I can't really talk there. "I'm sorry."
"It isn't a bad thing. If you're happy. I hope you are. It's been a long time since I've seen you like this. Since—"
"Don't say—"
"I won't. But I… I'm tired of being the bearer of bad news." His gaze shifts to the sand. "I don't mind the duty. I just wish… I wish there was good news for once."
"It can't be that bad."
"Maybe not." He looks to the sky. "They got married. You knew that?"
I nod.
"And now… she's pregnant."
"Oh."
"Maybe it doesn't matter to you anymore. Maybe you're over it. Maybe this is the last time you ever want to see her."
"It is."
"Then I'll schedule a meeting. Have our lawyer finish the contract. She wants to sign. I imagine that's why."
Now that she's having a child with her new husband, she wants to dissolve our final tie.
She owns part of our information company. Part of the divorce agreement. She wouldn't let me buy her out then.
I thought it was one more way she wanted to fuck me. But maybe it was something else.
A way to stay in my life.
To pretend we can be friends.
She's been collecting profits for years. It's tied us together for years. Meetings every fucking quarter.
Her lying smile every fucking quarter.
My stomach twisting every fucking quarter.
Now, she wants out. She wants closure. She wants me to forgive her.
I should. For my own sake. For Eve.
But what does that matter? This ends next month.
Eve will move on. Go to school. Find a guy her age. Some literature major who understands the same things she does.
Who doesn't cart a truck full of baggage.
She'll think of me sometimes, sure. As the guy who took her firsts. Who made her come. Who taught her to pick out good gin.
She won't care if I worked through my inability to trust. She won't care if I forgave my ex-wife. She won't care if I moved on.
I gave up on moving on a long time ago.
I don't love Laura anymore. I don't want Laura anymore.
She's nothing but a painful memory. An emptiness where my heart used to be.
It's impossible to fill. I've tried.
So why do I feel this ache in my chest?
There's not supposed to be anything there.
No hope, no love, no wish for more.
"We need another round," Ty says.
This time, I agree.
For a while, we trade old stories. Dance around the elephant in the room.
Then he hits that point—where he can barely sit, much less stand—and he starts spilling his guts.
The break in her voice as she pressed the ring into his hand. The hurt in her eyes. The ache in his heart.
He wants to hate her for breaking his heart. But how can he hate her for falling out of love? For needing space to find herself? For realizing she wants something else?
I wish I had advice. Wisdom. Some way to help.
It should be easy for me to hate Laura—she was coming in another man's bed—but I don't.
It's easier to focus on the sex. The betrayal. The red I see when I picture that arsehole's face.
But focus always fades. I start asking why.
She didn't fuck him to hurt me. I won't forgive her for it. Or excuse her.
But I want to understand it.
How could the woman I knew do that? She's never been selfless, sure, but she's never had malicious intentions either.
How could she turn into someone I barely recognized? Someone who spent a year dodging rough patches, spinning lies, sneaking around.
Was she the one who changed?
Or was it me? Was I the one who failed her?
I must have.
Why else would she fall out of love? Stop offering me her head, her heart, her body?
Yes, we fucked that last year. But it was different. She wasn't there. She was off someplace. Thinking of him.
I insist Ty spends the night in an extra bedroom. He's in no state to drive.
He complains a bit, but he still stumbles to the room.
I undress. Shower. Join Eve in the bedroom.
She stirs as I slide into bed. Blinks her eyes open. Looks up at me with a soft smile. Then her eyes flutter together.
She reaches for me. Slides her hand over the sheets.
I take it.
Her eyes still closed, she closes the distance between us. Wraps her arms around me. Melts into me.
She doesn't say anything. She's asleep. It's her subconscious.
It means something.
And it means something that I hold her close. Feel her heartbeat against my chest. Fall asleep with her in my arms.
Chapter Forty-Four
Eve
For the first time, I wake before Ian.
Watch the sun cast highlights over his body.
He's not wearing a shirt. Or pants. Only boxers.
It's the most naked I've seen him.
Or maybe that's arguable. I mean, I've had him in my mouth, so—
Ahem.
He's handsome, not beautiful, but with the morning sun surrounding him in a soft glow—
This is beautiful.
The steady rise and fall of his chest. The softness in his brow. The ease in his shoulders.
No secrets, no subtext, no heartbreak.
Not his. Not mine. Not the pain of parting.
Only peace.
And those lines of ink. They're more obvious in the light of day. Without all those clothes in the way.
An in memoriam for his father.
A Latin quote.
Veritas lux mea.
Truth is my light. I'm not sure that's the translation, but I recognize enough.
When did he get it? Before his marriage? After it fell apart?
And the tree with roots reaching into the ground—
My fingers itch to trace the art. To feel his skin. To soak up every ounce of meaning.
I want to know him. In a way I've never wanted to know anyone.
It's hard to explain. Overwhelming. As overwhelming as my desire.
Somehow, I keep my hands to myself.
I slip out of the bed. Into the bathroom. Move through my morning routine.
I run a brush through my hair. Then quick makeup. Moisturizer, concealer, eyeshadow, eyeliner, brows, mascara, blush.
Enough I see a badass in the mirror. Enough I have a shield.
I love my look. It feels like me. But it feels like too much today.
I don't want a shield. I want to strip away everything between me and Ian. So I can feel all of him and he can feel all of me.
Am I ready for that?
I don't know. I certainly look better without the dark circles. Less tired. Less hungover.
My head isn't throbbing, but it's a little achy. And the light is too bright. And my stomach is… ugh.
Alcohol. So many charms. Why is it people adore it so much? Besides the loss of inhibitions?
Or maybe that's everything. What makes it terrifying. What makes it appealing.
I want that now. To climb into bed with him. Spill every thought in my head. Every feeling in my heart.
Listen and stay. Have me and stay. Please, whatever you do, stay.
Ahem.
I move into the bedroom. Ian is still asleep, peaceful.
There's a sound downstairs. Footsteps. His brother.