Chapter Seven
JC stayed in my mind the whole night—as I set out the cash drawers, as I cleaned up the bottle of wine spilled all over the main dance floor, as I gave away a free beer to satisfy the customer complaining about his mug having a hair in it. Even though I was engaged in each present moment, my senses were alight and alive, as if JC was still nearby, still drawing my body and soul toward him.
But I was still mad and a lot confused.
It was a good two hours before the club calmed down enough to be able to take a break to think. I headed up to the office with a cash drop and was met there by Laynie, who, of course, wanted to be part of that thinking.
“He said he still cared about you,” she said after I gave her a brief synopsis of the conversation we’d had in the bubble room. “That’s a good thing.”
I shook my head both at her comment and at the drop sheet that I’d filled out wrong for the third time. “If Hudson said that to you, would you think it was a good thing?” I crumpled up the form and tossed it toward the trashcan, missing. Again. “And honestly, he might have said that just to be polite.”
Laynie pushed up from her chair and crossed in front of my desk, demanding my attention. “He came here right after the verdict was given. Right after, Gwen. He’s been waiting for this for—what? Five years now? And he came straight to you. That’s not for catching up. That’s not to be polite.”
I chewed on the end of my pen. “I didn’t think of that.”
“Maybe you didn’t want to think of it.”
“What does that mean?”
She reached across the desk and pulled the pen from my hand. “It means that sometimes it’s easier to be hurt and closed off than it is to let yourself be loved. I speak from experience. And if you asked Hudson, he could tell you something about it as well.”
She could be on to something. Shutting down was one of my go-to defenses.
But that wasn’t the only reason I felt trepidation over anything happening with JC. He’d been aloof. He’d been distant. He’d—
“He texted me!” I said, suddenly remembering the video he’d sent. I jumped from my seat and headed to my locker to get my phone. I’d meant to grab it when I’d opened it for the keys earlier, but had forgotten it in the bustle to open the club.
“He what?”
“He sent me a video.” I rifled through my purse looking for my cell.
“He sent you a video?” Laynie sounded more suspicious than I was. “Of what?”
Having found my phone, I went back to my desk. “I’m not sure. Haven’t watched it yet.”
She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. “Videos are never good. They make me nervous.”
I had a feeling there was a story behind her statement, but I was too singularly focused to press. “I don’t think this is the kind of thing that you should be nervous about.” I sunk into my chair, hitting the icon for my text messages, and before clicking on the video link, saved the unknown number at the top of the list. I debated for only half a second between naming the contact Justin or JC, then settled on the latter.
“Uh, is this the kind of thing you need to watch alone?”
“I don’t think so. I mean, maybe?” The idea that he might have sexted me was distracting, to say the least. It made my skin feel too warm and my throat suddenly moist. I paused, my finger poised above the play button.
No, I was being ridiculous. First chance to send me something, it wasn’t going to be naughty.
“He said this was supposed to explain something about something that he did that was horrible and embarrassing.” I peered up to find Laynie as confused as I’d expected. “Long story. Never mind. Anyway, I’m sure we’re safe.”
The video started, a stationary camera pointed at the front of a room staged as a chapel, classical music playing quietly in the background. The woman I’d met in JC’s hotel room—his “wife”—stood alone, angled toward a bored-looking man holding a binder. She was dressed in a skanky-looking cocktail dress that was too tight for her abundant bosom. Her mascara was smeared and the dazed look in her eyes suggested she was drunk or high or both.
I frowned, confused.
Laynie circled around the desk to watch over my shoulder. “What is this?”
“Not sure yet.” But my neck was stiff and my muscles tight, bracing myself for what I thought it might be.
“It looks like one of those insta-wedding chapels. Did I ever tell you that Hudson wanted me to run to Vegas to marry him in one of those places? I said no, obviously. Men have the strangest ideas of what’s romantic.”
She hadn’t told me. Maybe I should take comfort in the fact that it was possible to still have a successful relationship after turning down a Vegas proposal.
I didn’t though.
The woman on the video drew my attention back with her whining. “Jace.” She kicked at something on the floor. “Ja—ace!”
A moan came from outside the shot. Then JC sat up into the frame, and my stomach began to churn with undefined anxiousness. I already knew he’d gotten married. I’d known he was drunk. Why did he think I wanted to see it? To prove just how wasted he’d been?
Too bad I’d never recorded myself with Chandler. I could send that to him to prove just how lonely I’d been.
Or I could just turn this off. But I didn’t.
“I’m up. I’m up,” JC said. “Is it almost time?”
I studied him as well as I could on the small screen. His hair was rumpled and his tie loose, and his lids looked droopy. I knew the suit he was wearing. He’d had it on when he’d left me in New York City, begging for me to marry him later that day. My chest squeezed at the memory. At the sight of him here, in a chapel, with another woman.
“It’s past almost time. It is the time. It’s the middle of the time.” Her words were slurred and whiny. “We’re in the middle of the thing and you decided to lie on the floor.” She hesitated, her brow furrowing. “Or maybe I should join you.”
The man with the binder sighed. “No, no, please. Why don’t you stay standing? Mr. C? You should stand as well.”
Even drunk, JC hadn’t shared his name. This was strangely satisfying. Like, I may not have been special enough to have learned it, but neither was this woman.
“I’m up,” he said, clutching onto the woman—what was her name?—using her for support as he climbed his way to a standing position.
“What the—are they…drunk?” Laynie asked tentatively.
“Hammered.” Completely blitzed. There was no way a ceremony with two people so obviously intoxicated could be legal. And if they didn’t have JC’s name, he couldn’t possibly have provided proper documentation required for a marriage.
Was this what he wanted me to see? That the wedding wasn’t legit?
Maybe I was jumping to the wrong conclusion.
Once he was on his feet, it took a couple of minutes for the presider to get JC and his bride-to-be into place. “Now. Don’t move,” he said when they were positioned. “We were just at the exchanging of vows, Mr. C. Shall we try again? Repeat after me, I, JC.”
“I, JC,” he repeated, his body swaying.
“My God, he’s adorable,” Laynie whispered.
My frown deepened. An adorable ass.
“Take this woman, Tamara Stone.”
Ah, that was her name—Tamara. Bitch.
“Take this woman.” JC paused, waving his hand at the presider who’d tried to prompt him again. “Take this woman, Gwen.”
My heart stuttered in my chest.
I’d heard him wrong. I had to have.
But then Laynie was nudging me. “He said Gwen! This is right out of an episode of Friends.”
“It’s Tamara, remember?” His bride reminded him. “Ta-ma-ra.”
JC shook his head. “I’m marrying Gwen. I want to marry Gwen.” His eyes widened as if just then realizing where he was or who he was with. He spun around, scanning the room. “Where’s Gwen? She was supposed to meet me at the airport. I thought she’d come.”
His tone was filled with yearning and bewilderment. Sorrow. The mournful adoration he infused in my name—it pulled at me, tugged at something low in my chest. That place inside where I hid my regret for not having said yes. For not having been brave enough to leap and trust he’d be there when I landed.
My eyes blurred and I couldn’t see the screen clearly anymore.
“Maybe we should do this another time,” the presider said, shutting his book.
“Sure, sure,” Tamara agreed. “This was just the practice anyway. Right, babe?”
I didn’t know how or if JC responded because the presider, who had walked toward the camera, reached past the lens and the screen went black.
“Hmm.” I bit my lip, holding back the tears, and stared at my cell long after it went dim, trying to decide how I felt about what I’d just seen. On the one hand, relieved. Because he hadn’t gotten hitched after all. Because even smashed, he’d been thinking of me.
Not just relieved, but touched. Moved by the emotion this man had felt for me.
On the other hand, I was now more confused than ever.
Dammit.
“He was going to get married?” Laynie sounded as baffled as I felt. At least her confusion made sense.
I slumped, setting the phone down on the desk. “I thought he had gotten married. He does stupid things when he’s drunk.”
“Apparently.”
“But I guess this time he didn’t do the stupid thing he thought he’d done.” I leaned back in my chair. “That makes things…”
“Better?” she finished, her tone hopeful.
“I was going to say more complicated. Better is the more optimistic response, I suppose.” I wanted to be as hopeful as she was, and maybe I should have been. He’d wanted me to see this. He’d wanted me to know that it was my name he’d said, and that meant he still cared. Why else would he want me to see it?
But if he still felt that way about me, why had our reunion gone so horribly?
Laynie swiveled my chair so that I was facing her. “Look. I don’t know what’s going on in your head right now. And I don’t know him. At all. But that guy is into you.”
“That was a year ago,” I said, without any real protest.
“And look how much your feelings have changed since then.”
Boom. Point for her. I still had feelings for him. Feelings that weren’t just based in anger. Or lust. And I certainly hadn’t shown any of that to him.
“But it was terrible downstairs,” I moaned. “Really terrible. It was tense and awkward. He didn’t show any signs of lingering affection.”
She sat on the edge of my desk. “Did you consider that maybe the tension was projected by you?”
I tried not to roll my eyes at Laynie’s psycho-babble. “Why would I be tense? I was excited to see him. I’ve been dying to see him.”
“Right. But just before he came in, you were talking about Chandler. Is there some guilt there?”
Fuck.
Chandler.
I threw my head back against my chair and groaned. “Yes. There’s guilt there.” I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. “A whole lot of guilt.”
“It’s probably worse now too since you thought JC had been married when he was really lamenting over you.”
I groaned again. “Thanks,” I said sarcastically. “That really helps.”
“Oh no! I didn’t mean to make things worse! I was trying to understand.”
I peeked up at her. “It’s not your fault. I’m the one who fooled around with someone else. Not just once, either. Enough times to not be able to call it an accident or a moment of weakness. God, I feel like shit.”
She frowned, her eyes compassionate. “So, that’s not great. But did you promise fidelity?”
“No, but—”
“Then it’s fine. I’m sure it’s fine.” She didn’t sound sure though.
“It’s not fine. It’s terrible.” My stomach lurched as I continued thinking about how awful it was. “And do you really think that’s what the tension could have been?”
“Well, I wasn’t there. But, yes. Baggage like that can be poison.”
Her reference to baggage reminded me of what JC had said about wanting to free me of his baggage. It actually had been a very nice thing to say, now that I thought about it. And I’d lashed out at him for it.
I really did feel wretched. Downright shitty. Remorseful and anguished. And it wasn’t just about my fling with Chandler—Laynie had been right earlier. It was scary to think that JC might really still want me. That he might still love me, even. Terrifying. Especially when I so obviously didn’t deserve him because I couldn’t fucking wait for him to come back to me.
I let out an exasperated ugh. “I was such a bitch, Laynie. Such a total bitch.”
“You have a right to some of that.” She put a hand on my arm, comforting me. “You haven’t heard from him in a year. Whether or not you mean to, you’re going to feel some resentment.”
“More like anger. And jealousy. Over his dead girlfriend.”
“All to be expected.”
“Add my guilt over Chandler…” I let out a heavy sigh.
“Yep. Resulting in tension and bitchiness.”
I let that sit for a moment, replaying the scene in the bubble room in my head. I’d sensed the awkwardness, the something’s off vibe before we even started talking, possibly, as Laynie suggested, because I was feeling anxious. Maybe he hadn’t felt that at all. Maybe it had just been me. Then when we did start talking, I’d been the first one to say anything. And I’d been cold. Everything spiraled downward from there.
It felt more complicated than that. It was, wasn’t it? He’d been aloof from the minute he walked in, hadn’t he? He hadn’t brushed against me—was that simply because he perceived some sort of hostility on my part?
“You need to talk to him again,” Laynie said. “That’s the only way you can sort this out. Talk to him and tell him about Chandler. That has to go away before you can figure out if there’s anything good still between you.”
“I have to tell him?” I didn’t want to have to admit anything about Chandler to JC. It was too awful.
She glared at me with disbelief. “Yes, you have to tell him.” Then she swatted me for good measure.
I groaned again.
“I’m sure the thought of it is worse than the actual confessing. If he loves you, he’ll understand.”
Alayna was still a newlywed. Still caught up in the hearts and rainbows part of romance. She talked about the difficult times that had preceded her marriage as if she understood hard times, but remembered anguish was never as horrible as it was when living in it. It was easy to say he’ll love you, he’ll understand after he’d proved that he would.
I unfortunately hadn’t known JC long enough to have the luxury of that certainty.
I pressed my middle finger against a spot just above the bridge of my nose where a headache was beginning to form. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.”
“You’re right. You don’t know. So give him the benefit of the doubt before deciding it’s a lost cause.” She paused. “Or don’t. And let it end. But you can’t stay in this limbo forever.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. Tell him.
I had to tell him. It was bad, but it wasn’t as bad as the thought of leaving things as they were. And maybe I’d tell him and we’d still have issues. At least I’d know that I’d done everything I could before giving up. Telling him was for the best.
Actually having to speak the words, though…
Ugh.
I threw my hand out in the air and opened my eyes with an exasperated sigh. “Then what should I do now? He didn’t say he wanted to see me again. He didn’t tell me where he’s staying. Do I just wait for him to contact me again? It feels like all I ever do is wait for him.”
“He texted you. You have his number. You know how to use that, don’t you?”
I was about to sneer at her for being sassy when her phone buzzed.
“That’s Hudson,” she said, not looking at it. “I’m sure he’s wondering where I am.”
I glanced at the clock, only now realizing that she’d stayed more than a half an hour past her shift, probably for me. “Go. I’m fine.”
She crossed to her desk to get her purse before heading to the door. “Hey, I’m really sorry I pulled you away from him. It was Liesl who locked the keys in the safe.”
“I know. And no worries. It’s good to have time to process before I see him again. Time to cool down. It wasn’t the best place to talk anyway.”
She paused in the frame and shrugged. “I don’t know. I once had an eventful conversation in that same bubble room. That’s another thing you could ask Hudson about.”
“I don’t want to hear this.” I put a hand to my face as if that could stop any unwanted visions of Hudson and Alayna doing who-knows-what in there. I made a mental note to make sure that cleaning the club upholstery was on the weekly janitorial schedule.
“Are you sure? It’s a good story.” She waggled her brows twice then grew serious. “Let’s talk tomorrow. Call me.”
I said I would. She waved once then opened the door. “And call him!” she shouted, as it swung closed behind her.
Yes. Call him. I’d do that.
Just as soon as I figured out what I’d say.