.
Maybe part of him felt sorry for me since I was completely soaked from the rain. I was also shivering — more from nerves and anger than from the cold, but he took pity.
I held that wedding invitation crumpled in my fist the whole elevator ride up to her floor, my ears ringing. And when I finally stood in front of her door, I didn’t pause to think about what I would say when she answered it.
I knocked, hard, and when she didn’t immediately answer, I knocked three more times.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” I heard her annoyingly say from inside.
And then the door flew open, and there she stood — my surfer girl, in tiny sleep shorts, a tank top thin enough for me to see her nipples peak at the sight of me through her sports bra, and tube socks.
Her hair was tied up in a curly mess of a bun on top of her head, her face makeup-free, freckles pronounced under the low lighting of her apartment. She gaped at me, those plush lips in a soft O, and I just stared at her, chest heaving, torn between the urge to demand answers or to cave completely and pull her into me.
Seeing her killed me as much as it brought me back to life. I just wanted her in my arms. I wanted to feel her again. I wanted her to tell me everything would be okay.
But the wet invitation in my hand screamed otherwise.
I lifted my hand, nose flaring as B’s gaze fell to the invitation crumpled in my grasp.
She swallowed. “Jamie…”
“No.”
She shuddered as I fisted the invitation into a wadded mess.
“Fuck no.”
I didn’t wait for her to invite me. I pushed past her into the apartment, pacing.
“By all means, let yourself in,” she deadpanned.
I kept my back to her, eyes on the large window overlooking the city. Again, the urge to say fuck it and just run to her, bury my face in her neck, wrap my arms around her… it was so fierce, I had to will a long, soothing breath to stop myself.