Page 69 of XO

Me:No. Just want this night to be over.

Me:Vicki?

Vicki:Yeah, babe?

Me:I can’t be your maid of honor. I’m sorry.

I let my cell fall to the floor, my eyes growing heavy as tears overflow. My anger has given way to a treacherous grief I tried burying years ago. I can’t think of Jacob without thinking of losing my father. The two scenarios are so entwined, it’s suffocating, forcing me back to a place when I almost lost myself. A time in my life when I hurt so badly, I wanted nothing more than to die. I crawl over to the table between the couches and take the photograph of my father I’ve carried around with me since his funeral.

A sob explodes from my chest, crippling me as I rock back and forth, holding the picture close to my heart. Seeing Jacob again, combined with a night of over-drinking, has dug up the box of emotions I laid to rest years ago.

I didn’t lay them to rest because I wanted to. But because it simply hurt too much to continue carrying them around with me. But now? It’s game on. The hurt, the pain, the suffering, it all erupts like a volatile volcano, and there’s no stopping it now.

“Why did he come back, Dad? Why did he come back and you didn’t?” I choke the words out because it feels like I have a giant fist jammed down my throat.

My grief battles with anger once again when my cell chimes.

Vicki:Whatever it is, we can sort this out. How badly could this guy have hurt you? All I’m saying is no rash decisions.

How badly?

I scowl at the message like it can see me. Placing Dad back on the table, I take a few more gulps of wine before doing something I haven’t done in almost ten years. I don’t care if it’s not his number anymore. I don’t care if he stopped answering back from this number the day he left town. Scrolling through my contact list, I find his name, my heart pounding at the sight of it.

I type the message hoping it will make me feel even the slightest bit better. But when I hit send, the message falls in line with fifteen unanswered others I’d sent ten years ago.

I don’t feel any better.

I just feel like I’m further infecting a wound.

Staring at the message, I sloppily finish the rest of my wine. Instantly, I’m riddled with regret and not just because brunch is scheduled tomorrow and I’m going to have a wicked hangover, but because I wish I could take back what I’ve written. It’s not like he’ll ever see it but putting it out there in the world makes it somewhat real.

But those eight words will sit in limbo, a purgatory, just like my heart.

I hate how much I still love you.

~

“You look like shit,” Jase says, grinning from ear to ear as I walk through the stunning Victorian home his parents bought he and Vicki as an early wedding gift. “After what Vicki told me, I was certain we wouldn’t see you today.”

I frown, confused, the motion welcoming another wave of agony. Putting on my darkest sunglasses to block out the sun, and my hideous—morning after seeing the biggest asshole to walk in and out of my life—face.

“Why wouldn’t I be here?” I ask using the kitchen counter to balance while dodging a caterer.

“Because you told Vicki to find another maid of honor.”

“Oh!”

“And because you were quite explicit in what you wanted to do to Jacob.”

Hmmm… I don’t recall that part. Please God, don’t let me have said anything sexual.

“So, him being here isn’t just a nightmare?”

“Oh, he’s here all right.” Jase points out the folding French doors to where Jacob is practically being smothered by an overly flirtatious and stunning Amber. God, he looks divine. In navy blue shorts and white collared shirt rolled to his elbows, he shows off tanned, corded forearms and perfectly muscled calves.

“Dammit,” I curse. Swiping a wine glass of iced water from the passing server, I make to head out and join the others before stopping on the threshold. Turning back to Jase, who’s still smiling like idiot, I finally take the bait. “When you say explicit… what are we talking about exactly?”

He shrugs feigning indifference. “Oh, you know… first you were quite detailed in how you wanted to make him really suffer…” he smirks, “… through some very inventive and imaginative ways. I’m talkingGame of Thronestype torture, I might add.”

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