Page 17 of Run Game
Dalton takes his time rinsing me with the detachable shower head before quickly washing himself. He doesn’t speak as he turns off the water, grabs me by the hand, opens the shower door, and leads me to the counter where two fluffy towels sit. He quickly wraps one around his waist before grabbing the other and drying my entire body. I watch him, completely speechless as he carefullybrings the towel around my shoulders before wrapping me into a tight, warm embrace.
Tears prick at my eyes, so I close them tightly, willing them to go away so he doesn’t see the effect all of this is having on me. I can’t remember the last time a man touched me like this, yet nothing even remotely sexual has happened. I’m used to letting them use my body while I use theirs, then moving on to someone else before we can hurt each other. And that’s always been so easy. This type of intimacy with Dalton feels almost uncomfortable, but at the same time, it’s like my head and heart aren’t on the same page. I’m starting to understand that the reality of this situation isn’t going to be as simple as I thought. He’s nothing like I expected him to be. The perpetual playboy is already proving to be more caring and selfless than any of the guys I’ve ever been with, and I just know that letting go is going to change me.
“Let’s get you to bed,” he says, walking back into the bedroom and pulling back the covers for me. I lay down, completely exhausted in every sense of the word as he rounds the bed, sliding under the covers and pulling my naked body tightly to his. Even with all the thoughts running wild in my head, I drift off feeling safer and more peaceful than I ever have in my whole life.
TEN
DALTON
“Mr. and Mrs. Davis,”the Clerk of Courts says. “You can come on back.”
We arrived at the local courthouse about twenty minutes ago for our appointment. Luckily, we were able to use a private entrance, staying out of view of any fans or paparazzi that may be lurking around. Doing this in Vegas, where people were less likely to notice me, was one thing. But being back in Boston where I’m a public figure, we couldn’t risk being seen. I already said I’d shout it from the rooftops that Dia is my wife. But I made a promise to her that we wouldn’t tell anyone and I’m not going to break her trust. She’s been through that enough.
We follow the blonde-haired man into a small office, where he motions for us to sit opposite him at his desk. Dia has been quiet all morning, barely touching her breakfast, but downing three cups of coffee before we got in my car and drove here to file our divorce papers. I tried asking if she was okay, but she just said she was jetlagged and wanted to get this over with so she could check into a hotel room and sleep.
“So,” he begins, “I see that you were married in Las Vegas Sunday night, and they denied your annulment.”
“Yes,” I answer, looking over to Dia who still hasn’t said a word.
“Not a problem,” he says. “We can get the divorce paperwork filed here today, and since it’s non-contested, you’ll be good to go in fourteen business days. I just need your IDs. I have a copy of your marriage certificate on file already.”
We both reach into our wallets, handing him our driver’s licenses. He takes mine first, entering the information into his computer before taking hers and pausing.
He looks to Dia. “This is an Illinois state ID. Do you have one with your current Massachusetts address on it? I'll need that in order to prove that you're living at the same residence.”
“Umm, we don’t live together. I am technically still a resident of Chicago, but I’m moving here to Boston this week,” she tells him.
Worry clouds his expression. “Unfortunately, you have to prove that you’ve shared a legal residence for six weeks before you’re allowed to file paperwork for a divorce.”
“Oh my God,” she says, hanging her head in defeat. “So, you’re saying we have to stay legally married while living together for six more weeks?”
He nods. “Yes, ma’am. You can head straight to the Registry of Motor Vehicles and apply for a Massachusetts driver’s license with Mr. Davis’ address. As soon as you have that, the six-week period starts.”
I’m scared to look over at her, but I slowly turn my head to find Dia not nearly as feral looking as I expect. I inspect her face for any type of foaming at the mouth or horns growing from her forehead, but there’s none of that.Just her normal expression as she takes her license, stands up, and leaves the room without a word.
“Thank you,” I rush out as I reach forward, grab my license, and chase my wife out of yet another courthouse.
By the time I reach the car, which is parked in the building’s underground garage, Dia is waiting by the door for me to unlock it. I click the button on my fob and she gets in, slamming the door so hard, I’m surprised it doesn’t chip the paint.
Okay, so sheismad.
I choose my words carefully. “I know this is a little speed bump, but we’ll get through it,” I tell her. When she doesn’t reply, I look over to find her eyes full of unshed tears. “Hey,” I say softly, reaching over to cup her cheek. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”
She closes her eyes and surprises me by leaning into my touch. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can,” I coax. “I know you don’t want me as your husband, but let me be your friend right now, Dia. Talk to me.”
She sighs, opening her beautiful brown eyes. “I thought it would be easy. I wanted to know that I was capable of being someone’s wife, but I wanted it to be over before anyone got hurt.”
Fuck.I hate that she feels like every good thing in her life has to end before she gets to the good part. I hate that she doesn’t feel worthy of giving or receiving love. I want to kill her parents and ex for burning these thoughts into her head.
“Dia, listen to me,” I say. “Nobody’s going to get hurt. I get that you’ve been left and mistreated by people who said they loved you. But I promise I’ll never do that. No matter what happens six weeks from now, I’ll always behere. Even if you don’t want me to be. I’ll wait in the wings for your call. And when it comes, I’ll get to you as fast as I can. I know you’re strong and independent, but it’s okay to lean on the people who care about you. You’ll always have Mads. And now, you have me, too. Okay?”
She blinks and the tears she’s been holding in finally spill over, landing on her pink cheeks. I reach out, wiping them away with my thumbs before leaning in and dropping a firm kiss to her forehead.
“Okay,” she says with a watery smile.
“Alright,” I say, pressing the ignition button, making the car roar to life. “Let’s go make you a true Bostonian.”
