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Overcome with emotion, I turn and crumble in Damon’s arms. He sweeps me firmly into his grip as I bury my head into his neck, sobbing while he carries me away. Within seconds, I’m whisked into the SUV as Damon barks at the driver to go. Cradled in his hold, I unleash my hurt as we speed away while Damon begs me to forgive him.

SEVENTY-FOUR

“Always Been You”

Jessie Murph

Natalie

Sitting at the edge of the surf wrapped in Easton’s jacket, I watch the violet sky darken further, giving way to the moon’s beam as it begins to light up the water. All too tempted to flee after the spectacle I made, I only retreated to gather myself together. Though mortified by what I did, I’m finding it hard to regret it, and I refuse to back down now. I hadn’t planned on having that fight with him the way it happened, but some part of me knew I was already gloving up this morning.

The way I knew I would seek him out when I left Mexico, face to face, and finally come clean with him about everything I didn’t the night he divorced me. No matter what happens, I’m not hiding my hurts, my feelings, or my own needs anymore. Sometimes saving face while displaying quiet strength isn’t worth the cost.

I might hate hindsight for the bitch she is, but I have her to thank for giving me clarity on exactly what my worst crimes are when it comes to my ex-husband.

It isn’t the promises we’ve broken but the vows we both failed to uphold. Patience, kindness, understanding, protection, preservation, all of them. They’re the chosen vows countless others have spoken in ceremony for good reason. I didn’t fully comprehend how keeping them close could have kept us united, nor did I understand the importance of each one of them, until we fell apart.

Either way, intertwined between my melancholy and heartbreak, is a relief that, at least now, he knows. If he decides to walk away, I’ll force myself to watch him with a peace I didn’t have before I voiced my regrets to him. That is, if he hasn’t already fled himself.

Even knowing my rejection may be inevitable, like Easton, I have to swing anyway. There are high stakes to truly loving another human being, and you have to hand your heart to them with all the trust you have without knowing the outcome. These are the things that loving Easton has taught me.

But in order for it to be a fair fight, I have to put myself wholly on the line the way he did for me, time and again.

Intent on seeing it through, I power up my cellphone and press send as the raw ache in my chest reignites. He answers on the second ring.

“Hey,” he speaks up in alarm, hearing my sniffle. “Are you okay?”

“N-no,” I croak as my voice breaks. “No, I’m not,” I confess. “And I haven’t been okay for a long time.”

“You can tell me anything,” he urges in a tone that has my tears spilling over. I falter, briefly holding the phone away as I choke on another wave of pain before gathering the strength and breath I need.

“I’m glad, Daddy, because I want to tell you about the man I fell in love with in Seattle.”

SEVENTY-FIVE

“One More Try”

George Michael

Easton

Once Misty is loaded into her waiting car, I watch it pull away. As I do, a sudden but familiar anger surges through me. The feeling only intensifies as I turn and stalk back into the lobby.

Guilt-ridden, pissed about my current circumstances, fed the fuck up with fate and the havoc it’s wreaked on me, along with my ex-wife—who’s determined to make me dismantle my freshly constructed system for self-preservation—I prowl back into the resort lobby on a mission. Walking up to the reception desk, I grit out my request. “Can you please dial Natalie Butler’s room?”

The man behind the counter clicks his mouse to look her up and dials. “Sorry, Mr. Crowne, she’s not answering.”

“Of course she isn’t, because that would make this much less difficult,” I grit out.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing, sorry,” I say, raking my hands through my hair. Heart pumping with fear that she left before I got a chance to thank her for her belated birthday present—I wonder if she’s already headed toward a plane bound for Texas.

Wouldn’t surprise me. After all, it’s her MO—intoxicate, devastate, and dash.

Fuming, I decide to have the front desk call her again, taking note of the room number when he dials. “Sorry, Mr. Crowne, she’s still—”

“It’s fine,” I wave him off. “Thank you.”

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