Page 72 of Marriage is a Shore Thing
“Don’t I, though?”
The sound of a door opening in the background and Stacy’s voice directing Geneva into the house sends another fissure of energy crackling down my bones. Taylor would love this. If she were still alive, she’d demand to be the one to take the ring back, to right this wrong. There was nothing she hated more than unjustness, and she battled a lot of it as a social worker.
A half-cough/half-sob rips from my throat as sorrow ribbons through my ribs. I hit my chest with my fist, exaggerating the cough to cover the moment of vulnerability. Normally, I wouldn’t care. My heart has always been there right on my sleeve for everyone to see, but I’ve learned working as a doctor that there are times I need to tuck it away. You can’t fall apart if it’s your job to put everyone back together.
“Are you okay?” Geneva’s tender voice is a soothing balm to my aching soul. She’s not even in the car, but she knows me so well she saw right through my coughing fit.
“I’m fine,” I say and then add, for Noah and Brynn’s benefit, “Just accidentally swallowed my gum.”
“Tell me when we get home.”
It’s not a request. Ever since I opened up about Taylor, Geneva has noticed when heartache slides into my voice. Every time, she led me to the couch and waited for me to talk about it, usually with her knees against my thigh and her reassuring fingers in my hair.
“Okay,” I tell her, knowing I’ll feel better afterward. I always do. I’ve never been in a relationship where I’ve felt simultaneously challenged and cherished.
Being with Geneva has also made me realize that I’ve never really wanted somethingfor myself.My whole life I’ve strived to not be my father. I’ve focused on being a good man. That meant serving others as much as possible. When we discovered how fast I could learn, I chose a career that not only helped people but allowed me to provide for Mama and Taylor.
But I want Geneva for me—selfishly,desperately.
“I’m entering the study,” Geneva says at the same time Noah swears under his breath.
“He shouldn’t be here, but I think that’s him.” He points down the road at the luxury car slowing at the last stop sign before entering this curving uphill street.
“Henry might be back,” I tell Geneva. “Get out of there.”
But unlike before, there’s no snappy response reminding me she’s the one that gives commands. A beep sounds in my ear, and I glance down to see the call has disconnected. I redial, but it goes to voicemail.
“Maybe it’s another person with the same Lambo,” Noah says, his voice doubtful.
Geneva’s message floods my earbud, and without thinking, I react. Darkness engulfs me as I sprint up the hedge line before the oncoming car turns the final curve toward the house.
thirty-one
Geneva
It’s easy to find the ring box shoved in the back of Henry’s second desk drawer, right where Stacy said it would be. Just to be safe, I take a picture of the mess of envelopes, pens, rubber bands, and an assortment of random receipts so I can put the box back exactly where I found it. I didn’t prepare a decoy but instead have a note of my own for when I remove the ring.
With only the light from the hallway slipping into the room, I lift the box’s lid. The ring is even more beautiful than Joanna described. An intricate, looping pattern that resembles interlocking infinity symbols circles the entire ring. Each loop is bordered with tiny, round-cut diamonds that add subtle sparkle. Set within the larger loops are slightly larger diamonds spaced evenly around the band, creating eye-catching focal points. It’s ornate yet elegant and would effortlessly complement the rest of my gold jewelry.
My palm presses to my racing heart when I realize how much I want this vintage ring, how much I want all of this to be real. But that means I’d have to be honest about how terrifying that is. It’s daunting to offer yourself up on a platter and hope that the person scrutinizing your soul deems you worthy.
Feeling suffocated, I rip off Vivian’s face covering and tuck it into my waistband. My eyes close as I take several rounds of breath to steady myself. When Van’s dimpled smile flashes into my mind, my scattered breathing evens out. Every time I reveal another barbed part of myself, Van holds it in his hands like I just gave him a treasure.
Determination floods my bloodstream as I make a decision.
I’m not letting Van go unless he asks me to. I’m going to fight—for him, forus.
So what if I have a truckload of emotional baggage because my dad had two families and my mom only wanted me around to win beauty pageants. You know what having crappy parents does? It makes you resilient. It shows you how strong you really are. And I’m tough enough to get out of my own way andgrow. I’m capable of accepting my past and choosing something different for my future. I’m willing to strive to be a better person for Van, but more importantly,for myself.
My fingers are steady as I remove the ring and slip my note into the box. After zipping the ring into a secure pocket in my leggings, I use the photo on my phone to put the box back exactly where I found it. A victorious smile lifts the corner of my mouth until headlights flash through the front windows. Footsteps run down the hall as the whir of a garage door opening breaks the silence of the large house. I bolt to the study entrance and collide with someone much taller than Stacy.
Van almost looks like an angel with the warm light of the hallway haloing his blond hair, a flush to his cheeks, and his collared shirt pulled sideways. That familiar zing of electricityslips down my spine when our gazes collide, and instantly, I feel at home.
“Your phone disconnected,” he says, out of breath.
My eyes widen as reality slaps me in the face. Van’s here—inmy father’shouse. Something must be terribly wrong.
“Shoot.”
