I want to believe him. My heart is desperate for the relief he’s promising. But his words, as nice as they sound, are just that - words. I’ve built my hopes on those before and paid dearly for it. And now, I have even more to lose.
His eyes just get warmer, softer, more imploring. “I love you. I know you’re scared, but you can do this.” His last sentence is an oath.
“You can’t help,” I hiss, striking out, desperate to stop him from peeling back walls I’ve built around my vulnerability.
“There is someone waiting to talk to you. Give him five minutes. And if you walk out of there still sure that you want to marry Duke, I won’t say another word.”
“Phil--” I want to say no. Instead, my heart quivers, my will quakes and the walls around it are crumbling with each tender word he speaks.
“Five minutes,” he asks, his face solemn.
I nod and follow him down the hall.
“I’ll wait out here,” Phil says when we get to the room that doubles as a library and a study.
“You’re not coming in?” Trepidation sends tingles down my spine.
“No, I’ll make sure you’re not interrupted.”
I swallow audibly and look between him and the door.
“I don’t like surprises. Just tell me what’s going on.”
“You’ll see. Everything is going to be fine.” There’s a certainty in his expression and conviction in his voice and even though I have no reason to, I trust him.
I open the door and step inside.
Always
CARTER
This is possibly the worst day of my life.
I took a Xanax as soon as I woke up and then ate the lint-pocked bite of an edible I found in the bottom of my shaving kit.
Even after all of that, I’m teetering on a knife’s edge of calm. It’s taking all of my focus to maintain it.
In a few minutes, the love of my life is going to marry someone else. And because I’m a glutton for heartbreak and misery, I decided that I would watch it all go down.
I’ve ensconced myself in the darkened corner at the far end of the very last pew in the church’s sanctuary. It’s the only place the sun streaming through the stained-glass windows doesn’t reach. For anyone looking back from the front of the church, I should be completely hidden from sight.
When I sat down, it was empty. My hopes that it would stay that way were wishful thinking and evaporated a few minutes after I took my seat.
My father used to joke that the back row of any communal venue was where gatecrashers and asshole latecomers sit. I’m probably the only gate crasher, but the rest of these asshole are latecomers who dashed in right before the doors closed and the music started to play.
I glance to my left and scan my pew mates. Most of them are chattering with nervous excitement, as if it’s their wedding day. But a few of them have their faces trained in rapt concentration on their phones.
Something lands on the floor at my feet with a loud clacking noise. I look down, noting the bright pink lipstick smeared on the inner leg of my light gray slacks, and see the gold cylinder of the culprit rolling between my feet.
“Oh no, I’m so clumsy,” the cloud of perfume and blond hair sitting next to me purrs. She swivels until she’s got her back to her oblivious husband.
The black low-cut dress she’s wearing deserves a medal for holding up more flesh than it was designed to. A smile, suggestive and as subtle as the rest of her, spreads across her bright pink lips and reveals two perfectly aligned rows of perfectly straight teeth. I don’t know who she is, but I know exactly what she is. And it’s the last thing I’m in the mood for.
“Let me get that for you,” I say hoping that my distinctly unfriendly smile tells her that I’m not playing nice today.
“No, please, let me,” she says, her eyes are full of mischief and as she leans in I can smell the vodka on her breath. She drapes her fingers across my forearm and starts tracing circles on it. I glance down at her hand. The thin band of yellow gold on her left ring finger winks up at me.
I look past her and sure enough there’s a man next to her. He’s focused on his phone, and he’s got a small wireless black earbud stuck in his ear and doesn’t appear to hear anything going on.
His wife leans down between my legs and rests her head on my thigh as she pretends to try and pick up her lipstick. What she’s really doing is stroking my leg. I marvel at her audacity before I jerk my leg up under her chin. I don’t feel an ounce of regret at her sharp yelp of pain. When she lurches up, I lean down, pick up the lipstick, and hand it to her. “I’m not interested.”
Her face flushes before her eyes narrow. “That’s all you had to say,” she whispers out of the side of her mouth before she snatches the lipstick from me and faces front.
Irritation tightens my throat. God, I hate this town.
The minute I arrived last night, I knew
For some reason, I booked a room at the B&B where we’d spent our last nights together.
What a fucking disaster that had been. I didn’t sleep a wink.
Every breath I drew was flecked with the flavor of her. I woke up clutching the warm soft thing in my bed and in that space of shrouded consciousness, I could smell her. But it wasn’t her. I was clutching my pillow and on the brink of a relapse.
Phil walks in, a menacing scowl darkens his expression as he strides up the aisle to sit in the front row.
I wonder what he’d say if he knew I was here. Maybe, once this is over, I’ll go and say hello.
We haven’t stayed in touch. Not from a lack of effort on his part, though.
I’ve used this whirlwind year of writing and recording as an excuse. But after our first phone call, I knew I wasn’t ready to move on to this next phase of my life. I wasn’t ready to accept that Beth and I were a lost cause.
I haven’t talked to him since. He calls, I ignore it. He leaves voicemails, I delete them.
It’s small of me, but the thing about that first phone that bothered me the most, was how nearly cheerful he sounded.
I guess, he had no reason not to be.
He’s not the one who fell in love with Liz.
The one who was still in love with Liz.
Not for long, though. I’ve come to slay this dragon.
When I leave here, I’m going to LA to start the promo for our album’s release in three months. It’s going to be exhausting, overwhelming and I want to leave all of this shit behind me.
I need to see this.
Music has become even more of a sanctuary for me. When I’m writing, playing, singing, my mind is clear, my heart isn’t constricted by indecision. My music is I’ve stayed sane and relatively sober since the world fell out from beneath me.
It was rough at first.
Jack convinced me that fucking someone would cure me.
So, I tried. I found a girl who looked like Beth, at least from the back. I took her home, fucked her face down and tried to pretend she was my baby. But from the feel of her pussy to the way she smelled, there was no pretending she was anything more than a replacement. I hustled her out of there. And then I fucking cried in the shower.
No, Beth wasn’t just a woman I loved fucking. She owned a piece of my heart, and always would.