Page 40 of It's Holy Matrimony, Baby

I lean in, resting my arms on the table. “You’re trying to leave me with no option but to do what you want.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s what I’ve done.”

“Now, I’m going to tell you something.” I take her hand. It’s small and warm between my own. That stray tendril of hair flops forward again and I smooth it back for her. Going to tell her this plan of hers isn’t going to work. There’s nothing in her playbook that’s going to make me sign those papers. Too close to fixing my mistakes and making my siblings’ lives easier. Can’t quit on them. She tilts her face to my hand. My fingers graze her cheek and it’s like a shock to the heart. “I don’t want to let you go.”

“Please don’t,” she whispers, dropping her gaze to the table. Her voice is cut off by the noise of the band, but the words her lips make are clear. Their meaning, though... could be anything. Please don’t tell me that. Please don’t let me go. Please don’t expect me to drink another one of these awful drinks. But I get a split second, one flash of the hurt and sadness in her eyes before she shuts it away. Don’t know what put it there but I want to ease it or erase it or destroy it. Want to see her smile again. If I can.

We’re both quiet as Lou puts fresh drinks on the table between us. She pauses and squeezes my shoulder before she walks back to the bar. Beck’s hand stays in mine as I lean in even closer. She doesn’t pull away. I wait for her to. Expect it.

The band wraps up their set and leaves the stage. My beer disappears. Half her drink too. The crowd heads for the exits. Lou shouts that it’s last call. An eternity seems to pass between us, before she comes back to me. Beck glances at our hands with a strange uncertain expression. “You really won’t let it go, will you? I could take everything from you.”

“You could.” My chest tightens uncomfortably. It’s hard to breathe. I force my lungs to fill with oxygen. Push it out. There’s not much to take. My family. My dad’s name. Hollander. Everything else I’ve already let slip through my fingers. My music career. The studio. All of it gone because of my careless decisions. Only marrying her, being with her doesn’t feel careless and for the first time in years there’s a spark inside me that gives me hope. “But you won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No, I don’t.” All I have is a hunch. And some hard-earned experience. “But there’s only one thing you could take from me now that would mean anything.”

“What’s that?”

I chuckle as I climb to my feet, pulling her up with me. Lift her chin with my fingers. “Would it be smart of me to tell you that?”

“No, probably not.” She winces and chews on her bottom lip. Her chin juts out a little and she stares at me as she takes her hand from mine and folds her arms under her tits. “But it doesn’t matter. It’s only a matter of time before you realize I’m right and you’re wrong.”

“Don’t be so sure of that.” Her tenacity brings out the ox in me. If she can be stubborn then so can I. Especially when I’m almost certain that none of the crazy things she’s done so far have been to actually hurt me. Only to push me away. And she’s ignored the easiest way out of this situation from day one. Surely she’s considered leaving. “Why are you still here, Beck?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re still here. With me. You moved into my house. You say you want me to sign the papers, but you act like you’re scared, and you just want me to hold you tight.”

Her eyes grow round, the blue popping under thick lashes. Soft lips part as she gasps. Her gaze sweeps to my arms and my chest and up again to my face. There’s a galaxy of thoughts in her irises. Shock. Fear. An awareness that wasn’t there before. She swallows and the little triangle at the base of her throat becomes more prominent. Spinning on her heel, she sprints for an exit.

The crowd is clearing, heading off in different directions as I leave Mayhem. Her short little skirt makes a swish sound with every step she takes. Her heels click on the pavement. I married this crazy lunatic. I married a girl who asked me to hold onto her for better or worse, and I let her down. I let her run and hide. Because I didn’t know her. Didn’t understand what she needed from me. Because I’m fucking good at letting people down. I have a knack for it. Damn near a talent.

I catch up to her as she hops the gutter on the far side of the road. Grab her hand and pull her back to me. Wind both arms around her waist and crush her to my chest.

“Let me go.” She thumps a hand against my bicep. She’s breathing shakily. Her whole body is vibrating with tension.

“Tell me why you’re still here. It doesn’t add up, Beck. It doesn’t make sense. You don’t need me to absolve this marriage. You could do it from anywhere.”

“It’ll take too long,” she cries.

I drop my arms to my side and take a step back. For her to be in such a rush there has to be a reason. Is she planning on marrying someone else? I don’t like the idea. It’s bitter and prickly and as irritating as a badly strung guitar. And it doesn’t make sense. Not with the girl in front of me who can’t manage to even say the words that come with relationships. “Why? It’s been almost two years.”

“Twenty-one months and two weeks,” she says.

“Fine. Why now?”

“You won’t understand.” She shakes her head. “Trust me. It’s better if we don’t talk about it.”

“You might be surprised at how much I can understand if you open up to me. Together we might even be able to make this situation easier.”

She laughs. It’s high pitched. A little cracked. “Are you superstitious at all?”

“If you’re asking me if I believe black cats are evil, and walking under ladders will bring you bad luck, no.” I shrug. “But I own a lucky pair of jeans that I wore the day my band was signed. And I had routines I ran through before gigs. Would have sworn by them at the time like a footballer swears by his lucky jockstrap.”

“What?” She frowns. Purses those pretty lips in a way that distracts me.

“You don’t know what a jockstrap is?”

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