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Elouise
I’ve lostmy damn mind. Or maybe it’s Beckett who lost his mind, spending $2,000 on tickets to a play that I’m sure he doesn’t actually want to sit through. But as I let him guide me towards the back of the auditorium, I think over everything he said.
I want to believe him. He sounds genuine. And as much as I don’t like admitting it, his story is believable, even if it makes him sound like an idiot. Because honestly, I could see my brother doing the same thing. Only our mom would never have just let it go.
Or would she?
Before my parents left town, Mom did make me promise to talk to Beckett. And the more I think about that the more I wonder if she didn’t get this whole backstory the day of The Incident. Which just makes me want to kick myself. If Beckett is really telling the truth, did I spend the whole week hiding at Maddie’s suffering through a broken heart for no reason at all.
No, not no reason. No matter the truth, I was still put into the horribly humiliating situation of having “his wife” introduce herself to me in front of my entire family.
When we reach an empty row, Beckett gestures for me to go ahead, and I shuffle through until we’re almost to the other side. I want easy access to an aisle out of here if I decide to run.
We haven’t spoken since he bought the tickets. He just stood by silently while I created a small sign letting people know that the rest of the seats tonight were free.
I took my sweet time, so by the time we settle into our seats there’s only a few moments before the play begins.
Beckett turns in his seat, but right on time, the lights dim and the play starts, silencing him.
* * *
As the lightslift for intermission, I realize that I haven’t paid attention to a single line delivered by the young actors. My thoughts were already a mess and then five minutes in Beckett draped an arm over my shoulders. My first reaction was to tense against him, but he didn’t pull away. He waited for me to relax, then he started to lightly skim his fingers through the ends of my hair, sending tingles up and down my spine and thoroughly squashing any bit of concentration I had left.
My mind just can’t settle on an answer. I want Beckett. I want to be with him, see what this pull between us could turn into. But I don’t want to be that woman who believes every lie her man tells her. We’ve barely even dated, and this is already the second time I’ve suspected he was in another relationship. Sure, the first time was me jumping to the wrong conclusion when I saw him with his cousin and nephew, but this whole wife thing is a different ball game. And it’s not about him being married before. I don’t care about that. Lots of marriages fail, at least this shows that he’s willing to try. But…
I shift to face Beckett, causing his posture to instantly straighten, “I’d like to see it.”
The look on his face is stuck somewhere between puzzlement and humor as he glances down to his lap.
I use the back of my hand to smack into his chest, “Not that, you idiot. The divorce papers.”
“Ah,” his humor slips away.
Beckett removes his arm from my shoulders to dig out his phone and tap through his emails to find the right one.
With his selection made, he sets the phone in my hand.
I’ve never seen a divorce decree before, but when I zoom in the names and dates are easy enough to read. But I read through twice just to be sure.
Handing the phone back, I ask the question I need answered most, “Do you still love her?”
A guilty look crosses his face even as he shakes his head, “No, I don’t.” When I narrow my eyes, he sighs, “The relationship we had was never… healthy.”
I just give him a look, silently suggesting he continue.
He drags a hand down his face. “We were that couple. The on-again-off-again will-they-won’t-they pair. We eventually did, when we shouldn’t have, and the marriage lasted less than two years.”
“Why’d you marry her?” I can’t help myself from asking.
He shrugs. The stupid man shrugs. “It seemed like the right thing to do. We were mid-30’s, too old to keep doing the back-and-forth. She wanted to live together, I said we should be married first, she said okay, and then I found myself married.”
I snort out a laugh, “That all sounds awfully passive of you.”
The side of his mouth tips up, “There’s a reason I strive to be in control now.”
His hand over my mouth.
His dirty words in my ear.
