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Prologue
Jasmine
I hated myself. Who the fuck went to their college best friend's engagement party and started a fight with them?
A total stressed out triggered jerk, that's who. Aka me, myself and I.
I really didn't know what my problem was. A combination of little things that piled up and exploded in my brain until I exploded. That's what it always was these days.
I loved Nyla, was glad she'd finally ditched the asshole ex, moved back to Philly, and hooked up with Bas, her bff, the man of her dreams, and her daddy Dom. Since she'd been back we'd hung out several times with no issue, but today, seeing her happy and in love, living her best life off her lottery winnings with the man of her dreams by her side had triggered me.
I was having a pity party with a fake smile plastered on my face. Because some people have all the damn luck. And other people lose the love of their life to a car accident at the ripe old age of twenty-nine, right after giving birth to their third child, spend way too long heading off the inevitable, eventually leaving themselves with severe depression, three kids and a pile of debt.
It's me. I'm some people. Aka: One unlucky bitch.
It's been three years since Henry died. Three years today. Usually I spend the anniversary of his death looking through photographs, taking a trip down memory lane, and heading to the cemetery to spend some time filling him in on how life is going, and telling him about all of the kids. Instead, today, I'm here, celebrating the engagement of the one friend who hadn't even bothered to be there for me when he'd died.
Sure, Nyla had sent a card and an obnoxiously large funeral arrangement, and even made the obligatory phone call to tell me how sorry she was and promising to be there for me if I needed anything, but that was where the support ended.
Most days it didn't bother me. She'd been dealing with a narcissistic asshole cheater husband and a pile of her own problems. And like my mama always says, the phone works both ways—and I hadn't called her either.
I knew already from losing Henry so young that life was short, and grudges were pointless. And most days I found that mantra easy enough to live by, but today was not most days.
Today, I walked into a club my husband and I used to frequent, on the anniversary of the day that he died, saw the man I'd slept with on a drunken spiral a few months after his death, and just lost it.
The things I'd said a few minutes ago were not only mean, they were completely irrelevant, and I felt like the biggest dick for saying them out loud. Sure, I'd quickly apologized and Nyla had assured me it was water under the bridge, but that just made me feel worse.
Beelining away from the happy couple, Nyla and Bas, after making an ass of myself, I snagged a glass of champagne off the tray of a passing cater-waiter, and drank it in one gulp before taking up residence on a back wall, with my arms crossed over my chest and my eyes narrowed into a glare directed at the room at large. I was counting the minutes until I could get out of here, even if it meant going back home to three unruly, probably over-sugared kids (thanks mom), my disaster of a house, and the mountain of work piling up.
The club during the day, with people dressed in regular clothes rather than club clothes, and the majority of equipment pushed out of the way, wasn’t as much of a jar as seeing it in all its decked-out, naughty, debaucherous, glory would have been, and for that small miracle I was eternally thankful. It was still hard not to think about Henry. I’d met him here, shortly after Nyla, Bas, and their friends opened the place a year after we graduated college. I wasn’t a huge club person back then, and I certainly didn’t identify as a submissive, but I wasn’t opposed to playing for fun from time to time. I’d come that night to blow off some steam and support my friends. Henry had caught my eye immediately. I was young, used to judging a book by its cover, and Henry did not look like your typical dom. He was softer, had an academic style, and an easy, friendly look about him in a place where everyone seemed to be trying to be as intimidating as possible. I was drawn to him, but I didn’t want to be the kind of girl who met someone in a bar or club, and I was pretty sure I didn't want to be with the kind of man I’d meet at one of those places.
But he’d come up to me at the bar and offered to buy me a drink in his deep southern drawl, and the rest, as they say, was history. Our courtship was whirlwind, our engagement almost immediate. The wedding had taken place at the Philadelphia Hilton on a summer day in July only two months after we met, and I had gotten pregnant with Marlee, my oldest, a mere nine months later.
Life with Henry had been as whirlwind and spontaneous as our courtship, messy at times, but absolutely perfect. We’d had three kids in five years while he attended law school, then worked in a busy downtown firm, and I pursued my dream of being a published author. We thought, as all young people do, that we had all the time in the world. And then, one day, we didn’t.
It still hurt to think about how quickly it had all been taken away, all our hopes and dreams dashed in the blink of an eye. Today it hurt extra hard. I probably shouldn’t have come, but I’d thought it would maybe distract me from the pain, and I’d had grandiose ideas about being a better friend to Nyla than she’d been to me. Mission not accomplished. I finished my drink and set it on the bar, walking away before the bartender could ask me if I wanted another. I desperately did, but on a day like today, if I started drinking, I wouldn’t stop.
Fifteen more minutes, and then I’d make a not-so-hasty exit, I told myself, glancing at my watch. Once I’d set a deadline to leave, it was easier to relax and people-watch for the remainder.
Nyla and Bas had won the lottery with their group of close friends from our college days. Theo, Lennon, Archer, and Bain—or as I thought of him these days, he who shall not be named. As I leaned against the wall, I sought them out. Theo was at a secluded booth, drinking what looked like a whiskey neat, with a pretty young thing in a crop top, pleated skirt, and thigh highs on his lap, lapping up his every word. Typical Theo. I rolled my eyes and moved on. Lennon and Archer—or as I liked to think of them, the odd couple, even though they were not a couple, but just friends—were at the end of the bar, clinking shot glasses together gaily, laughing as they toasted god knows what for what was probably the twentieth time. Lennon, an artist, hadn’t changed much since college, and was the odd man out from his business-oriented friends, but they kept him around and he designed all the club logos and graphics, and had even painted an insanely detailed mural on the wall in the back hallway of the club where the private rooms were. I’d only seen it once, right after it was finished, when Henry and I snuck away for a night out before Trevor was born, but I remembered being really impressed. Archer, a totally built redhead with piercing blue eyes who could rock a suit and slay dragons in the courtroom, was a shark of a lawyer, and perpetually unattached. He wasn’t a ladies man like Theo; he just seemed to be allergic to commitment, while at the same time being only cut out for long-term monogamy.
And then there was Bain. Even though I didn’t want to, my eyes searched him out more out of instinct than a desire to see him, who he was with, or what he was up to. I couldn’t find him anywhere, which was probably for the best.
A glance at my watch told me twelve minutes had passed, and I decided that was good enough. Breathing a sigh of relief, I grabbed my coat from coat check and headed toward the door, suddenly anxious to get home and hug my kiddos. I’d stop at the cemetery first, and maybe even splurge on a six dollar pizza and a two liter of coke on the way home, even though I couldn’t really afford it.
“Hey, Jasmine.” Bain came out of nowhere, appearing in front of me and blocking my path, his body only inches from mine. I could smell his expensive cologne and see his rippled muscles through his fitted button-down.
“Hey. I was uh, on my way out. Gotta go pick up the kids.” I side-stepped him in an attempt to escape, but he moved with me, staying just a few steps in front of me no matter which way I turned.
I glared daggers at him, but he only smiled. “I’m surprised you came out, on today of all days. Nyla would have understood if you hadn’t.”
I’d been looking anywhere but at him, but when he said that, my head jerked up of its own accord and my eyes met his.
One look into those chocolate brown pools and I knew he knew what day it was. His gaze was full of empathy and tinged with sadness, and it pissed me off. How dare he remember what today was and act like he cared?
"I'm fine," I said, once again trying to push past him. "And for the record, I'm leaving. Or trying to."
He stepped out of the way, but caught my wrist as I walked by. "Jasmine. If you need anything, please let me know."
