On cue, my phone vibrated.
I couldn’t go back. Only forward. Right now, forward was Jack. It could only be Jack. I had zero other feasible options.
“I guess—I guess we should do it.”
Jack nodded once, pressing his lips together and offering the tiniest of reassuring smiles. “Okay then.”
We finished up the attic and made dinner plans then interacted little for the rest of the day. When we did, it was tense, slightly awkward. We were getting married for money. To stuff cash in our pockets then get divorced. It seemed so shallow, yet it wasn’t a light decision. Not in the slightest. How do you have a chill conversation with all that on the table?
You don’t.
So we avoided each other.
But yet again, I couldn’t sleep. I was thinking about Jack. Not how much I hated his guts and how angry I was he abandoned Kacey. Because—despite the muddy details—I came to terms with one thing: he didn’tabandon Kacey. Notknowinglyanyway. I wasn’t recounting past wrongs and failures. I wasn’t remembering how it all went off the rails.
I simply let myself realize how homesick I was for Jack. I protected my heart from this emotion for four years. Entertained bitterness instead when it pressed in on me. But with every passing hour, the fortress I created weakened. And the wistfulness and pining for my old best friend overtook me.
Past midnight, I crept down the stairs with wet cheeks and swollen eyes, foolishly determined to test the limits of my torture by taking that sweatshirt to bed with me. When I tried to fetch it from the back of the couch, it was gone.
SEVENTEEN
Miranda
“Do you, Miranda, take this man to be your wedded husband and do you promise to be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?”
I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. My heart was coming out of my chest, and my hands went clammy. It was hard to focus with Kacey bumbling around on the chairs only ten feet away. Red flush washed my face. I must’ve looked ridiculous. I glanced down at the simple green dress I had on. Wished I would’ve had something nicer.
Breathe. Why can’t I breathe?
Jack lightly squeezed my hands, and I looked up into his face. His blue eyes roamed over me, his brows knitted with concern. He mouthed, “You okay?”
The officiant prodded. “Miranda, it’s your turn.”
I swallowed hard, and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He smiled. “Do you, Miranda, take this man tobe your wedded husband and do you promise to be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?”
“I—I do.”
“You can repeat after me now.”
I nodded, determined to pay better attention and not faint with anxiety. I fumbled through the prompts. “I, Miranda Leigh Howard, take you, Jackson Nathaniel Barkley, to be my wedded husband…”
It felt like a concrete block was on my chest, and my lip trembled. Jack saw. His thumbs glided over my knuckles in encouragement, and he gave another gentle squeeze.
It’s not a big deal. I can do this.
“…for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”
For sixty days actually, but who’s counting, right?
A crash sounded, and we all turned to look at Kacey who had simultaneously rolled three Hot Wheels off a chair onto the floor. Jack’s handsome smile appeared yet again, those dimpled brackets on full display. I wondered how he could appear so confident at a moment like this. I kept wondering if we were making a huge mistake. All for some money!
This will change your life in a good way, Miranda. Buck up.
I took a deep, slow breath. Jack wouldn’t hurt me. Not physically anyway. I was safe. Yet the impulse to run through the courthouse doors and throw myself off the front steps surged through my veins.
This was wrong. It was desperate, deceptive, and selfish. What-if’s plagued me. What if the house didn’t sell? What if Chris found out what I was doing? What if Jack regretted this later?
