Chapter 4

Derek

 

To say the least, I was dubious of Rhys’s idea about dropping all the conflict and playing road trip buddies for a week.

As we headed out of Chicago the next morning, though, I decided he might be on to something. Neither of us had said much yet, but just letting myself not be angry with him was…surprisingly effective. I hadn’t realized until now how much work it took to keep grinding my teeth and seething while I counted down to that seemingly far off day when we could finally separate for good. It was exhausting, and before last night, it hadn’t occurred to me that all this energy-wasting effort might be optional. Maybe not in the beginning—the emotions had been running far too hot in the weeks following Rhys’s confession—but now that a few months had gone by? Surprisingly, yes.

Of course I was still hurt, and on some level I was still pissed. But there was something to be said for consciously letting it go, if only for a week and a half. Why hadn’t anyone told me I could take a deep breath, slowly release it, and will myself to simply coexist with my soon-to-be ex-husband? That I could still be hurt and angry, but dial it back to a six instead of riding along at a miserable, draining eleven?

“If you want me to take over,” I said to Rhys as he drove us past the city limits, “say the word.”

He glanced at me, offered a brief smile, and faced the road again. “Will do. Let me know if you need to stop.”

My heart fluttered, and it was a good feeling for once. We both knew he’d keep driving all the way through unless some wreck or bad weather kept us on the road longer than he could handle. And we both knew I could happily ride until we had to stop for gas without needing to stop for a restroom or food in between. But every road trip we’d ever taken had started with that exchange—just letting each other know the options were there—and starting this trip with the same gave me hope that we could get through the next several days in one piece.

After a few interchanges and some construction zones, we were out on the open road. The freeway stretched out into the distance, only a handful of cars and the odd eighteen wheeler dotting the rain-darkened pavement. On the horizon were some ominous clouds, which weren’t a surprise. The weather report predicted rain as we moved west, especially as we headed into the Rocky Mountain foothills. I had an alert set on my phone in case the forecast changed to snow or something similarly treacherous. As long as it was just rain, we’d be fine. If snow came, which it probably would once we made it into the mountains, Rhys’s Santa Fe had fairly new tires, and he was a more-than-competent driver in the worst weather.

If it started to snow with any kind of enthusiasm, though, we’d stop for the night. Rhys could drive just fine no matter what the weather, and the Santa Fe handled well enough, but there was no predicting the other drivers on the road. No amount of skill or caution could compensate for a runaway tractor trailer or some dumbshit who thought four wheel drive meant you didn’t have to slow down in bad conditions.

I gazed out at the road and the clouds and stole a few glances at Rhys from the corner of my eye. We’d always been on the same page when we’d gone out on the road together. No arguing over whether we should stop for the night or push through. No tension over how many rest stops were too many or not enough. No butting heads over music, audiobooks, or the radio. Between our agreement to bury the hatchet temporarily and sliding back into our long established road trip routine, this almost felt normal. Almost.

My mind threatened to dig into all the reasons this wasn’t and couldn’t be normal, but I didn’t let those thoughts sink their teeth in. “Want me to find some music?”

“Sure.” Rhys gestured at his phone, which was already connected to the sound system. “There are a few playlists set up. See if something sounds good.”

A mixture of relief and sadness roiled in my stomach as I picked up his phone. So close to normal, and still…not.

I was into his phone and thumbing through his playlists before it even occurred to me to ask if he’d changed his passcode. Apparently he hadn’t.

While I perused his playlists, Rhys rested a hand on top of the steering wheel and held his soda bottle in his lap with the other. “So what’s the agenda once we get there?”

“To Portland?”

“Yeah. I mean, I assume there’s the rehearsal, and obviously the wedding and reception.” He glanced at me. “Anything else?”

I chuckled. “We’re going to be busy, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Are we?”

“Mmhmm.” I selected the playlist titled pop stuff, set it to play unobtrusively in the background, and put the phone back on the console. “Her in-laws are having a big informal party on Thursday night for all the out-of-town family members to meet. Then Friday is the rehearsal and dinner, and Saturday’s the wedding.” I paused, studying Rhys as best I could from the corner of my eye. “Also Vanessa texted me last night. She and Corbin want to have breakfast with us on Sunday. With just us.”

“They do?”

“Yeah. She was hoping we could do it before the wedding, but there’s so much happening, we figured it would be better to wait until everything is settling down.” I turned to him this time. “We were planning to leave Sunday morning, but we could spare an hour or two, don’t you think?” Do you think we’ll be able to stand each other long enough for one meal?

“Of course. Sounds great.” He tapped his fingers on his soda bottle and stole a glance at me. “Um. I mean. If you’re…” He glanced at me before focusing on the road again. “What do you think?”

“I definitely want to go. And I guess… I mean, if we can keep this going, being civil…” I swallowed. “If we can do this through the wedding and everything else, there’s no reason we can’t keep up the act through breakfast.”

Rhys winced, albeit so subtly that I might have been imagining it. “I think we can manage that. For Vanessa’s sake.”

“Right. For Vanessa’s sake.”

Silence fell. A Miley Cyrus song played softly above the road noise but seemed ten times louder without conversation over the top. The carefully cultivated peace between us felt oddly precarious right then. As if we were on that knife’s edge between diving into the topic of what used to be us and wisely letting it go in the name of keeping things smooth.

Shifting in his seat, Rhys cleared his throat. “Have you met her new in-laws yet?”

I barely kept the sigh of relief to myself. “Not yet. Vanessa put them on for a minute when we were Facetiming on New Year’s, but that’s it. They seem nice enough. She likes them.”

Rhys laughed quietly. “Well, given her opinions of her last boyfriend’s parents, if she likes them, then they must be all right.”

I laughed for real this time. “To be fair, she wasn’t wrong about them.”

“Ugh. No. She wasn’t.” He shook his head. As he unscrewed the cap on his soda bottle, gaze still fixed on the road, he said, “I don’t think I have ever been more relieved to see that girl break up with someone.”

“I know, right?” I pressed my elbow under the window and rested my cheek against my loose fist. “Obviously the stupid doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

Rhys choked on his soda. He managed to stay in control of the truck even as he coughed and sputtered, but he nearly dropped the bottle, so I took it while he pulled himself together.

“What?” I chuckled. “Am I wrong?”

“No.” He coughed again, wiped his eyes, and held out his hand for his drink. “It just cracks me up how unapologetically catty you can be when it comes to Vanessa’s boyfriends.”

“I beg your pardon? I’ve been perfectly nice to her boyfriends. Even the ones I don’t like.”

“Except that one?”

“Except that one.” I wagged a finger at Rhys. “And I was nice to his face. And to his family’s faces. Just…not so much once I was in the car and they couldn’t hear me anymore.”

Rhys snickered, then took another swig of his soda, which he didn’t choke on this time. Then he tucked the bottle between his thighs and screwed the cap back on. “Let’s just hope Corbin’s family really is an upgrade from Kyle’s.”

“They are. Trust me.”

We both laughed, and our earlier momentary tension was forgotten as we continued down the road. The hours passed with light conversation punctuated by long but comfortable silences while the music played. If a song came on that neither of us could resist singing along to, we cranked up the volume, sang along as off key as we always did, and laughed at how ridiculous we sounded.

Just like old times. Almost.

When we’d driven as far as the Santa Fe could go without a refill, we found a truck stop and pulled in. I topped off the tank while Rhys went inside, and once it was gassed up, I went in as well. After I’d paid for my drink and a Snickers, I joined Rhys in the truck.

He was kneading his right knee when I slid into the passenger seat. Not surprising—that leg had some extra wear and tear from almost two decades of bearing his weight whenever he wasn’t wearing his prosthetic. Long periods behind the wheel always meant some stiffness, especially as he’d gotten older.

“You holding up all right?” I asked.

“Yeah. Yeah.” He straightened his leg with an audible pop. “I took an ibuprofen, so once that kicks in, I’ll be good.”

“You want me to drive until it does?”

“Nah.” As if for emphasis, he started the engine. Pulling on his seat belt, he added, “If it’s not any better after fifty miles or so, we’ll switch.”

“Deal.”

 

***

 

The solitude of my hotel room was jarring after spending the entire day with Rhys. Before we’d left, I’d imagined myself climbing the walls in the car and itching to lock myself in my room for some much needed time alone. Even after things had been chill with him all day, I’d pictured being relieved to have some walls between us for the rest of the night.

Then we’d been in the hallway, found our rooms directly across from each other, and mumbled “see you in the morning” before disappearing behind our respective numbered doors. His had clicked shut first. Then mine.

And suddenly…I’d been alone.

Wanting to be in the same room with Rhys had become an alien feeling, but there it was. I told myself I just wanted him around because it had been a nice switch, being cordial like that. Plus I was always bored and restless in hotel rooms. At least having someone to talk to could temper that a little, even if that someone was the man I was looking forward to divorcing.

I didn’t want Rhys here—I was just bored. In the name of killing time, I screwed off on my iPad for a while. Channel-surfed through four hundred channels of absolutely nothing. Grabbed a shower. Somehow, all that only killed about an hour. It was too early to go to sleep—even fatigue from being on the road couldn’t justify crashing this early.

Food. I could go get food. There was a bar and grill across the street that had looked promising when we’d pulled in. It would be a nice change of scenery, and it had been a few hours since I’d eaten.

So I put my shoes on, collected my wallet, phone, and room key, and left the room.

I was halfway down the hall when I stopped. Heart pounding, I turned around, and my eyes zeroed in on the door across from mine.

Things had been going really well today. Would I be pushing my luck if I suggested having dinner together? I supposed there was no harm in asking. If he didn’t want to, he didn’t want to. No harm. No foul.

I backtracked to his door, and for several long seconds, I stood there with my hand hovering in the air, wondering if I should do this.

Eh, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

The thought made me flinch. Those had been the words on my mind when I’d worked up the courage and asked my daughter’s softball coach if he wanted to get drinks, and the memory nearly made me back off now.

But before I could stop myself, I tapped on the door.

I heard some shuffling on the other end, and waited with my heart in my throat. Rhys had undoubtedly taken off his prosthetic by now, so it would take him a moment to get to the door. A moment I could take advantage of to make my escape, but no. No, I wasn’t going to be a coward. It was just an offer to have dinner. What was I so worked up about?

The deadbolt clicked. The door opened.

Across the hotel room’s threshold, our eyes met, and immediately, my mind went blank. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, exposing the tattoos on his upper arms and the muscles of his broad chest. His eyes were tired, but not like I’d just woken him up. More like the long day had finally caught up with him.

Shifting a little on his good leg, resting a hand on the doorframe for balance, he held my gaze and inclined his head. “What’s up?”

Oh. Yeah. I’d been the one to knock. Wasn’t I going to say something? No, ask something?

Dinner. Right.

“Hey, um.” I cleared my throat and gestured down the hall. “I was going to go get some dinner. At that bar and grill across the street.” I swallowed. “You want to join me?”

Rhys searched my eyes, and as my question hung in the air, I honestly couldn’t decide what answer I was hoping for.

After what seemed like forever but had probably been all of ten seconds, he shook his head. “I think I’m just going to relax for the night. Ice my knee, maybe order something off GrubHub.”

“Oh.” Apparently I’d been hoping for a yes, if the disappointment in my gut was any indication. “Okay. Well. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Right. See you in the morning.”

We exchanged smiles that reminded me of how strangers looked at each other before parting ways, and then I started down the hall as Rhys closed the door.

No problem. I’d extended the offer, he’d declined, and that was fine. I’d have a nice quiet dinner by myself, and tomorrow, we’d hit the road together, and everything would be fine.

Hands in my pockets, I strolled out into the frosty evening and headed for the restaurant across the street. Out of sheer habit, I kept an eye out for patches of ice on the ground. Rhys was good about spotting them too, especially since he’d been navigating with the prosthetic for a decade before I’d met him. After taking some nasty falls, though—one of which had resulted in a broken wrist—he was extra cautious in the snow and ice. He sometimes used a cane if the conditions were especially bad, and he was always vigilant about ice on the ground. A few weeks into our first winter together, it had become a habit for me too.

One that I apparently hadn’t broken even when Rhys wasn’t with me.

Even when Rhys and I weren’t together at all.

At the crosswalk, I blew out a thin cloud of breath while I waited for the light to change. I’d made the decision to divorce Rhys months ago. Why was it suddenly a hard thing to get my head around?

I shook myself. The light changed, and I started across the street. This was probably part of the grieving process or something. Maybe I should start seeing a counselor again. Someone to help me iron out all the emotions and weird surprises that came in the wake of a divorce. There were books on the subject too, weren’t there? And that bookstore in town was still open, wasn’t it?

Okay. Yeah. When I got home from the wedding, I’d find a counselor and a stack of books.

First—dinner.

The restaurant was one of those places with a huge section full of families and a lounge area with a big flat screen above the bar and smaller TVs mounted in the corners. Some basketball games were on right now, which didn’t interest me, but it looked like there were some good beers on tap.

The lounge area was self-seat, so I found a booth beside the windows, slid in, and plucked a menu from the stand beside the condiments. Typical bar and grill food—fried cheese-slathered appetizers, burgers, salads.

A waiter who looked to be about twelve—holy shit, I was getting old—came by the table, tablet in hand. “Can I get something started for you? Maybe a cranberry lime martini or a peach margarita?”

“Just a beer. What do you have on tap?”

He rattled off some brands I’d never heard of. Probably local microbrews. He personally recommended one of the pilsners, so I took him at his word and ordered one.

While he went to get my beer, I continued browsing the menu. Was I in the mood for a steak? Or maybe something lighter? A burger didn’t sound all that appetizing tonight. Where the hell did they get “fresh caught Alaskan halibut”? Because last I checked, Alaska was…not a “fresh caught” distance from here unless someone had invented teleportation.

Someone appeared beside the table, but when I looked up, it wasn’t the waiter.

“Oh.” I gulped, staring at Rhys. “I thought… You said…”

“I know.” He had one hand in his jacket pocket, the other on his cane, and he sheepishly held my gaze. “Is the, um, offer still open?”

My heart was pounding as I nodded. “Yeah. Sure.” I gestured at the bench across from me. “Sit down.”

He hesitated for a split second, then took off his parka and sat. After he’d folded his cane and slid it into his jacket pocket, he freed a menu from the stand. “So. Anything sound promising?”

“Um. Well.” I looked down at the menu I’d been reading, but had totally blanked. “I was going to start with a beer and go from there, I think. That was about as far as I’d gotten.”

“Beer sounds like a good start.”

“The waiter should be back with mine in a second.” I thumbed the frayed lamination on the corner of my menu. “What changed your mind?”

Without looking up from his, he said. “Wasn’t much on GrubHub.”

“Oh.”

His eyes flicked up to meet mine, and he breathed a soft laugh as he lowered his gaze back to the menu. “I just… I was getting stir crazy and didn’t really want to eat alone, so…”

“Fair enough. Thanks for the company.”

He seemed surprised by the answer. I didn’t know what to say. He didn’t either, apparently. That, or he just wanted to change the subject, and I was thankful as hell when he said, “What do they have on tap?”

“Local stuff, from the sound of it. I ordered a pilsner, so we’ll see how that tastes.”

“Eh.” He shrugged. “Works for me. What about food?”

My beer arrived a moment later, and it was pretty good, so Rhys ordered the same. Once his drink came, we also ordered some appetizers, which knowing us would end up being all we ate. Especially since the description on the nachos he ordered included Great for sharing! in giant yellow letters.

Rhys took a sip, and made an appreciative sound. “Oh, man. This is good.”

“Yeah, it is. I might have to get the name and see if they carry it at home.”

“That snooty-ass hippy store you shop at probably sells it.” He met my eyes over the rim of his glass, and there was a sparkle in his eyes. The comment didn’t have any heat behind it, either.

I chuckled. “You want me to pick up a six-pack if they have it?”

“Fuck yeah, I do. What kind of question is that?”

One that almost made me think about the fact that neither of us would be buying beer for each other for much longer, but I was enjoying my beer and this restaurant and, yes, my ex-husband’s presence. I pushed those thoughts aside. No sense killing my buzz before it started.

We did the same thing we’d done in the car—kept the conversation light, and didn’t struggle to fill the silence when it happened. It wasn’t effortless, but it was a damn sight better than things had been recently, so I had no complaints.

“Think the cats miss us yet?” he asked.

“Are you kidding?” I put my glass down. “They were probably asleep before we’d pulled out of the garage.”

“Probably. They were laying the guilt trips on hard, though. Jesus.”

“That’s only because Lucy knows she can manipulate you,” I said with a laugh. “She knows damn well you’re leaving, but if she looks at you with those big blue eyes, you’ll ply her with treats until we go. She’s got you trained.”

Rhys chuckled, and damn if he didn’t blush. “She pulls the same shit whenever Becky’s cat-sitting too. And Chico is just as bad.”

“Chico has Becky wrapped around his paw. Manipulative little asshole.”

He laughed. “Cats? You don’t say.”

“I know, right?”

We kept on like that, musing about how much the cats were gong to destroy the house in our absence. Then our waiter materialized beside us, balancing a small plate and a… not small plate. “Okay, we have an order of potato skins.” He put the little plate in front of me. “And the nachos.” The platter went down in front of Rhys, and we both stared at it.

“Holy shit.” Rhys gaped. He looked at me over the mountain of chips, cheese, sour cream, guac, olives, and jalapenos. “Please tell me you’re sharing this with me.”

“I don’t know. I kind of want to see if you can handle it yourself.”

Rhys groaned. “You know damn well I’ll try, and I’ll be miserable for the rest of the night.” He pointed at the plate. “Eat.”

I laughed, pulled a chip free from the huge pile, and nudged a few olives into the sour cream and cheese. “You better help me with these potato skins.”

“No promises, man.” Rhys was about to say something, but he glanced toward the bar and did a double take. “Aw, shit.”

“What?” I followed his gaze, and as soon as I saw the big screen TV, I understood: the bartender had just changed the channel from some basketball game neither of us cared about to a hockey that was about to start.

“Is that…” The table creaked as if Rhys was leaning on it. “Oh, dude. It’s the Caps versus the Kings.” I couldn’t help grinning. Rhys wasn’t from either city, but he’d been raised in a Kings household, and he was a diehard fan.

I faced him again. “Pretty sure I don’t have to ask if you want to watch.”

“Please. As if you don’t want to.” He thumped the table with his knuckle and grinned brighter than I’d seen him grin in months. “Better order up a couple of shots. It’s hockey night.”

His enthusiasm was infectious. Laughing, I nodded toward the bar. “First round’s on you.”

We collected our drinks, jackets, and appetizers, and moved to the bar. I flagged down the bartender to order a round of shots, and as she poured them, I stole a glance at Rhys.

And I smiled.

I hadn’t realized until now how much I’d missed wanting to be with him. So right now, even if it was only temporary—even if it was little more than an illusion—I didn’t fight it.

I let myself want his company.