Five Ways to Fall (13 page)

Lying on my bed with one arm nestled beneath my head, still fully dressed, I stare at my phone, deciding on how to best answer Jared’s question about Ben. I finally settle on:

I haven’t married him yet.

Humor. When in doubt, always use humor.

And yet, it’s still cutting.

As I wait for his response—which I may not get tonight; Jared was always terrible with responding to texts—I roll onto my side to reach beneath my bed. My fingers latch onto the smooth wood of my little treasure chest—the box that holds my past.

The scent of cedar tickles my nostrils as I open the box up and study the wedding picture hidden inside. The crisp white costume of the Elvis impersonator who married us can’t eclipse the wide beam on my face as I stand tucked into Jared’s side, my flirty violet dress complementing the color of my hair. The way the camera is angled, the diamond in my nose ring sparkles against the flash. Jared is looking as casual and sexy as usual in faded jeans and a fitted Kings of Leon T-shirt that hugs his beautifully sculpted body as if it were designed for him and him alone.

I used to think that Jared was designed for me and me alone.

We understood each other. More importantly, he said he loved me for me. All of me. My bitchy self in the morning, my sarcastic self at most other times, except for when I melted into something soft and approachable—almost vulnerable—in his arms. He loved that I ride a motorcycle and that I know how to play a guitar and can belt out Joni Mitchell and Eddie Vedder while making scrambled eggs, one of only a few things I can actually cook. He loved that my hair was purple and my body was pierced and that I didn’t balk at the idea of matching tattoos. Not even for a second.

He loved that I was independent and emotional and that I was “different” from all the other girls.

I, in turn, loved that he didn’t care about his parents’ money and chose welding because he loves to work with metal. I loved the way he didn’t look twice at other girls while I was sitting around with him. I loved the way he’d tell me to invite my friends out with us. I loved the way he couldn’t go a whole night apart from me. He even tried, once. He came down to Miami for a friend’s stag and ended up driving all the way home that same night to curl up in bed with me at five a.m.

I loved the way he chose me in an instant. How he
wanted
me in his life. He was the only man who seemed willing to commit to forever with me.

I loved the way he loved me.

With a sigh, I tuck the picture in and pull out the creased sheet of paper beneath it, the note that Jared delivered to Lina’s door.

Reese—

I’m sorry you had to find out this way. Caroline and I ran into each other and . . . I still love her. What you and I had will always be special to me. I’ll pay all the fees. Please, just sign the documents so we can all move on.

I’m sorry.

Jared

I never thought that a flimsy sheet of paper could have the power to impale a human being. It came with one of those “do it yourself” online applications for a divorce from the State of Florida and colorful little Post-it tags indicating where I needed to sign.

I knew that Jared didn’t put those there.

I’ve kept this note to remind me of how badly Jared hurt me and how I want nothing more to do with him. And yet, now that he’s here in Miami, now that I’ve had a taste of what it feels like to have his attention again . . . I don’t know that I can just walk away. I certainly can’t stop thinking about it.

I heave a sigh as I check my phone once again. Is it really worth it, though? That Chick-fil-A woman is probably right. Or, at least, she
may
be right.

It’s been a while since I opened up this box. Digging deeper, I find even older memories. Even more painful ones.

A picture of a little girl with pigtails, her hands stretched as far as they could to reach the handlebars of her daddy’s Harley while she pretended to ride it. I pull that one out and study it intently, just as I’ve done for years, until a light knock on the door startles me. Jack pokes his head in, ducking it slightly as if tentative about my reaction. “How was working with Ben today?”

I can’t help but smile. He’s worried that I’m mad at him for pulling the boss card. And making me work on a Saturday, no less. “Fine. We got through a lot. I told him I’d meet him at the office tomorrow.”

“And he’s been . . . professional?”

I stifle a snort. I know exactly what Jack’s asking. “You don’t have to worry, Jack.” I think that’s all Jack does regarding me.

Worry.

Worry that this new-and-improved Reese he has helped create is only temporary. That it’s only a matter of time before I fall off the law-abiding wagon, so to speak, or he has to bail me out of some jam, or I run off and get married again.

I notice Jack’s shoulders drop as if relieved of a weight. Walking into my room, he reaches for the picture in my hand. “You used to fall asleep with this. I always put it away before your mother found you with it. She would have burned it.”

“Good thing Annabelle was never one to tuck me in, then,” I mumble dryly, though I feel the warmth spreading in my chest over Jack’s admission. I actually never realized that I hadn’t secreted the picture away, myself. Or that Jack had come to check on me at night.

He harrumphs, studying the picture for a minute before handing it back.

“Hey, are you really never going to get remarried, Jack?” I ask, tucking it away and pushing the box under the bed.

“Oh . . .” A deep frown furrows his brow. “I figure twice is enough for me.”

“Is it because of Annabelle? Did she screw you up that bad?”

“It’s because of a lot of things, Reese’s Pieces.” He smiles sadly. “I let go of that hurt a long time ago. Holding on to people who don’t want your love is never healthy.” He heaves a big sigh. “Maybe if I meet the right woman, things will change.”

“Well, you’ve certainly caught Ms. Sexton’s attention,” I tease with a smile, knowing I can get away with it. Jack’s a real easygoing, tolerant guy.

He cringes. “I prefer someone a little more . . . refined.” Despite what her last name may suggest, with a chronic case of black roots and a cigarette always hanging out of her mouth, Ms. Sexton is about as far from the sexy single neighbor as you can get. Divorced twice, the Boston native’s nasally voice makes her accent decidedly unattractive. You can usually find her watering her lawn. She’s the one wearing lime-green spandex leggings, a sports bra, and Crocs. The fact that she has birthed four kids and has an old-school caesarian scar running vertically down her stomach doesn’t dissuade the fifty-year-old from flaunting what she
may
have had at some point, twenty-five years ago. I’m surprised there haven’t been official complaints from the community. It’s an upper-middle-class neighborhood of sizeable detached homes and landscaped properties.

Jack leans down to place a soft kiss on top of my head. “Good night.”

“’Night, Jack,” I mumble, but then call out, “Jack?”

He stops and turns, a questioning look on his face.

“Do you believe in fighting for something you want?”

“I’m a lawyer, Reese. All I do is fight,” he acknowledges with a grin, but then frowns. “Why?”

“No reason. Just curious.”

With a hand on my doorknob, he studies me for a moment. “You’re staying out of trouble, right?”

I rest my head down against my pillow. “So far.”

There’s a pause and then a sigh of exasperation. “Good night, Reese.”

“Good night, Jack.”

As soon as the door clicks, I roll over and grab my laptop to do something I haven’t done in months.

“Good ol’ Facebook. Helping people stalk since two thousand and . . .” I mutter, pulling up Jared’s profile page, gritting my teeth in preparation.

Just as I had expected. Picture after picture of flowers and bows and a giant fucking white dress plaster his wall. All posted by Caroline. Really? A church wedding? Jared’s an atheist. There must be five hundred people filling this place to watch the atheist get married. Jared hates crowds.

He’s smiling in every single picture; I can’t deny that. And he looks just as knee-buckling handsome in a tux. Still . . .

A new post pops up as I creep his profile. Surprise, surprise. She strikes again!

My big sexy man is going to protect me here, tomorrow morning! What should I wear?

There’s a link attached to an extreme paintball park north of Miami.

My stomach tightens. I love paintball. Jared and I used to go
all the time,
usually dragging Lina and Nicki along. I even have my own camouflage outfit and a semiautomatic paintball gun.

I click on the link to read about the establishment—family-owned and operated for twenty-five years. That’s always a plus. It means they know how to run things and they’ll have enough referees. It’s a huge field north of the city, with a wooded area. I much prefer those to the inner-city ones, where you’re crammed into a warehouse building. This also means that there will probably be a lot of players. With all the protective gear and masks on, it’s hard to identify a person . . .

I can’t go alone. I mean, I’m not above crazy, but that’s a little bit too much. No, I need to go with my people. I quickly text Lina and Nicki:

Paintball. Tomorrow. Nine a.m. You bitches are with me, right?

I’m not going to tell them why. It doesn’t matter. We’ll have fun either way.

Nicki responds immediately with a simple “in.” Lina takes a few minutes longer, even though I know she has read it.

In, as long as I can bring the guy I’m seeing.

After I agree to that, because I really don’t care who she brings as long as I have a chance to nail Caroline in the head with a splatter of red paint, we figure out logistics and sign off of our group chat. I lie back in my bed and sigh.

Shit.

I forgot about Ben. By the time we get out there and back, shower, eat, and all that . . . I’m not going to want sit in an office all freaking afternoon.

I scroll to find Ben’s number, thankful that we exchanged contact information before heading our separate ways today:

Sorry, can’t help you tomorrow. Something came up.

And then I shut my phone off.

Chapter 10

BEN

“Something came up”? What the fuck does that mean! No way am I letting her ditch me. We got so much accomplished today.

Hell no.

I’m lying in bed as I quickly type out:

You can’t bail. You still owe me for today and I need your help.

No response. She hasn’t even received it. She must have shut her phone off. Scanning my contacts, I dial Mason. He picks up on the second ring.

“Go tell Reese to check her damn phone,” I demand, a rare hint of irritation in my voice.

“Uh . . .” I picture him fiddling with his glasses. “I’m not at home at the moment.”

“Shit,” I mutter to myself. “Where are you? The library?” Mason’s a predictable guy. It’s either Warner, home, or the library.

“Why do you need Reese?”

“Just . . . she’s supposed to help me at the office tomorrow and she’s trying to ditch me.”

A hiss sounds into the receiver, followed by a low female giggle in the background, making me double-check the display to make sure I actually dialed Mason Warner. I did.

This can’t be right. I recognize a sated female giggle when I hear one. “Dude, are you getting laid?”

With a heavy throat clearing, he says, “I don’t know where she is right now but I know where she’ll be tomorrow.”

“All right, lay it on me.”

“I’m sending a link through now. Meet us there at ten.”

Chapter 11