He never did.
Jay: Dakota, please, just one chance. One hour to talk to you, to try. I抦 telling you I fucked up. But we don抰 have to let it end like that.
Yep. I抦 fully crying now, ducking down in my chair so nobody else can see the mess rolling down my red cheeks as I bury my face in a tissue.
I could, but I don抰 want to. It抯 too late. I抦 blocking you, I send a minute later.
Jay: I love you.
Dakota: I fucking loathe you.
Jay: I want you back.
He抯...he抯 drowning me. It hurts to breathe. I muster just enough energy to tap at the screen and send one more frantic F-you.
You don抰. You DON扵, Jay, and I抦 not interested in trying or being your fucking little pity game. Text me again and die. You抮e blocked.
It抯 a miracle I抦 almost alone by the time I log off in a huff, grab my purse, and run for the elevator.
I barely manage to scramble on my bike and pedal home, counting every breath and every second until I抦 nestled in the sanctuary of my bed.
My ex抯 comeback attempt by text couldn抰 be more pathetic.
Except, I feel pathetic, wrapped up in the blankets and forced to remember so many times I抳e spent the last year teaching my brain to delete from my head.
Leave it to this human virus to short-circuit what little memory immunity I had.
Leave it to him to bring me back to the biggest disaster of my life.
My stomach flutters with a trillion butterflies.
I抦 waiting with Dad in the church foyer under a balmy North Dakota sun. Dallas isn抰 much compared to the big cities, but this small town knows how to make it classy.
There抯 an antique getaway car waiting for us after the ceremony, on loan from Thelma Simon and the McKnights with their massive car collection.
The decorations are laid out like a dream, all courtesy of Grace Barnet, a local girl who married a literal movie star. She rocks a rustic style to die for and her projects are booked out for months. I think I抳e been teleported back to my nineteenth century dream along with the church.
The dress I抦 wearing is sleeveless and modern and beautiful. I shiver against the breezy air conditioning.
揕et抯 get out from under this vent before we go blue,?Dad says with a chuckle.
I take small steps to the other side of the foyer, heels clicking against the marble floor. The dress is so tight I can barely breathe.
Dad matches my small steps like he抯 wiping away my jitters just by walking.
Mom comes in wearing a pale-blue dress. She抯 stunning, but I wonder why her face looks like that.
揇on抰 freak out,?she says with a forced smile. 揃ut the groom and his boys aren抰 here quite yet, and it抯 almost time to start. Maybe you should call Jay??
My stomach sinks and my mind goes off like a rabbit being chased by all the things that could go wrong.
Jay抯 a big drinker when he parties. His whole band is.
I hope to God they didn抰 smash it too hard and drive last night. I hope he抯 okay.
I know桰 want to believe梙e wouldn抰 miss the big day for the world.
I pick up my phone to call like Mom suggested, and there it is.
The text from hell.
I抦 sorry, Dakota. I have to follow my heart. Music is my life and my truest love. I can抰 be tied down with a wife. I抦 real sorry I didn抰 realize it sooner, but it抯 better like this. It抯 better than if we抎 gone through with it and I figured it out too late.
I blink in disbelief.
But the hot tears rolling down my cheeks don抰 lie.
揌oney, what抯 wrong??Mom asks.
I hand her my phone before it falls out of my hand.
揑桰 need to go home.?The words barely come out in a hoarse whisper. I look at Dad. 揗y car isn抰 here.?
揑抣l walk you to the old Ford. It抯 yours for the day. Take it wherever you want. Your mom and I will handle everything.?
He抯 fawning all over me with easy words, the kindest he can muster, but it抯 a day late and ten dollars short.
My stomach shifts from tremors to violent lurching.
I barely disappear behind the truck so I don抰 have an audience before I squeeze my eyes shut and heave.
When my stomach empties out, I remind myself to take a few deep breaths so I don抰 choke.
I抦 light-headed and probably not the safest driver. Fortunately, it抯 a small town on a bland day with virtually no traffic.
I get to our not honeymoon suite and slam the door so I can be alone.
The room is paid for in full. Someone might as well use it, I guess, even if it抯 turned into a fancy-looking torture chamber.
I can抰 figure out how to get out of the wedding dress by myself, so I梩he bride who arrived alone and sick, that has to be rare in this town of ever afters梘o to the front desk and ask to borrow scissors.
Back in my room, I cut through the silk and satin like they抮e prison ties.
I free myself from this damn dress and leave the tattered scraps on the floor.
I抣l pick them up tomorrow, or else I抣l just leave a really big tip for the cleaners.
Tonight, I live in the hotel bathrobe, collapsing into frantic red dreams.
Dark-grey fog swirls, blowing the wedding away.
I sit on my bed alone, scrolling through my Facebooger feed. A North Dakota wind whips through the fields and howls through narrow alleys, barraging the hotel like my own fist of a heart.
A mutual friend tagged Jay in a post.
A grungy little man who still laughs like he抯 fifteen and beats the drums, always out of sync except for the rare days when he抯 sober enough to find rhythm. He congratulates my heartless ex on having the courage to 揹o the hard thing, but dude, the RIGHT thing. For you and Sam.?
Sam?
Aaand that抯 how I find out Jay has been shacking up with his curvy vocalist since our last winter trip to California. It should抳e been a huge red flag that he wanted to spend so much time with 'the crew' while he left me exploring Redding alone.
But that grey fog in my head turns literal, swirling through my room.
Everything goes black and bursts into color.
Oh, God. Am I hallucinating from the shock of this day?
Not quite.
I抦 on my knees, straddling a warm-blooded Adonis with thighs like carved granite. His mouth moves from mine as he leans over. His grip urges me up, makes me stand, and then his rough lips find the pale pink of my nipple.
He tastes too good as he pulls a fluffy white blanket around me while I抦 lost in his kiss.
My legs tighten around him. I gasp.
He moves his head back so I can get a good look at his face, his honey-dark eyes shimmering in the light.
I recognize that face. It抯 not one I抦 supposed to like, much less?His lips are on mine again, demolishing my thoughts.
His tongue owns my mouth, moving wordlessly and whispering with movement.
揝witch off, Nevermore,?I can feel him saying. 揕et me help. Let me make you come so hard you never think of his shit again.?
I shouldn抰.
But that抯 not what my body wants.
His pure energy, his groan, tastes a million times better than the searing rush of his warm mouth around my breast.
I know what I want.
I just want to be closer to this wild, forbidden man.
Especially as he shoves my legs apart with those workman抯 fingers that shouldn抰 belong to a CEO. Especially as he thrusts into me with a hot raspy noise in his throat, his eyes dark with cavernous hunger.
揋o, sweetheart. Ride me to the moon.?
揙h! Oh, Lincoln.?I push down, meeting him, pulling him inside me to the hilt.
Burns梟o, Lincoln梬raps his mammoth arms around me, holding me in place.
揋oddamn, I love how you feel,?he snarls, coiling my hair around his fingers.
He pulls with just the right tension, leaving a delicious burn on my scalp.
Warmth fills me.
A shaky smile is the only answer I can offer.
Then he grips my hips, digs his fingers into my ass, pulls back, and drives into me.
Then he splits me apart into so many spinning fragments I never, ever want to be rebuilt.
Violins wail at me from another world.