Hopeless Vows (26 page)

He gets up and pours himself a drink. All this shit with Jillian—or Cassandra—has dug up old feelings and animosities. It’s like reliving their deaths all over again.

After several minutes and gulps of booze later, Uncle Brian breaks the silence. “So you’re just going to leave her?”

I throw my free hand up in the air. “What other choice do I have?”

“You have several.”

“You can’t be serious. Do you know how fucked up this situation is? My in-laws are the people who murdered my family! Mom, Dad, and Christine were murdered in cold blood by people I’m now related to. Knowing she shares so much as the same DNA as those pieces of shit makes me want to vomit. I want to break shit. I want to yell and scream. I want to hurt her,” I admit the last part quietly.

“She was just as much of a victim as you. She had nothing to do with the murders.” How he can be so calm right now pisses me the fuck off. Actually, I don’t know which gets to me more: him defending her, or that he’s not as angry and upset as me.

“No!” I shout, slamming my glass down on the side table. “She’s not the goddamn victim! She’s a selfish, manipulative fucking liar and is just like them!”

He holds up his hand to silence my outburst. “You weren’t the only one who lost them, you know? Kevin was my big brother—my hero—and I looked up to him my whole life. I wanted to be just like him. I was close to your mother too.” He looks down at his glass, swirling the liquid around before speaking. “I never told you this, but the first time he introduced me to her, I thought if he didn’t end up marrying her, I would. Sarah was amazing, and she quickly became the little sister I never had. And then there was little Christine.” He looks off into the distance, a small smile on his face. “She had the world wrapped around her pinky finger, and I was the worst one. I adored her as if she were my own.” He brings his glassy eyes back to mine and his lower lip trembles. “I loved them and lost them too. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t miss them, but I’m not going to cast blame where it doesn’t belong.”

He places his scotch on the table and quietly walks out of the room, leaving me to process everything he just said. Once some of the anger has subsided, I can see what he’s saying. No, she didn’t kill my family and was just a child herself when it happened. I know I’m being unfair by putting all of this on her shoulders and comparing her to those monsters. The rational side of my brain understands all of this, but my heart says otherwise. How could I ever get past this? The answer is simple.

I can’t.

Jillian

“I’LL HAVE THAT
interview to you tonight, Mrs. Van der Boor,” I inform my boss as she walks past my door.

“Good.” She barely spares me a glance, but that’s normal for her. Turning my focus back to my screen, I read over my interview with this amazing jewelry designer one last time.

It’s been two months since I text messaged Austin.

Sixty long days.

I stared at my phone all night after I sent it and hardly even blinked. My eyes burned from looking at the screen, willing it to light up with a message from him. I fell asleep early that morning with it still clutched in my hand. When daylight broke a few hours later and woke me, I sprang up afraid I had missed his response, only to be disappointed and heartbroken to find there wasn’t one. I tried to reason he just hadn’t received it yet, that I had sent it kind of late and he was probably sleeping and missed it. But as one day turned into two, and two days turned into three, I had to face reality. He wasn’t responding.

After two weeks and still no contact, I lost all hope. I wanted to fight for him—for us—but how do you fight for something that doesn’t exist? He completely shut me out of his life without looking back. He never even came by the apartment to pick up his stuff.

The following week after I sent the message, I moved out. It was too hard to function there. The simplest things would make me cry, like the time I glanced at his toothbrush and broke down. There were so many good memories haunting me, then one really bad one tormenting me. Once all of my things were boxed up and carried out, I took one last look around the place, left a note, and said goodbye.

On such short notice, it would be hard to find a place that was move-in ready, so Janey let me crash with her. I couldn’t be more grateful. She’s really been there for me through all of this and I know I’ll never be able to repay her. Because of Janey, I’m functioning among the living again. I’m not happy. No, far from it, but each day seems a little better, a little lighter, and a little easier.

My work has become my sole focus, my main distraction. I bury myself in it to keep my thoughts from straying to Austin and how empty my life is without him. It’s impossible to remove him completely, but it gets me by.

A little before seven o’clock, I’m finally home after a long workweek ready to relax with a big glass of wine. My eyes are tired from looking at the computer screen, and my back is stiff from sitting at my desk for hours on end. Once I’ve changed into some yoga pants and a t-shirt, I join Janey on the couch and kick up my feet.

“How was your day?” she asks.

“Same as every other day.” Nothing changes from day to day. I get up, go to work, come home, and go to bed.

“Well, what do you want to do tonight since it’s ‘no TV Thursday?’”

The first episode of First Comes Marriage aired last week. I didn’t watch it. There was no way I could stomach seeing how happy we were together. Knowing the world would be devouring it didn’t make things easier either. For fear of accidentally catching a glimpse of the show, I forbid TV on Thursdays.

“I’m actually pretty tired. I think I’m going to soak in the bath, read a little, then try to catch some sleep.”

“Alrighty, I’ll see you in the morning then.”

With a yawn, I tell her goodnight and head toward my bathroom. Sitting on the edge of the tub, I turn the water on and wait for it to reach the perfect temperature before I drop the plug in.

My reflection catches my attention when I stand to undress. I’ve lost quite a bit of weight in the last two months. My cheekbones are sharp, my collarbones are prominent, and all of my clothes are loose on me. I have absolutely no appetite and only eat because I know I have to. Even then, it’s a struggle.

After my clothes are off, I’m about to step into the water when I realize I never got a glass of wine.

“Shit,” I say under my breath. Grabbing a towel, I wrap it around me, shut off the water, and go after my wine. As I enter the living room, I freeze in my tracks.

“Austin and Jillian, Congratulations on being newlyweds. To celebrate and get to know one another, you will be going on a two week long, all-expense paid trip to Bora Bora. You leave later this afternoon, so pack your bags and head to the airport.” I’m on screen squealing and jumping around.

“Holy *bleep*. Bora Bora? That’s so *bleep* awesome!”

That moment comes back to me in a rush, sending me back to a place I’ve spent these last couple of months pulling myself out of. The hole in my heart widens and all I want to do is cry.

“Why the hell are you watching this?” I ask angrily. Janey jumps at my unexpected intrusion and quickly turns the TV off.

“Sorry, I thought you were going to bed for the night.”

“I was, but why do you have that on?” My arms cross over my chest. It might be stupid, but I almost feel betrayed.

She shrugs but has the decency to look apologetic. “I don’t know, I was just curious.”

“You know how it ends! There’s no reason for you to watch it!” I storm off, needing to get away before I break down. God, that was so much harder to see than I thought it’d be. My chest aches sharply, making it hard to breathe. I crawl into bed numbly, not bothering to put on any clothes and curl up on top of the covers. It’s not long before I’m falling asleep and dreaming of light blue water and dark chocolate eyes.

This is now the ninth Monday post Austin, yet at the start of each week, I walk into my office still hoping for flowers. This week is no different, and the feelings of disappointment aren’t either. Doing my best to bottle up my emotions, I walk the rest of the way into my office and begin working.

When I glance down at my clock later that day, I see it’s already noon. I push myself away from my desk and stretch out a bit. I’m about to stand up to take a break when my phone rings. The caller ID lets me know it’s the receptionist at the front.

“Hey, Melanie,” I greet once I answer.

“Good afternoon, Jillian. There’s a man here to see you.” My adrenaline spikes and my hope soars.

“You can send him on back. Thank you.”

“No problem.”

I hang up the phone and run my sweaty palms down the front of my skirt. I’m so nervous. What do I say? What do I do? I don’t have time to think about it because there’s a knock on the door.

“Come in,” I say.

The door opens and my face and posture drop. I don’t know who this man is, but it’s not Austin. I stand, expecting some sort of introduction.

“Are you Mrs. James?” The question stalls my heart. James. My married name.

Swallowing hard, I nod. “Yes, and you are?”

“I’m Steve Smith and I work for the law offices of Butler and Butler. I’m here to serve you your divorce papers.” He holds out a large envelope, but I can’t take it.

My knees give out from under me and I collapse, thankful my chair is there to catch my fall. When I make no attempt to take it from him, he sets it on my desk along with his business card. With a compassionate smile and a nod of his head, he exits my office and closes the door behind him.

No.

Divorce?

No.

Everything around me becomes a blur as I sit motionless in a trance. If I don’t move or think, it won’t hurt so bad. But the longer I sit here, the more the weight of that packet crushes me. My lip trembles uncontrollably, my throat hurts as I resist the urge to sob, and my eyes fill with tears.

This is it. It’s really over.

My stomach rolls over, and with very little warning purges its contents. I barely make it to the trash can beside my desk in time. With the back of my hand, I wipe my mouth and lean back in my chair.

It hurts all over. The pain is indescribable, all encompassing, completely consuming and crippling. My breaths are shallow and my chest is tight. My heart is beyond shattered. It’s destroyed. Obliterated. Not a piece of it is salvageable.

I’m really not sure what I was expecting out of all of this. We haven’t spoken in two months, but this still came as a complete shock. Here I was hoping for flowers and got divorce papers instead. The irony isn’t lost on me and if I wasn’t so devastated, it would almost be funny.

Oh, God. The reunion show. I’ll have to see him in six weeks. The thought alone has my anxiety rising and my palms sweating again. How am I going to face him?

Actually, maybe that’s exactly what we need. If I could get him to talk to me, we might be able to work this out. I just have to show him I really do love him and that my feelings for him were—are—genuine.

Picking up the envelope by the corner and holding it away from me like it’s a contagious virus, I drop it into my desk drawer, close and lock it. I’m not signing shit until he talks to me.