Page 192 of Play Along

There are a lot of things I learned in our time together, but the biggest lesson my husband taught me is what it feels like to be loved for the first time in my life.

I’ll never be able to thank him enough for being unwavering in his feelings for me, but I’m going to spend the rest of my life making sure he feels as safe and secure with me as he’s made me feel with him.

“Maybe let’s hold off on this part,” he continues. “I don’t know that we necessarily need to file these right this second—”

“Isaiah,” I cut him off with amusement. “Did you not look at them?”

There’s a heavy pause as his throat works a swallow. “I couldn’t do it, Ken.”

My sweet, sensitive husband. Words I never thought I’d use to describe him, but Isaiah’s soft edges are one of my favorite things about him. He only allows certain people to see that side of him, and I’m not only one of those lucky people he chose to trust, but I’m also the one he chose to love.

Staff members busy the halls, getting from one place to another while the two of us stay locked in a standstill in front of Reese’s office. We’re on full display for anyone to see us, and Isaiah is holding our divorce papers in his hand.

“Come with me,” I tell him, taking his hand and pulling him behind.

Outside of the clubhouse, we slip into the same restroom where we first met.

“Open them,” I urge.

He shakes his head. “Don’t make me do that here of all places.”

“Isaiah,” I chuckle. “Trust me. Open the envelope.”

Confusion is clear as day on his handsome face, looking at me like I’m attempting to torture the man in the place where we’ve had so many of our big moments.

We met in here. We exchanged rings in here. We’ve argued and made up in here.

I get to tell him I love him in here.

Leaning back on the sink, he carefully lifts the metal prongs, opens the flap, and pulls out the stack of papers.

His eyes trail down the first page before flipping to the second, looking for whatever it is I’m so adamant about him seeing. I don’t rush him. I allow him the time he needs to take it all in. But soon enough, the obvious defeat takes over as he reads the papers he had drafted for us.

That is, until he flips to the final page, where our signatures should be.

Isaiah didn’t sign them when he dropped them off at my apartment, as if he couldn’t bring himself to do it unless he had to—unless I signed them first.

His eyes go soft as they bounce over the words, following the path of the pen I used to ink each letter on the signature line.

“Kennedy.”

“I do.”

I chuckle a bit at those two words that got us here in the first place.

“Really?”

“So much, Isaiah.”

He finally takes his eyes off the page to look at me.

“I love you,” I tell him, using the same words he found written on the signature line of our divorce papers. “It may have taken me a bit longer to allow myself to open my eyes and see it, but there’s no doubt in my mind that I love you. Every part of you. The parts you show everyone and the parts you show only me.”

His eyes trail over my face, his lips parted without words to say. So clearly stuck in a state of disbelief.

So I repeat myself. “I love you, Isaiah.”

That mischievous smile is back. “One more time for me, Kenny. Don’t think I quite caught that.”

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