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“Listen, I’m headed back in there so I can be there for Ash. Today is about him. I don’t know what you wanted to accomplish by dragging me out here, but Emma, there is nothing for either one of us to say.”
“I’m not trying to make it about me,” she says pleadingly.
I don’t respond; I just stare at her.
“Clay, I just wanted to talk to you. I don’t understand—”
“What do you mean you don’t understand? We are not f-friends. Listen to me, I have zero interest in whatever game you are trying to p-play. I may sound dumb some of the time, but let me assure you I am not.”
She starts shaking her head, but I don’t let her speak.
“I am not the other p-person. I’m not a secret, I’m not a substitution, and I’m definitely not someone who takes second p-place. You knowingly went there with me without giving me the option and had no regard for how any of this might make me feel—or him either, probably. I don’t have time for cheaters. Once a cheater, always a cheater, and that says a lot about your character. You are not someone I care to know as more than a passing acquaintance. We work together, and our friends are married to each other. That’s it.”
She looks at the ground, and I watch as her chest rises and falls at an accelerated rate. “It wasn’t and isn’t like that,” she says, voice barely audible.
“Leave me alone, Emma, and let it go.”
“Let what go? What’s going on here?” At the voice speaking behind us, my back stiffens more than it already was.
We both turn to see Justin standing just outside the tent flap. His hands are in the pockets of his pants, and he’s staring at Emma. I’m not sure how much he heard, and quite frankly, I don’t care. It’s better for him to know the truth about the type of person she is anyway.
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing is going on here,” I tell him, but the person I’m really saying it to is her.
7
EMMA
Clay pins me with one last glare then brushes past me. He nods at Justin and disappears back into the wedding. My intention wasn’t to ruin this day for him or somehow taint it with bad memories. I just wanted to talk to him, but with every brush-off, every distant look, this anger inside of me built and built.
He and I had something together, for a little bit, at least that’s what I thought. Maybe I was wrong.
“So that’s what this feels like?” Justin says quietly as he comes to stand next to me and he too has watched Clay walk away.
I can’t turn and look at him.
I can’t.
If I do, he’ll see a rainbow of emotions on my face and in my eyes, and I don’t want that for him.
“What what feels like?” I ask, my voice cracking as I try to push the words out.
“Jealousy. Heartache. And what I’m suspecting is about to be heartbreak.”
My eyes pinch shut and my head hangs. I have nothing to say to him. Am I sorry he found out like this, yes, because it is obvious, but I also find it ironic that this is the first time in all these years he’s felt this. Heartache has been my constant for a long time, a heartache he caused.
Deep down I’ve known for quite a while that what we were doing wasn’t right. I kept hoping things would change with time, hoped a deep mutual respect for each other—well mostly for me—would settle, but it never did. Because when you truly love someone, it isn’t supposed to be this way. I never would have asked him for a break, but then again, I didn’t stop it either. I let him do what he wanted time after time, and I stuck by his side. I value the part of me that believes loyalty means something, but what do I really mean to him?
“Justin . . .”
“Don’t worry, everything’s gonna be fine. I forgive you,” he says, so assuredly.
What?He forgives me? Did he just gaslight me?
I now turn to face him, and that anger I felt for Clay shifts its focus.
“You. Forgive. Me?” I say incredulously. “There is nothing for you to forgive. I did nothing wrong.”
He looks at me condescendingly. “Clearly at some point you were with that guy.” He flips his hand toward the tent.
