Sometimes I took the thinnest, barest comfort out of the fact that they still weren’t engaged. That maybe, MAYBE it meant that someday she’d forgive me.
And then I felt like an asshole.
Because she’d moved on. Had never looked twice at me again.
And I was the only thing standing between her and the perfect family. Marrying Cash.
Maybe I should give in, stop fighting, . . . but Icouldn’t.
I’d been in therapy for two years, and still couldn’t believe I’d been immature and dumb enough to cheat. No matter what I did she might never forgive me. I might never get another chance.
I had to accept that, my therapist said. That I might never be successful, no matter how hard I worked on being a better man.
Then, because I had no money and my therapist was Ronnie, she blew loudly on a whistle or smacked my head with a spoon to get the message across. I was pretty sure her license was lapsed and this wasn’t actually “Pavlovian shock therapy,” but no matter. The lesson was right.
Bluebell had curly light brown hair and, just like her mother, was adored by everyone.
Cash set her down, and the tiny toddler stumbled excitedly toward her mother, squealing and raising her arms up.
Jillian’s face lit up with heart-stopping beauty, and she picked up Bluebell and tossed her lightly in the air, snuggling her daughter tight as Cash put an arm around Jilly’s waist and kissed her affectionately on the head.
My legs felt like lead, like my limbs were so heavy I couldn’t move.
Cash had everything I wanted. Everything I had ever dreamed of.
My stupid weak eyes filled with tears and my hands tightened on the cold fried fish I was carrying home to warm up in the microwave and eat for supper.
Had there ever been a day of true, full-throated happiness without Jillian?
No.
Each day of her pregnancy had been a torture for me, my ex getting more radiant and rounder every single time I saw her, and I knew it was all my fault and that she didn’t love me any more.
But I still lovedher, desperately and hopelessly.
Of course she’d moved on. But I couldn’t. I was living in the past again, only this time I knew it was something real and true instead of that stupid infatuation with Christabelle.
Jillian turned sideways slightly, Bluebell’s arms tightly around her throat, and Cash’s massive palm spanning her lower back.
Our eyes met.
And even through my watery gaze I could see every single feature I remembered—the luminous gray eyes, cute little nose, full pink lips, the long silky brown hair that fell down her back.
My jaw was probably dropped like a dairy cow, but I couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help my reaction to her.
But in her eyes there was nothing. No reaction. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment that she knew who I was. No sign of our shared history, our years together.
She turned back to her family and I stumbled, clutching the railing of Mrs. Greenberg’s porch as the fish fell from my slick grip and into the dirt.
The door to their house shut and I could hear the happy, light-hearted banter, the low rumble of Cash’s laughter, and I began to cry.
CHAPTER 19
Frankie
The next day I had a bag of fish and chips for the Mayor’s office to deliver and was walking morosely down the hallway to deliver it.
“He’s in,” Jeremy said.
