“Depends on the perspective, I guess.”
I slink back in the buttery soft seat, my laptop and purse clutched to my chest, my leather skirt riding high on my thighs. Why am I wearing a leather miniskirt, heels, and a thin V-neck sweater that highlights my cleavage on a frosty spring day? Because I’m determined to send a message that I will not cower away from the perception of being cheated on, nor will I play the martyr by dressing like a nun. The outfit is borderline office inappropriate, but I didn’t want to be caught in the crosshairs of the blood-thirsty media looking my worst on a day where they’re conspiring to paint me the victim. Thank God Dad got the heads up on the story breaking last night, so we were better prepared. I have zero doubts that after today I’ll be the woman notorious for being unable to keep a rock star and one of the world’s greatest athletes within my grasp.
The attention to the details I put into my appearance are blatant as Easton’s gaze lights up my skin. I keep my own averted while the downtown buildings pass us in a blur.
After a few wordless seconds, Easton closes in and gently pries my whitening fingers from my laptop before setting it on the seat between us.
Ignoring Easton’s play for attention, I speak up. “Joel, will you please drop me home?”
“They’ll be there waiting,” Easton reminds me.
“I can handle it, and I said I didn’t want to see you.”
“You’ve barely looked at me since you got in the SUV, so you’re safe in that respect.”
“Glad you find this so amusing, but I’m not in need of saving today.”
“You never really have been, have you?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. I was damn near delusional when we met.”
“You had grandiose dreams of finding true love.”
“Yeah,” I retort, “we both see how that worked out.”
Silence.
“Joel,” Easton summons softly. Joel pulls over a minute later in a busy shopping center, exiting the SUV. I sit silently in anticipation and don’t wait long.
“You can continue to feed me bullshit, or you can really talk to me. Either way, I see what you’re not saying, Beauty.”
Do not look at your beautiful ex-husband, Natalie. Do not look at your beautiful ex-husband.
“It’s called self-preservation,” I snark. “You should try it sometime. Though I doubt the tortured artist that dwells inside you will allow it for your long prosperous career.”
“I know what’s real.”
“Yeah, so you’ve told me.” I turn to see his eyes heating. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m some sort of answer,” I bite cynically. “Clearly I’m not.”
“Aren’t you?”
“No. I’m a fucking stain, remember?”
The silence drags on until I finally brave a glance over to see Easton staring out the window. So many questions rest on my tongue, but I can’t ask them. I go for diplomatic instead.
“LL…is he okay? I read that he’s recovering, but how is he now?”
“He’s good, but it was close. Much to his complete and utter dismay, he’s going to be under strict medical care the entire time we’re overseas, and we’re going to go from there.”
“Are you two…getting along?”
“Yeah,” Easton nods. “There’s a lot more to him than I originally thought. But then again, he’s still LL,” his chest bounces with a silent chuckle.
“I knew it wasn’t drugs,” I relay happily.
“He wanted the dream,” Easton says softly, “so much that he risked his life for it.”
More questions spring to mind, but I can’t ask them. I can’t, because if I do, I know I’ll want to dive deeper. There’s nothing about this man I don’t want to know. Do I still know him? The awareness trying to awaken inside me says I do, and I’m still probably one of the closest people to him.
Do I still want to know him?
Six weeks ago, the old me would have jumped at the chance to remain in his life, but our last exchange broke something inside me—mostly hope. Our relationship felt toxic when he left me in that bathroom.
Even with all his allure, and the things his presence does to me, I feel stronger, even if I’m still bleeding.
“What are you thinking?” He asks softly without looking my way.
I sigh. “That I’m too damned young to feel this tired,” I glance at my smartwatch, “at eight twenty-seven a.m. Easton, what are you doing in Austin?”
“We’ll get to that.”
Turning, he reads my real question.
“Yeah, Beauty, I was already here before I found out your boyfriend cheated on you.”
I nod. “So, are you kidnapping me?”
“Do you really want to go home and search the web for bullshit?”
“No, but spending time with you could be just as catastrophic.”
“I’m not here to hurt you, Natalie.”
“Thank God for small favors,” my reply is barely audible.
He pulls my hand from the seat, and I shake my head adamantly, denying his touch. “Please don’t.”
His shoulders slump forward as he pulls his hand away. “All right. Part of why I’m here is that I wanted to apologize in person. I didn’t mean it, what I said about your future. I had a little growing up to do and still do. But I didn’t mean what I said. You’re too fucking smart to settle for less than what you deserve, and you didn’t.”
“So was my father,” I clarify. “If I would have realized that before I went off on a wild goose chase, then we—”
“Never would have happened,” he finishes, my conclusion paining him and me. “And I know.”
“Know what?”
“We’ll get to it,” he assures again.
I decide to give him honesty. “I’ve spent the last six weeks pulling myself together, Easton. Part of that was forgiving you. I’m still working on me.”
“But you haven’t,” he whispers softly. “Not really.”
“I haven’t heard a word from you since I divorced you and really never expected to again. What is with you fucking Crownes anyway? Is it our surname? Butlers to serve the Crowne? Is that why you people think you can barge into our lives, take what you need from us, and tear us apart before you take off again?”
He runs his hands through his hair. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”
“I think…that I remember every second of what I felt from the minute we met and the days, weeks, and months leading up to the last time I saw you and after. So no, I don’t truly believe that it’s intentional. But letting my heart rule my head, I’m fucking done with that, and I have to be for a while. We were idiots,” I whisper in an attempt to keep my voice even. “You know that, right? Both of us. We eloped after a handful of months together and really expected to be some sort of rare exception.” I bite my lip, withholding the comment that I believed we were.
“I still have the same heart I did then, Beauty. It beats the same fucking way. You’re still angry, so stop lying about that.”
“Why do you think that? Because I’m trying to use good judgment?” I retort. “Something you’ve never bothered to try and understand.”
Resting his face against the seat, his eyes float over and sweep me wholly. “Give me the words.”
“The words?”
“A way to get to her,” he says softly. “Something, anything to get back to her. Point me there. Because I really need to talk to her today.”
I return his earnest gaze with a frown before I realize what he’s asking. He wants the woman who was open with him, who didn’t hide behind the hurt, the woman who trusted him and handed over her heart. The woman he married. The version of the woman he nicknamed ‘Beauty’ because of his attraction to the raw, unguarded state he drew from within her that had nothing to do with her appearance. The version he left in shambles with his parting words in that bathroom. “Easton—”
“Fuck,” he sighs, “okay, Natalie, just tell me where you want to go, wherever that may be.”