Page 120 of Forget Me Not

“Get. Out.”

We stare at each other, her pissed off and crying and me pissed off and ready to bring Jack back from the dead, just so I can send him back myself.

I don’t wait for her to tell me a third time. I just shove my jeans back on, wet skin and all, because I’d rather just get the fuck out of here than stand here and watch her cry.

Burn the bridge, my mind begs, but I can’t. I can’t because it’s gutting me just seeing her cry.

And . . . I don’t think I’m ready to. Yet.

Nova stands back from me the entire time, eyes turned away, and I resist the urge to go to her. Pull her to me, fucking . . . apologize? Who the fuck am I?

Is it jealousy burning a hole in my chest? Am I feeling territorial over a woman who doesn’t want more than sex with me because of a man that’s dead?

“I’ll see you . . .” I start, but what the fuck do I want to say? Around? Tomorrow?

I just leave, because I can’t bring myself to put an end to this and I can’t watch her cry. Not when I can’t go to her.

But when I’m closing the front door and catch the unmistakable sound of crying from upstairs, fuck if I want to.

“What the fuck was that about?”

“Leave me alone, Jack.” I have to get away from him. I’m so embarrassed, I could crawl underneath the linoleum and never be seen again.

“No, get the fuck back here. We need to talk about this.”

I whirl on him, bridesmaid’s dress flowing and tangling around my legs in a bundle. “You embarrassed me.”

“Oh, so I’m just supposed to let some other guy feel up on my wife?”

“He is my cousin. We were dancing. You know that.”

Jack eyes me up and down like I disgust him. “He’s your adopted cousin. Look at you, you’re blushing talking about him.”

“I’m embarrassed,” I grit, shoving at his arm. “You made a scene in front of my whole family.”

“Yeah, blame me. Do you hear how crazy you sound?”

“Do you?”

“Yeah, I’m the crazy one. I don’t even know why we had to come to this fucking thing.”

“It’s my cousin’s wedding. I’m a bridesmaid.”

“Yeah, well that dress is—”

“Is what?”

“It makes you look easy. You look like a slut. You’re a married woman for God’s sake. Act like it.”

Tears well in my eyes, burning as they mix with the heavy mascara on my lashes.

“You aren’t to speak to him again.”

“My cousin?”

“Whoever he is. And we’re going home, now.”

“I can’t leave,” I argue. I’m a bridesmaid. We’ve not even watched them cut the cake yet. I’ve been looking forward to this night for months. Dancing with my friends, family, a night with Jack. It’s been so tense, lately with him getting a promotion at work and being home less and less. Things are hard, but I thought tonight we could reconnect. Maybe the wedding would remind us of why we got married in the first place.

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