Chapter Nineteen
The hall tilted. Blood whooshed past my ears, and my toes and fingers instantly went numb. And my chest—it sunk, like an elevator out of control, plummeting to the ground level, ready to crash.
But it was late—or early—and I was tired from traveling and feeling feelings. It was possible I misunderstood or the chick in front of me misunderstood or that somebody somewhere misunderstood.
Then I saw him—behind her, his hair tousled, his chest and feet bare. Somehow seeing him like that, half-dressed and intimate, was worse than simply hearing that the goddamn motherfucker was married. Because, number one—it seemed to prove that he actually was married. Number two—it suggested he’d probably been fucking her earlier that very night while I was rushing to be with him.
And, number three—oh-my-god-I’d-fallen-in-love-with-someone-who-was-fucking-married!
When he realized who I was, his eyes popped open and his face paled. “Gwen!”
I delivered the most scathing glare I could muster and still didn’t begin to scratch the surface of what I wanted him to understand from me. “You’re a fucking asshole.”
Then, since I didn’t know how to actually express any more than that, I spun and headed back toward the elevator, dragging my suitcase behind me.
Fuming. I was fuming and raging and red. I was red. All sorts of red. I wanted to scream and yell and hit and throw things. I hated that I felt so violent. So red.
And somewhere under all of that red, there was blue. But I wanted to get out of there before it showed itself with something as weak as tears or blubbering.
“No, no, no, no!” JC must have pushed past his wife—his goddamn fucking wife—because he was instantly at my side. “That isn’t what it looks like.”
“Yep. That’s what they say.” My words were tight, clipped. Red.
“Hold on. I’ll explain.” He jogged to get ahead of me then walked backward as he begged me to stop. “Please, you have to let me explain. Don’t just leave. I can explain.”
I wanted to keep walking. My internal tracking system had locked on the elevators, had locked on escape. It was survival instinct. But I was a reasonable person, a person who relied on more than instincts. I had to give him a chance to clear things up.
God, please let him clear things up!
I stopped, my face hard. My heart, not-so-hard. “Try.”
“Okay. I. She.” He gave an exasperated tug to a lock of hair at the top of his head. “Jesus, I don’t know where to start.”
I folded my arms over my chest. “Start wherever. Just start.”
He rubbed his palms together. “Okay. Okay.”
His difficulty to summarize the situation killed any lingering hope that the whole thing was a misunderstanding. It was only sick curiosity that made me prompt him. “Who’s the woman? Start there.”
His face scrunched up, as though that question was particularly hard for him to answer. I waited for him to confirm what she’d said. Waited for him to say the words, she’s my wife.
Instead, he said, “I don’t know.”
“Yep. Fucking asshole.” I would listen if he talked. More evasive answers were all I ever got from him, and they were not going to be good enough. Not this time. I started to go around him.
He spread his arms out, blocking my way around him. “I mean it. I woke up right before you got there. That’s when I saw her.” He was squinting, I realized, and as he talked he lifted his hand to shield the light coming from the wall sconce. “I went to the bathroom. And I came out. And there you were. I’m sorry, I’m having a hard time gathering my thoughts.”
Gathering your lies, more likely.
Except, now that I was adjusting to the haze of red surrounding me, I could see that his skin looked really funky. Pale. Almost green. When I leaned forward, I saw his eyes were bloodshot. And he smelled weird. Like toothpaste and sour.
And the way he was blocking the light… “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” He shook his head then stopped, seeming to regret it. “I’m. I have a hangover.”
“At four in the fucking morning?” It felt surprisingly amazing to swear while angry. I didn’t have a lot of experience with the emotion. Anger and its blaring red was too much my father’s shade. I avoided it whenever possible, filling my palette with the softer hues of annoyance and irritation.
Today it was not possible. Today was bright red words and bright red volume. “When the fuck did you even start drinking to be hung over at four in the fucking morning?”
“On the plane.” He held up a victorious finger in the air. “That’s what I’m trying to say! Let me go back to then. The airport. I was at the airport and you didn’t come.” He enunciated the last phrase, pointing his finger now at me.
Oh, hell no. “I was dealing with my fucking father! It’s not like you gave me much fucking time in the first place. And I never said I was even coming, so it’s your own damn fault for making fucking assumptions.”
He waved his hand, as if trying to wave away any wrong implication he’d made. “I know, I know. It wasn’t enough time. But it was all I had.”
He laced his hands and put them behind his head. “Look, I’m not blaming you.” He dropped them again to his sides. “I’m telling you what happened. You didn’t come and I got on the plane and I started drinking.”
“But you don’t drink.”
“I was upset. I drink when I’m upset.”
Upset because I hadn’t come. He didn’t come right out and pair the two ideas, but it was understood.
“I was drunk by the time I landed. I remember coming here. Checking in. Then I went to the bar and kept ordering.” He wished he hadn’t. It was all over his face—the regret, the misery.
Regret didn’t fix shit, and frankly, I didn’t give a damn if he felt miserable. “And Tamara?”
“Who?”
“Your. Wife?”
He cringed and I wasn’t sure if it was because I’d spoken too loudly for his sensitive ears or because he didn’t like what I’d said. The door next to us opened long enough for a woman in a bathrobe to glare at us then shut again.
JC lowered his voice. “Can we talk about this somewhere else?”
“I’m not going in that room with that woman.”
He let out a small sigh but didn’t try to change my mind. After scanning the hallway, he said, “Over here.” He reached to grab my arm.
I pulled away. “No. Don’t. I can walk on my own.”
He frowned, but again, he accepted it.
I followed him down the hallway and stopped at the vending room. He held the door open and gestured for me to go in. It was more private at least. And dark, the only light coming from the soda machine. And where else were we going to go? JC wasn’t wearing a shirt or shoes, and I certainly wasn’t waiting around for him to get dressed so we could head down to the lobby. I knew that the time I gave him now correlated with how strong my resolve was. Every second that I allowed him weakened my determination.
Leaving my suitcase in the hall, I went in.
He shut the door after him. We stared at each other.
“Well? Tamara?” My voice cracked. Shades of blue slipping in.
“I don’t even remember meeting her.” His tone was frustrated, but I sensed it was with himself more than with me. “The last thing I can clearly remember is sitting at that bar, thinking about you, thinking that if you would have just married me, it would have solved everything.”
The image pinched in my chest.
Then I realized what he was alluding too, and all compassion dissolved. “Are you trying to tell me that you got drunk over me and somehow married someone else?”
He said no words. His expression said it all.
“Jesus fucking Christ. I’m out of here.” Nice plan coming in the room first—now he was in front of the only door out. “Let me through.”
He didn’t move. “It was stupid, Gwen. I know that. I know.”
It was more than stupid—it was irresponsible and unbelievable and mean. “Let me through. I need to go.” I wanted to get around him but didn’t want to touch him. It made for quite the dilemma.
He didn’t budge. “No. Listen to me. I’m not trying to excuse what I did. It was fucked up and you have every reason to hate me. But I can undo this. I’ll get it annulled. I don’t even know that we really got married. It’s her saying that we are, that’s all. I haven’t seen any proof.”
“Each thing you say makes it worse.” Red faded into purple. I wasn’t only fuming anymore. The steam of the rage had cooled and left me hurt. Anguished. “Let me go. Please, let me go.”
“I can’t. I can’t.” He reached his hands out toward me, holding them in the air when I flinched away from his grasp. “Ah, Gwen. You and I can still be together. You came. That means something, doesn’t it?”
Did my voice sound as desperate as his did? I felt like it should. I was so very desperate. Desperate to leave. Desperate to believe him. Desperate for the whole thing to go away.
“I wish I hadn’t come now.” Wished it more than anything. “I came because I hated how things were left, not to marry you. And it doesn’t matter why I came because now you’ve been with her.” Purple-blue poured out of me, my pain evident in the texture of my words. The image of them together—having sex—it was the worst thing I could imagine. He hadn’t said they had, but how could they not? Wasn’t that what drunken marriage hook-ups in Vegas were always about?
He could tell what I was thinking. “I haven’t. I haven’t slept with her. I swear.”
“How can you be sure?” If he couldn’t remember going to a chapel and tying the knot, how could he expect to remember something as simple as unzipping his pants?
“Because I wouldn’t. I couldn’t do that to you. I wouldn’t. Ever.” He was frenzied, frantic for me to believe him. “I woke up dressed. And when I’m drunk, I can’t—” He waved his hand, letting silence fill in the blank.
“Can’t perform?”
“Exactly.”
A weight dissolved from where it had been pressing against my chest. That’s how badly I wanted what he said to be true.
Except he wasn’t all the way clothed. “Where’s your shirt then?”
“I took it off just before you got there.” When I gave him a disbelieving glare, he admitted, “I’d thrown up all over it.”
“That’s what that smell is.” That seemed to embarrass him. Good. I preferred that it did.
We were quiet for a few seconds, each of us sulking in our misery. I couldn’t say why, but I trusted him. He was a fucking irresponsible asshole, but I didn’t think he was lying. It didn’t make the situation any less painful. It didn’t help me figure out what to do or say next.
Eventually, JC spoke. “I told you I do stupid things when I drink.”
Stupid didn’t begin to cover it. “Did you kiss her?”
He looked away and cursed under his breath. “I don’t know. I don’t remember. Maybe.” His eyes came back to mine. “If I did…if I did, Gwen, it was you. In my head it was you. The whole time. I know this isn’t helping. I know I fucked up. I was upset. I wanted you to be with me and I fucked it all up.”
He was broken. And I felt so broken myself. If I stood by him any longer, I would try to put him back together. I would fall into his arms and let him put me back together too.
He saved me from my own weakness by stepping away from the door. “Look, go. If you want, you should go. I’m not going to keep you here if you don’t want to be here.”
He crossed the room to the other wall. I could leave now. There was nothing standing in my way. Well, nothing except everything that pulled me to JC in the first place.
I folded my arms across my chest and leaned against the door behind me. JC leaned against the wall behind him as well, his hands thrust in his jeans pockets. We stared at each other, a silent faceoff. Or maybe a silent agreement. This situation had gotten out of hand, and we both knew it. Problem was, neither of us knew how to correct it now.
“I’ll fix it,” he said after a few minutes. “I’ll undo it. It’s not a real marriage. I don’t even know her last name.”
“I don’t know your last name either.”
“It’s Bruzzo.”
Bruzzo. I moved my lips, testing out the feel of his name in my mouth without adding a voice to it. It was a gift. He meant it as a peace offering, and I appreciated it.
But it was too little too late. A trinket given as an afterthought. “Funny how that doesn’t change anything. Really, what’s the difference between you marrying her or you marrying me? We’re both strangers to you.”
“We’re not. Don’t say that. You and I are not strangers. You’re right that knowing my name doesn’t change anything because it’s just a detail. It’s not important. We already know everything that matters about each other.”
“I don’t think that’s true. Because whatever this is that’s driving you to try to get married and solve everything—I think that probably matters very much in your life, and I know shit about it.” My voice cracked, signaling it was time to be done. I refused to break down in front of him.
“This was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have come. I need to go now.” I turned and grasped the door handle
“You said you could wait. You said you didn’t need to know my secrets.” They were harsh accusations that were meant to stop me, and they did.
I swiveled back toward him. “That was before you made them so important!” I covered my face with my hands. I knew I should go, but I wasn’t quite ready. There was too much unsaid, and while I couldn’t seem to get anything meaningful from him, I had things I’d meant to say to him. Things I’d have to say if I was ever going to be able to leave without regrets.
I put my arms to my sides and faced him straight on. “I know you’re in trouble, JC. I know you think that I won’t understand or that I can’t handle whatever it is you’re hiding, but I would love you anyway. My heart is open, JC. I will love you anyway. I even love you after you—goddammit, I can’t believe I’m giving this to you—but I even love you after you fucking married someone else on the same fucking day you proposed to me.”
He was in front of me in two strides. Tentatively he put his hands on my upper arms. I let him.
“I’m not in trouble.” His thumbs swept over my skin, sending shooting stars of electricity down my arms. “I’m the key witness in an investigation. I’m sworn to secrecy in exchange for government protection. I’m not supposed to say any of that to you. The guy I’m testifying against is not a good guy at all. He’s dangerous. He’s without morals. I’d thought things were going to be okay when they arrested him. The call I got this morning—yesterday morning, I guess—he made bail. He wasn’t supposed to make bail. He doesn’t know yet that I’m the key witness, but he will when the prosecutors reveal their evidence. It will be soon. I’ll have to be off-the-grid when that happens.”
My mouth fell open. I was as stunned by his sudden decision to be honest as I was by what he’d said. Though what he’d said was pretty overwhelming. Key witness. Dangerous guy. Off-the-grid. The words spun in my head.
Then click. Click. Click. Each piece slipped into the puzzle that I called JC. Why he couldn’t talk about things. Why he couldn’t come back to New York. The whole picture began to make sense.
“I didn’t tell you earlier because of my oath.” He stepped closer so more of our bodies touched, and I put my hands behind me, wedged between the door and my ass, so I wouldn’t be tempted to reach out for him. “But I also didn’t tell you because I needed you to be safe. Any and all of my personal ties are vulnerable. The less you knew about me, the better. I figured you were safe in the beginning, when our arrangement was so casual. The minute it became more, I couldn’t guarantee that.”
Why he’d tried to remain distant.
Click. “And the protection I’m offered from the government doesn’t extend to love interests.”
“No.”
Click. “But it extends to wives.”
“Right.”
Why he wanted to get married so quickly.
“Well, at least Tamara’s safe.” It was bitchy. I felt bitchy. The situation was laughable, really. Someone else looking at it, watching this episode, would get a long hard kick out of it. What would it be called? The Wednesday I Didn’t Get Married. The Wednesday He Married Someone Else.
JC’s hands dropped from my arms. His expression said he didn’t find the humor.
“Sorry. I’m still trying to get my head around this.” I took a deep breath and wrapped my arms around myself. “So the only way I’ll be safe from whoever you’re testifying against is to marry you. And then how do they protect us?”
“They’d protect us by hiding us. Making it so no one else can find us.”
“Give up our lives, you mean.”
JC sighed and leaned heavily against the adjacent wall, as if the whole conversation was a weight that he barely had the strength to carry. Or maybe not the conversation, but the situation he was in. Yes, that.
He ran a hand over his face before tilting his head to look at me. “I don’t really have anyone I’d be giving up besides you.”
I warmed at that. It was what every woman wanted, wasn’t it? To be the only thing that mattered to a man. Why couldn’t I give him the same in return? “That’s not the case for me. I have Norma. I have Ben.” Ben, who was finally moving back to be closer to us—I couldn’t leave him now.
However, my brother, of anyone, would understand needing to run away for a bit. “Would I be able to talk to them first?”
“No. I wasn’t even supposed to tell you unless we were married. It was why I didn’t tell you yesterday.”
“So I just disappear and can’t tell my family and that’s the only way I can be safe from someone that’s after you.” Marriage for protection—it sounded archaic and not something I ever would have chosen, but I was starting to worry it was my only option.
JC hesitated for a moment.
“Am I in danger if I don’t go with you?” I prodded.
“No. If you didn’t marry me, you’d be fine. The guy I’m testifying against doesn’t know anything about you. It’s me who has to leave.” He knew as he said it that he was decreasing his chances of convincing me to go. But he was honest. And I appreciated that.
I appreciated it enough to ask more questions. “For how long?”
“I don’t know. A few months. Maybe longer. I’m not sure.”
“Like how much longer could it be? Could it be a year? More than that?” I couldn’t decide if I was considering going with him or if I was just desperate to know how long he’d be away from me. Either way, this answer was vital.
“I honestly don’t know.” He moved in front of me again. “It depends partly on how the trial goes and some other things. But I’m not telling you anymore than that, Gwen, unless you’re coming with me.” He trailed his thumb down my jawline. “I can’t put you at risk. I feel like I’m already putting you at risk just by telling you this much.”
His touch made me vulnerable, even in such a small dose. It was both a salve and a poison—healing the wounds between us and killing me at the same time.
I didn’t turn away from it, but it did make me bitter. “You could have said some of this earlier, you know. Before you ran off and married someone else.”
“Forget about her. She’s not part of this. This is about us.” JC put his hands on either side of me, surrounding me, caging me. “Yes. I should have told you something at least. I was convinced that you would be safer if I kept all of it from you. And I wanted to honor my agreement with the people I’m cooperating with. Now, I’m not sure what I’m doing. Now, I just want you with me.”
I couldn’t help myself—I reached up to wrap my hands around his neck. “I want to be with you too. But this? This is big.”
“It is. It’s not fair to ask you to be part of this. But I’m asking you anyway. Because I haven’t cared about anyone or anything for so long. Nothing. Until you. You mean something to me. And I don’t have to know when you were born or how many siblings you have or where you grew up to know that I feel for you. I can’t pretend that isn’t just as big as what I’m asking you to do. It’s bigger. To me, it is.”
He stepped back from me and spread his hands out, pleading. “This is it, Gwen. This is all my cards on the table. My heart is open and I’m seizing the moment. I’m living for now. For you. This is me saying yes. Say yes, Gwen. Tell me you’ll say yes.”
Yes was on the tip of my tongue. He pulled it from me so easily, like a magician pulling out the never-ending strand of scarves. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. The list of things drawing me back home was slim, after all. I loved working, but I could get another job. I wanted away from my father as it was. Ben had just come back to town, but he had Eric. And Norma—she had Boyd. They didn’t need me, though not being able to tell them where I was going was a definite downside. Was it enough to not follow the man I loved?
Probably not.
But there was something else that was in the way of my acquiescence, and it was most certainly enough to make me do or not do almost anything—me. My gut. My instinct.
It said, you don’t know him well enough to marry him. It said, you don’t know him well enough to run away with him. It said, you don’t know him well enough to trust him to not break your heart again like he did tonight.
It said, you don’t know him period.
He had valid excuses for his secrets, but nevertheless, he’d kept them from me. He’d withdrawn from me and hurt me when he did, and that pain was far too recent. He’d tried to woo me into a marriage without all the details. And he’d married someone else.
They were all things I could forgive—and would—but not overnight. Not in a vending room at the Trump Hotel. Not soon enough to make a yes in any way be possible.
So my answer had to be, “No.”
JC’s entire body sunk. A balloon deflating. I deflated with him, even though I’d been the one who’d made the agonizing decision.
“You’re sure?” he asked.
Loaded question since I was anything but sure.
But I didn’t have to be sure—I just had to mean it. And I did. I meant no.
I took in a deep breath. “I love you,” I said, with every ounce of sincere affection I had in me. “And my heart is open. So much more open than it’s been in a long time. But as much as I want to be carefree and spontaneous, I’m still responsible and practical. And practicality says that if this is really something between us—if this is really as big as you think it is, as big as I think it is—then it will last. It will be there when you come back. It will wait. And if it doesn’t, then it wasn’t meant to be.”
“It is meant to be.” But it didn’t sound like he was really fighting me. More like he was throwing in his opinion for the record.
“Then it will last.” I held his eyes, memorizing the weight of them on me, and the way they soaked me up and reflected only the very best things. I thought of how it felt to be covered with his lips and his hands. With his love. I memorized that too.
Then I told him again, for my sake as well as his, “No.”
“No.” When he repeated it, it became real. It was an acknowledgement, not a question. It was the notice of acceptance. It was a white flag, the final surrender in the battle of Prove My Love.
It was his way of saying, I let you go. I set you free.
He pulled me into his arms and pressed his forehead against mine. “I love you, Gwen. You brought me meaning again, and I’m so grateful for that. Don’t wait for me, okay? When I can come for you—if I can—I’ll find you and we’ll go from there. But don’t wait for me.”
My eyes started to burn. “Why? Is there a chance you won’t come back?” Then another thought. “Will you be in danger?”
“I’ll be fine. I just don’t want you to waste any of your life waiting. I’ve done that. I don’t want that for you. I will come for you, but you have to live like I’m not. Promise me.”
His tone made me uneasy. I didn’t know if he was lying about the danger, and that made me uncomfortable and reaffirmed my decision not to go all at once. But the promise not to wait...
I couldn’t do that. I wouldn’t. I had too much unresolved with him. Too much undone. I’d invested, and I wanted to collect on the payout. I wanted to discover who he was and show him who I was. I wanted to fall in love, deeply and more certainly. I wanted to go through it all, and then, if I was lucky, get another chance at the question. A chance where I could make a better decision that wasn’t based on a crazy timeline or controlled by people outside of us.
They were only words, though, and they were words he wanted to hear, so I promised him.
Then he kissed me, hard and rough, his lips smashing against mine with the force of someone who wanted things to be different. I let him bruise me and mark me with his exertion. It was a kiss that had to last me a long time, and I wanted to be able to remember it well.
***
I didn’t have any idea where to go when I left the hotel, so I told the driver to take me to the airport. With nothing else to do, I bought a standby ticket on a ten-thirty flight to New York City then wandered around for a while. I felt numb, my mind empty. I watched people hurrying to their gates. I saw an old woman hit a jackpot on a slot machine. I picked up the binky of a mother who hadn’t realized the baby had dropped it.
Around nine, I got up the strength to call Norma. “I’m coming home.”
“Do you need money for a ticket?” She was brilliant like that, to not ask. To just understand what I needed.
I’d tell her all of it. Later. Not on the phone. “Nope. I already got it.”
“I bet that cost a pretty penny. Text me the flight information, and I’ll have Reynold meet you. I’ll have Boyd order dinner in for all of us at our place. I’m sure Ben and Eric will join us once they’re done apartment hunting.”
Reynold. I knew in an instant what that meant, the hair on the back of my neck rising. “Dad didn’t show up?”
“Nope. Whether he got high and forgot he’d set it up or he sensed a trap, I don’t know. There’s a warrant out for his arrest, but not much anyone can do now without any leads.”
Dad was still out, then. Guilt peeked through the numbness. Guilt for being a problem in the first place. Guilt for coming home and making Norma have to worry. She probably wished I would stay away until he was caught. If she knew JC had offered government security—a secret I would never share—I wondered if she’d wish I’d disappeared with him. It wouldn’t surprise me. She was that kind of protector.
Staying with JC hadn’t been my choice, though, and I didn’t regret the one I’d made. Even if it meant I had to face my demons head on.
I could do it. I was ready.
“Dad isn’t going to get to me,” I said, only a little more boldly than I felt. I gave myself points for that—feeling brave at all where he was concerned was not easy for me.
“I know. I won’t let him.” She paused. “Come home.”
I’d never heard her say sweeter words.
After I hung up, I found a restroom that wasn’t overly crowded. I took the last stall and locked it. Fully clothed, I sat on the toilet and drew my feet up, tucking my knees under my chin.
And I sobbed.