“You have kids, right?”
“Yes,” I said. “A girl and a boy. Honestly, they’re better off. It was never happy at home. I was never happy, and now when they see me, I’m at least halfway happy.”
“I guess it’s just sad when any home breaks up.”
“You? Are you happy?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Seth and I split over a year ago.”
“That’s too bad.” Lies spilled from my mouth like it was nothing.
“Honestly, it’s fine. For the best. I haven’t been happy in a long time.”
My hand physically hurt from me holding it back, keeping it from reaching out to her. A lifetime of feelings—most of them sadly negative and harsh—swirled around us, but I yearned to reach for the good stuff.
“I always wanted you to be happy, Bex.”
Bexley
“Ialways wanted you to be happy.”
God, the nerve of the man, sitting in my family room spewing lies.
“Don’t,” I said, interrupting him. “It’s not necessary to say that garbage. Meaningless words you know you don’t mean, just because you want to fill up the space between us. What do you really want? Why are you here?”
He inched closer until his thigh grazed mine, making me feel as if we were young lovers again. But we were a long way from that. Butterflies swarmed my belly and a cold sweat lined my neck. None of this could lead to anything good.
“I can’t explain it, Bex. I needed to see you. My life’s pretty much in the shitter, although I guess it always has been. Before you, it was, and definitely after. You were the only person who made me feel like ... I wanted to get my shit together. Like my life could be better. As though I could leave my dad and all the doom and destruction he left in his wake. I didn’t, though. I had to get the business. Shitty excuse, I know, but—”
“But you didn’t ... or couldn’t. Whatever you want to call it. Instead, you left your own path of destruction trailing behind you, starting and ending with me.”
When I looked closely, Aston seemed tired, as though he’d aged a few years in a couple of weeks. My hand trembled to smooth his hair back, to tuck a longer strand behind his ear. His curls were longer than usual, and there was a cowlick begging to be patted down.
“Please, Bex. I can’t go through this now. I need you. That’s all I know.”
“It’s been a long time, Aston. I’m not that person anymore. Not going to listen to your gripes and make them all better. I’m not the one, the one you idealized as being strong and capable. I’m no longer that woman. Haven’t been for a long time.”
I tried to form full sentences, but it wasn’t happening. My brain was overwhelmed, firing with fractured memories and thoughts. My mouth spewed whatever it could get out as self-defense mechanisms kicked in. I had to protect my heart, and my kids.
I didn’t confess how much time I’d spent over the years devoted to thinking about him, and what could have been or should have been. I didn’t say a word about the knots in my belly when he was arraigned. How I’d been trying not to obsess over the case ... and failing. Horribly.
Obviously, I left out the part about how his memory broke up my marriage. Aston didn’t know how much Seth hated him, or at least the ghost he’d left behind.
I went on, standing up for myself, quite possibly for the first time when it came to Aston. “You can’t use me like that anymore, as your person. It was one thing when I was eighteen, and you were a slave to your mom’s ambitions and your dad’s disinterest, and well, we thought we were in love.”
“Not thought. We were in love,” he said stubbornly, and I rolled my eyes.
Shutting him down, I said, “Let’s not argue over it, ’kay? It’s in the past. Like us.”
Every therapist I’d seen over the years pointed one thing out to me. Beneath Aston Prescott’s hard and overly confident exterior shell, he was a hurt little boy, confused about what his parents really thought of him and expected from him. He was looking for acceptance.
To diminish his feelings was like dragging a rake over his already scuffed heart, but I had to worry about myself.
Unable to move, I watched Aston’s hand cover mine in slow motion, as if I weren’t inside my body anymore. With one tiny statement—let’s not argue—I’d let him in. Completely in.
Maybe it was the alcohol from the night before. Or maybe it was Aston being here in my living room. But I felt like a fly on the ceiling, watching his fingers close over mine. I needed to stop him, but I couldn’t.
More than anything, I wanted to pull away. Even more, I wanted to lean into his chest.
