Page 66 of Fumbling for Perfection

She angrily rummages through her purse until she finds her keys. When she slides behind the wheel, she looks up at me with cold, vacant eyes.

“You’re free to go.”

I’m still standing in the parking lot, looking off into the distance minutes later after she’s gone.

I fucked up.

In a matter of weeks, my life flipped upside down. I had the most beautiful, kind, caring woman in my life. My brother reached out and wanted to rebuild our relationship. Which led to me learning about Riley’s lies.

For a hot minute, I was enraged.

Then Jackson’s confession, putting Riley back in my sights again.

Then theplannedpregnancy. Or not planned. Fuck if I know.

And now, I’ve got nothing.

Riley is more a part of Jackson’s life than I am. If I work on my relationship with my brother, it means I’ll see more of Riley.

Now that I’ve lost her, I want her back. Maybe it’s a case of wanting what I can’t have. The chase of the woman.

I let out a deep sigh and cross the parking lot to my rental. No, it’s not the chase. I don’t chase after women. I don’t seek them out. I don’t look for their company or even desire it when I’m feeling lonely.

It’s one hundred percent Riley I want. Margaret Riley. My brother’s best friend. The almost-mother of my child.

Once I get my shit taken care of and move across the country, I’ll figure out a way to win her back. In the meantime, I’ll work on letting Jackson back in my life.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

RILEY

“Jackson,” I gasp. “It’s huge!”

“That’s what he said.” Jackson drapes his arm over my shoulder and guides me up the ramp to the biggest yacht I’ve ever seen.

Not that I’ve seen many. From afar, sure, but I’ve never been on one. He and Taylor are getting married this afternoon with only Charles, Taylor’s brother, Kendall, Rowan, and me as witnesses.

He’d given me the heads up that he invited Walker, but he’s too busy dealing with whatever shit he has to deal with in California before relocating to Massachusetts. Not that I know this firsthand.

Jackson and his brother have been in contact for the past month, and I’m happy for him. I am. But my heart is too broken for repair. After our scene in the parking lot at the doctor’s office, he texted me that night to apologize again and I blocked his number.

It’s been four weeks, but the hurt hasn’t gone away. Yes, I blocked his number, but if he really wanted to get ahold of me, he could call me at work. Or stop by when he’s in the city, which I’m fully aware of because of the media attention, and because Jackson isn’t quiet about letting me know when he’s meeting his brother for dinner.

He hasn’t tried to reach me, that I’m aware of, which is good. The only way to heal my broken heart is with time, and if I see him again, those stormy eyes and hands that have brought me to more orgasms than any other time in my entire life will only delay the process.

“You look stunning, by the way,” Jackson says as he takes my hand and helps me over the threshold onto the yacht.

“I’m wearing a white sundress over my bathing suit.”

“Which is exactly the wedding attire we requested.”

“Well, you look dapper yourself, but you do every day.” I kiss his cheek and run my hands down his white short-sleeve linen shirt pretending to smooth out any wrinkles.

I’ve never seen a hair out of place or a wrinkle in any of his clothes. Getting married on a yacht in the middle of the Atlantic on the Fourth of July is sure to cause a little ruffle in his hair.

Who am I kidding? Jackson probably paid Mother Nature for this cloudless, windless, eighty-degree day.

He gives me a quick tour of the yacht, and by quick, I mean twenty minutes. There are three bedrooms, three bathrooms—like, full size—a kitchen bigger than the one in my apartment, a dining room that can sit twenty, and two living rooms. And that’s just the inside.

---