Page 170 of A Love Letter to Whiskey
“I can’t believe you did this to me!” she screamed as I tugged on my jeans next. “I was happy, I was okay, I let you go. And then you just show up here, after two years without a single word, and you—”
“You’re not happy. You’re numb. There’s a difference.”
Her mouth popped open. “Don’t tell me what I am, Jamie Shaw! If you’re so desperate to tell me something, how about telling me why you never called? Huh?”
I closed my eyes, disbelief that this was her reaction after last night striking me silent. I was so tired of fighting. I was so fucking tired of all the goddamn games.
“Does it really matter?” I asked, tugging on my still-damp shirt. “You said you’d wait, and I said I’d come. Why did you give up? Why are you trying to push me away right now?”
“Because this isn’t right! This,” she said, motioning between us. “Isn’t okay. We’re toxic, Jamie. All we do is hurt each other, hurt the ones who love us, hurt ourselves.”
She trembled so hard I heard it in her voice, and it fucking broke me to see her hurt like that. It always had.
I let out a breath, moving toward her, ready to take her in my arms and soothe the pain. But she held up a hand to stop me.
“Don’t.”
I paused, swallowing.
“You want to know why I never called?” I finally asked, voice low. “You think that will make you feel better? Because it won’t.”
She didn’t answer.
I sighed, because I knew her knowing the truth would only make her hurt more. She wanted to believe that I’d forgotten about her, about us, that I’d moved on and was living out my life pretending she never existed.
In that narrative, I was the bad guy. She could get married to someone new without a single ounce of regret.
But the truth?
The truth would kill her.
“B, I signed the wedding certificate the morning of the wedding,” I said, resigned. “That was always the plan, sign the certificate before the day began so we wouldn’t have to worry about it, and then we could put it away somewhere safe, and take it to the courthouse on Monday.”
She swallowed. “Okay…”
“I signed it. Before I found out what she did.” I sniffed, eyes flicking between hers. “After I left, she signed it, too. And that Monday, when I was trying to figure out my plan of attack to handle shit with her and get to you as fast as I could, she showed up at my house, claiming we were officially married. She went to the courthouse without me, B. We were legally married.”
She blinked. “Oh my God.”
“Yeah,” I said, stepping closer. “At first, she begged for me to take her back, to make it work, but obviously, I refused. Then, she got her lawyer involved, and they said they’d go after me for everything because I’d been cheating on her with you.” I laughed — not because it was funny, but because I wanted to fucking murder Angel just thinking about it, and needed to laugh to save myself from doing just that. “They had camera footage of us together in the hotel on what was supposed to be my wedding night with Angel.”
B paled, her hands reaching out for the back of the couch to steady herself.
“If it was just my Jeep, or just my shitty house she wanted, I wouldn’t have cared, B. But my father made me partner — officially. It was my wedding gift. And she wanted to take that, too. She wanted half of everything, if not more. She…”
My voice gave out, and I took a breath, shaking my head before I continued.
“I got a lawyer. I had to block your number, my family, too. Until it was all resolved, any phone call or email or message on Facebook could have incriminated me. It didn’t matter that she’d admitted to cheating the night before our wedding, because in the court’s eyes, we’d still gotten married anyway. It was the biggest fucking mess, all of it, and I hated working with slimy lawyers, and an even slimier ex. I hated waiting. But the only thing that kept me going was knowing that you were waiting, too. For me.”
B stumbled to the arm of the couch, sitting on it as one hand covered her mouth.
“The day Angel finally gave up,” I said softly. “The day I received the finalization of our divorce? That was the same day I received your wedding invitation.” The laugh that came from my throat nearly choked me. “Talk about sick irony.”
B was still for a long moment, and then she just shook her head, over and over and over.
“You should have called me. Somehow.”
“I did! I called you from what I’m pretty positive is the only payphone still in existence, several times, and you never answered,” I shot back, chest heaving.
