Page 94 of False Start
Bryant turns around on the platform, and he falters in his step when our eyes meet for the first time in six months. A pained expression stares back at me. I can see him swallow from here as he looks down at his shoes and continues on his way to where the rest of the wedding party congregates as they wait for the event to begin.
“You okay?” Ben asks.
No. I’m not okay. When am I going to get over him? How long will it take? How long can this thing possibly go on between us? But I nod my head.
I barely remember the ceremony as memories of mine and Bryant’s wedding surface in my mind. At the end, I chance a look at Amos and find Bryant standing right behind him as the best man. His eyes are locked on mine, green forces of steel willing me to look back at him. But they want more than that. They want me to submit, to give my heart back over to him, and I can’t ever do that again. I can’t open myself back up to bleed that way again.
“Zhanna?” Ben calls and snaps me out of my daze.
I tear my eyes from my ex and give my friend my attention. “Yeah?”
“I asked if you wanted another drink?”
I look up to realize the ceremony is over and Bryant is no longer standing at the altar. In fact, it’s completely empty of the wedding party. “Yes, a drink would be wonderful.”
I make it through the motions of smiling, clapping, and being happy for the couple. I dance with Ben and a few other players I know, including the groom, and I catch up on the latest gossip amongst the WAG’s. But I’m intensely aware of Bryant’s every move. I can feel his eyes on me, watching me from across the room.
And when I smell his cologne, I turn around to see him dancing with the bride. He’s pulling away while smiling at her, clearly ready to leave the dance floor, but she’s pleading with him to dance. How can you say “no” to the bride? Amos dances by with the bride’s grandmother, spins the elderly woman around, and claps Bryant on the back. My ex gives in, hangs his head still smiling, and dances with the star of the evening. I catch myself smiling across the room at the scene, but when he settles in to dance with her another emotion fills me.
Bryant dancing in a tux brings back so many memories, memories of our love story, of the way we were the day we married. And I can still remember the way that love felt. It was deep, authentic, and all-consuming. It completed me. The scene is quite bittersweet because while it reminds me of a beautiful part of my life, it also reminds me those chapters are in the past. The book is forever closed on us.
“Zhanna?” Ben asks from behind me as his hands come to my shoulders.
I look over my right shoulder and plaster a smile on my face. “Hey, you.”
He’s frowning, worried about me. I must’ve let my emotions play out over my face. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say.
He’s not buying my bullshit. “Let’s get some fresh air.”
“You know?” I say, turning to face him. “I think I will, but you stay here and enjoy the reception. I’ll be back in a second.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
I pat him on the arm and weave through the many bodies in the room until I reach the back of the venue. A rocking-chair front porch with black chairs is the first thing I arrive at when I step outside. The air is nice here. It’s not as humid as New Orleans. I suck in a lung full of oxygen and stroll along the sidewalk around the building. My walk takes me past several fountains, koi ponds, beautiful landscaping, and eventually I arrive at the garden.
The garden contains tall shrubbery cut into a cute little maze that ends at a white gazebo filled with string lights. The music from inside softly plays on hidden speakers in the garden, the cicadas sing, and there’s a slight breeze tonight. It’s serene out here in nature, away from everyone else. It’s been a while since I’ve to Hale’s Row to enjoy the simplicity of Mother Nature.
A seat is built into the sides of the gazebo, and I take a chance to rest my feet from the high heels I’ve been dying in all night. They’re the first thing I’m taking off when I get home before I climb in a bath and have a good cry.
“Zhanna,” he says so softly I barely hear him, but there’s no mistaking his voice. I’d know it anywhere.
I slowly turn around.God. It hurts to look at him. He’s still so beautiful, and in a tux to boot.
“Hey,” I say.
He climbs three steps to the gazebo and steps just inside it. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.” I smile. “You’re very handsome.”
He looks down at my feet and smirks. “Still hating heels?”
“I’m not sure if I’m correct in my assumption, but I’m pretty certain a man invented the high heel. Women don’t invent torture devices. That’s man’s work.”
He laughs, and God, it sounds good to hear it. I’ve missed the sounds he makes from singing to grunting. It’s taken some time for me to adjust to living alone, and I’m not sure I’ve completely accomplished it. So I miss his sounds.
