Page 68 of Everything We Give

“I don’t remember how it happened. Most of the night is a blur and several hours are flat out missing from the memory banks.” I tap my forehead. “I only know that we woke up with rings on our fingers and our signatures on a marriage certificate I found in my suitcase.”

“Holy ... Wow. I can’t imagine what was going through your head at that moment.”

“Not much,” I say with an unenthusiastic laugh. “Worst hangover ever.”

“What did you do?”

I stop in front of Aimee. “We petitioned for an annulment. It was granted fairly quickly. We were both intoxicated. Happens all the time in Vegas.”

“Technically, you weren’t really married. The marriage was dissolved.”

I sink to my heels and hold Aimee’s hands in mine. “I know, but that doesn’t excuse me from not telling you.”

“You and Reese dated in college and were together for a year after. Did you wish ...” She stalls, biting her lower lip. I squeeze her hands.

“Did I wish we didn’t get the annulment?” She nods and I hum in thought. “Yes, for all of five seconds, right before I signed the paperwork. I loved her at the time, but she was adamant—we both were—that our careers came first. Marriage was not what either of us wanted at the time. What happened in Vegas was supposed to stay in Vegas.”

“I can’t believe Reese introduced herself to me as your ex-wife.”

“I’m not going to say the b-word, but be my guest.”

Aimee laughs, breaking the tension between us. “She’s a royal—”

A wave of heat tumbles through me. Sweat seeps from my pores. My skin bakes. I let go of one of Aimee’s hands and unzip the hoodie. The room feels like a furnace.

“You don’t look well, Ian.” Aimee touches my forehead. It’s sheened in sweat. “You’re warm.”

“I don’t like octopus. Promise you’ll never boil octopus and make me eat it.” My stomach pitches. I cover my mouth and rush to the bathroom and proceed to humiliate myself inside the toilet.

When I’m done, I fall back on my ass and slouch against the wall. Arms parked on my raised knees, I close my eyes and breathe through the nausea. I’m still tasting paprika. A cool washcloth touches my forehead, then my cheeks. I open my eyes and Aimee is there, kneeling beside me. “Thank you,” I whisper hoarsely.

She hands me a glass of water, which I chug. “Slow down, you’ll get sick again. Better?” she asks when I give her the empty glass.

“Much.” Now that the slimy octo is out of my gut, my stomach has settled. But I feel a crushing weight on my chest and I need to get it off. I fix my eyes on hers. “There’s something else I should have told you.”

“Oh?” Aimee sits back warily.

“I should have told you before I left.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t.” I roll my head from side to side against the wall. “We’d argue and I didn’t want to do that before I left.”

“What you have to tell me will make me upset?”

“Yes ... maybe.”

She pushes back her shoulders, which puts her eye level several inches above mine. She looks down at me. “Do I need to remind you I’m not fragile?”

“No. No, you don’t.” I smile weakly and wave a hand, my arm flopping back into my lap. “I’m tired of arguing.”

“Me, too.”

“I don’t want to upset you.”

“Spit it out, Ian, I can handle it.”

“I talked with James.”

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