I should be used to this by now. He’s never been on time—unless it’s for the band. Then he’s always prompt as a pickle.
As I navigate my car toward the restaurant where I’m meeting my friends, I can’t help but think this is the last time he’ll be late on our marriage.
Because I’m done.
I’m tired. We’ve had a good run. We’ve been married over a decade now, and it’s not like it used to be.
It hasn’t been like it used to be in years, and I’m tired of being alone in the fight to save us.
“Morgan’s here!”
I hear Reese announce my arrival to the table as I make my way through the restaurant to the girls, and I take a look at them—all of them—already gathered here, all with husbands who made sacrifices so they could arrive on time, even saving the empty seat between Angelique and Reese for me.
I burst into tears.
I slide into the open chair, and both Reese and Angelique throw their arms around me, only making me cry harder.
If I leave him…if I tell him it’s over…if I speak any of the words in my heart, I’m not just losing a marriage.
I’m losing this.
I won’t be part of this family anymore.
Reese and Angelique are married to members of Vail, too. So is Maci, who’s across the table from me. And so on down the line. Wives of band members from My Favorite Band, Capital Kingsmen, Noteworthy, York Short, Beyond Gold, and others signed to Ashmark Records, owned by Reese’s husband, are here tonight along with some of the female executives from Ashmark.
We’re a family.
But if I leave James, I’m leaving the family, too. Sure, Reese, Angelique, and Maci will all keep in touch…in the beginning. And then that will slowly fade in time. They’ll be busy with their husbands as Vail takes another tour that I won’t get to go on, and they’ll bond and reminisce about the days when James used to bring his ex-wife along.
I cry harder.
I can’t seem to stop, and I’m mortified.
“Come with me,” Reese says, holding an arm around my waist to help me up and guiding me to the bathroom. “What’s going on?” she asks gently once we’re behind the closed door.
It swings open, and Angelique walks in. “Are you okay?” she asks.
I shake my head, and I gasp for breath so I can manage the words. “I’m leaving James,” I finally manage, each word on its own huff of air.
My announcement is met with gasps, and then they both start at the same time.
“You’re—”
“What?”
I suck in a big gulp of air, grateful this is a large bathroom with a nice sitting area toward the front since I’d rather not suck in a big gulp of bathroom air, and then I collapse on one of the empty chairs as Reese and Angelique exchange a glance.
“But you two are, like, couples goals,” Angelique says.
I blow out that big gulp of air. “We were, maybe. Once upon a time. But now?” I shake my head. “He barely acknowledges my existence. He’s either out of town on tour or he’s in town managing all his projects here in Los Angeles, and either way, those things get more attention than Ains and me.”
“Have you talked to him?” Reese asks.
I shrug. The truth is that no, I haven’t. I’ve tried, but we can’t seem to find a good time. Apart from passive-aggressive behavior where I stomp out of the house without letting him get a word in when he comes home late and impedes on my plans, I’ve hardly communicated with him at all over the last few months. “It’s hard to talk to someone who’s never around.”
“It sometimes feels like tour time is the only time I get alone with Mark anymore,” Reese muses. “But anytime I feel like other forces are pulling him away from me, I tell him. Communication is important in every relationship, but in a life like we live, it’s even more essential. It’s why so many celebrity marriages just can’t stand the test of time.”
Angelique nods. “Same here. We don’t go longer than three weeks without a date night. No kids, just the two of us.”
“When was the last time you had a date night?” Reese asks.
I raise my brows as I try to think back, and I wrinkle my nose when the answer hits me. “Before Vail’s last tour.”
Reese and Angelique both look at me in horror.
“Do you want to stay with him? Or do you want to leave?” Reese asks.
“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. “I know I don’t want to give you girls up.”
“But that’s not a reason to stay married to him,” Angelique points out.
“I know. And that’s why I burst into tears as soon as I saw you. Because if I go through with it, if I leave him, then everyone picks sides and you two won’t have a choice. You’ll have to pick his side because you gave up those choices when you married your husbands. Then next year you’ll meet for tonight’s dinner, and I won’t be on the guest list.”
“You’ll always be on the guest list, Morgan,” Reese says softly.
I shake my head and bite my lip. I wish that could be true, but I know it isn’t. It can’t be.
And it looks like tonight…I need to find a way to talk to my husband.
CHAPTER 2
I spend most of the meal holding back tears as I try to soak it all in since this might be my last night at a table that looks like this.
Women have come and gone from this group. Wives become ex-wives.
I never thought it would be me.
A glass of wine only makes me more emotional, but I manage to ward off the waterworks until I’m in the car on my way home.
When I walk into the house, I find James sitting on the couch in the family room. His laptop is propped on his lap, and I can’t help but think how different he is from when I first met him.
I was barely out of my teens. I’d just turned twenty, and my mom invited me to her best friend’s house. Her best friend was the aunt of Ethan Fuller, and Ethan had brought along James to a family barbecue on the Fourth of July.
We got to talking over corn on the cob, and by the time the fireworks exploded overhead at nightfall, I was kissing the man I knew I’d marry.
He was softer back then. He looked like a surfer with his longish blond hair and these bright blue eyes that were nearly clear. It was like he could see through me with those eyes, and silly banter about buttering a corncob set butterflies afloat in my tummy.
And when he kissed me, those butterflies flapped down a little lower.
We were inseparable after that.
He cut his hair a few years ago, right after we had Ainsley. It was symbolic, like he cut off a piece of himself with that haircut, though I tend to think the change in his behavior had more to do with fatherhood than with a haircut.
I set my purse down with a thud on the counter, and he glances up at me. He’s wearing the glasses he has to wear now when he studies the small laptop screen—yet another change from the boy I fell in love with many years ago.
“Hey,” he says, his tone a little tentative. “Fun night out?”
“Can we talk?” I ask rather than answering.
He glances at his screen as if he’s debating how to answer me, and I’m about to unleash the beast of anger building inside me when he must sense that this is not the time to put me off.