“Love you more.”
After hanging up, I sit very still in the quiet. The house is empty today, the boys off on a playdate with one of their friends. It feels—too still, almost dreamlike.
I close my laptop gently enough that it doesn’t make a sound. Then I bury my face in my hands.
But there isn’t time to wallow, so I wipe my eyes, grab my phone, and thumb the screen, pulling up his number.
“Ash? Is everything okay? The boys?”
For a second, the concern in his voice takes me back. To when we were us. To before… Then the sane, furious part of me—wife, mother, business owner—takes over.
“The boys are fine,” I say into the phone. “But everything else? No. Not even a little.”
I shove my hair out of my face even though he can’t see me.
“I’m calling because Luna is over the moon about getting married, and she thinks you and I are fine.”
“What?”
“So here’s what’s going to happen.”
I swallow hard.
“You’re coming to this wedding.”
“Ash, I?—”
“Don’t,” I cut him off. “This isn’t about us anymore. It’s about her. So you will show up for the wedding… or you’ll prove every awful thing I’ve been trying not to believe about you.”
“I—”
“Don’t.”My voice cracks sharp enough to cut. “If I have to drag you onto that ship myself, Beckett, I will.”
CANDY AND SUGAR
BECKETT
“Ship?” I echo, remembering Luna’s wedding in a sick flash of guilt. “I didn’t?—”
“No.” Her voice slices through mine. “Don’t start with the excuses, Beckett. Not this time. You’re coming.”
“I wasn’t—” I try again, but she barrels on.
“Youwillfly with me and the boys to Long Beach this week. We’ll get on that ship together. You will come to all the wedding parties. You will walk my sister down the aisle, smile for pictures, and convince everyone we’re still the same happy couple we’ve always been. And I don’t want to hear one word about work or meetings or—” Her voice catches, a small, breaking sound.
And that sound hits harder than any accusation.
“So you haven’t told them yet?” I take a moment to glance around the sterile apartment I’ve been exiled to. Nothing but unopened boxes and endless takeout food.
A long, weighted sigh filters through the phone. “I can’t, Bex. She’s so happy. You know Luna. If she thinks we’re unhappy—if she thinks I’m unhappy—it’ll ruin everything.” That tone—soft, fierce, protective—used to be how she talked about me.
“I know,” I murmur, already trying to map how I’ll manage my mess from a cruise ship.
But I owe her.God, I owe her.
“So you’ll be there?” The doubt in her voice stings.
“Of course I will.” Even though it’s going to be next to impossible.
