Put a Ring On It (5 page)

She twisted the diamond solitaire on her ring finger. Colin had never raised his voice to her before. Never. Where was the man who rubbed her feet and prided himself on his Sunday morning omelet-making skills? What had become of her late-night
Jeopardy!
-viewing buddy? “Don't yell at me. Why are you yelling?”

“Because nothing's ever enough for you.” His voice dropped from a yell to a barely audible whisper, which was even more unsettling. “I know what you think. You think I can't pass the bar.”

Brighton felt something inside her snap. “That's not true. I
know
you can pass the bar.”

“Then why are you making our whole future dependent on my passing some stupid, bullshit test?”

“I'm not!”

“Fine. Then let's scrap the whole wedding and go to the courthouse on Monday.”

She blinked. “I have to work on Monday.”

“See? Right there.” He sounded perversely satisfied. “I know why you want such a long engagement. You don't want to be married to a loser who can't pass the bar.” He turned up his palm. “Give me the ring.”

“What?” She clapped her hand over the diamond solitaire. “No.”

He stomped on the brake and laid on the horn as the minivan merged in front of them.

“What is
wrong
with you?” Brighton cried. “You're going to get shot in a road-rage confrontation. Don't you listen to the news?”

“This is why I'm yelling!” Colin's face reddened as a vein pulsed in his forehead. “You always have to be right. You always have to know the statistics. You always have to follow the rules.”

Brighton cringed as the minivan's bumper came within millimeters of the hood.
“It's a zipper merge!”

“Fuck the zipper merge.”

And Brighton completely lost it. “People like you are the reason that traffic is at a standstill. You think you should be the exception. You think you're above rules and statistics, but you're not.” She had a sudden, adolescent urge to unbuckle her seat belt, slam out of the car, and walk the rest of the way to the city. Except there was no sidewalk here and she was wearing heels. “If you want to talk about the wedding like a rational human being, I am happy to do that. But don't blame me because you can't pass the bar exam.”

“Then don't blame me when I give your ring to someone who wants to marry me without my precious bar results.”

“If you . . .” She took a moment to collect herself, smoothing her hair and crossing her ankles. “You know what? This conversation isn't going anywhere productive.”

“You need to call it, Brighton.” He opened and closed his hands on the steering wheel. “Now or never.”

“
Not
now or never,” she said. “We made a plan and I would ask that you respect that for the next seventy-two hours. If you still feel this way on Monday morning, we can reevaluate at that time. Now, eat a protein bar before we both say things we're going to regret.”

•   •   •

“And then he started yelling that I had to give the ring back. He was furious, and I still don't know what I did.”

“It doesn't sound like you did anything,” Kira said.

“I haven't heard from him since,” Brighton confessed, checking her phone for text messages yet again. “It's been hours. I tried to call
him, but it went straight to voice mail. So I ditched work for the first time in . . . ever and drove down to see you.” She tucked her phone back into her handbag. “So what do you think? Should I call him again? Try to smooth things over? Or tell him I'd never want to marry someone who throws a temper tantrum over a zipper merge?”

“Well, I have no idea what your relationship's like,” Kira pointed out. “I don't know him. I don't even know you anymore, apparently.”

Brighton sniffled. “You have a PhD, yes? You have to know
something
.”

“Do you guys fight a lot? Is this part of a pattern?”

“Not at all. We're both very calm and rational. We don't yell, we don't call each other names—there's no drama.” Brighton settled back in her chair. “That's what I like about our relationship. He's very direct, no surprises. But this bar exam stress has been killing us.”

She paused. Kira let the silence settle in around them.

“The problem's not Colin,” Brighton finally admitted, to herself as much as to her friend. “It's me. I'm completely burned out. He's burned out on the bar, but I'm burned out on
everything
—my work, my schedule, my whole life. I just don't have anything to give right now. I feel . . . I don't know. But I can't keep going like this.” She blew out a breath. “Anyway, enough about me. I want to catch up with you. Tell me what you've been doing since graduation.”

“Going to school and working, mostly.” Kira shrugged, but something in her tone didn't match her placid expression. “Just opened my practice, and that's pretty much consuming every waking moment right now.”

“But it's going well?” Brighton pressed.

“Professionally, it's going great.”

“Good for you.” Brighton felt a small stab of envy that her
friend had dared to do what Brighton had not—take a leap of faith and pursue her passion, health benefits and pensions be damned. “How did you first find this town? It's pretty out of the way.”

Kira suddenly seemed fascinated by the frosted glass sconces on the wall. “I first came out here for vacation last summer and realized that there weren't a lot of counseling options in town, which seemed like a big oversight, considering the population. I spent a week at the Better Off Bed-and-Breakfast and they had a few informal support groups for the heartbreak tourists, but no licensed professionals. So I wrote up a business plan and stepped in to fill the void.”

Even though she was pretty sure she was venturing into none-of-your-business territory, Brighton asked, “You came here as a heartbreak tourist yourself?”

“Yes.” Kira kept gazing up, her eyes clear and calm. “I was married. And then I wasn't married.”

“What happened?” Brighton crossed her arms, preemptively outraged with the man who had done her friend wrong. “Did he cheat on you? Yell at you for no reason? Pick petty fights about traffic maneuvers?”

Kira's gaze never wavered. “He died.”

Brighton covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, Kira. I'm
so
sorry. I had no idea.”

“Don't feel badly—it's not like I made an announcement in the alumni class notes.” Kira traced the edge of the table with her finger. “I should have told you when it happened. I wanted to reach out, but I didn't want to keep going over and over the details. I kind of shut down for a while. But I'm trying to start fresh, and this seemed like a good place.”

“I can't believe I didn't know any of this,” Brighton said. “You were like a sister to me. How did we get to the point where you get married and widowed and I'm completely oblivious?”

“We got out in the real world and we got busy.” Kira's phone buzzed and they both startled. “Speaking of which . . .” She frowned at the screen. “It's my office. Which means it's a client emergency. Brighton, I am so sorry—”

“Take it.” Brighton waved away her friend's apologies. “I'll order us some wine.”

“Be right back,” Kira promised, and darted for the door.

Brighton took a deep breath and tried to absorb the enormity of everything she'd just confessed. She had made her life choices so carefully, accepting the reality that success in one area required sacrifice in another. She had thought everything through and selected the career and the relationship that were most likely to last.

And now she felt nothing.

Then, from within her purse, she heard her cell phone chime with the ringtone she'd programmed for Colin's number. She remained numb as she pressed the phone to her ear and said the words a sensible, even-tempered girlfriend should say in this situation: “I'm so glad you called. I feel awful about leaving things the way we did this morning.” She paused to let him talk, then frowned and pressed the phone to her ear. “Hang on, I can't hear you . . . You're where? You're
what
?” She got to her feet and covered her other ear with her free hand. “Hold on, let me go outside. It's crazy in here and I can't hear a thing—it sounded like you said you got
married
, ha-ha!”

“I
'm sorry.” Colin's voice cracked. “I don't know what to say, Brighton. It just happened.”

Brighton froze midstride on the sidewalk, the pale glow from the streetlamp behind her and the vast darkness of the boardwalk and ocean stretching out in front of her. “You're yanking my chain. You are not serious.”

Colin was talking so fast, she could understand only half of what he said. “We were taking a break from studying . . . decided to go grab dinner . . . drove to this steakhouse by the shore . . .”

Kira gestured from a few yards away that she had to go to her car. Brighton waved her friend away and tried to make sense of what Colin was saying.

“Why were you at the Jersey shore?” Brighton grimaced at her own tone. She sounded like his mother. “You're supposed to be studying federal practice and procedure.”

“We were watching the game.” Colin sounded so far away
through the staticky connection. “I wasn't doing anything wrong, I swear to God . . . And then I saw her.”

Something in his tone made Brighton draw in a sharp, deep breath. She'd never heard so much emotion in his voice. Certainly never when speaking to or about her.

She knew that she didn't want to hear the answer to this question, but she also knew that she had to ask it. Brutal honesty was always preferable to living in denial. “Who, Colin? Who did you meet?”

“Her name's Genevieve.” He was gasping and choking. “I can't explain it. I looked at her and I just knew.”

Brighton glanced up at the cloud-covered moon, feeling unnaturally calm. “Are you
crying
?”

“It was this instant connection.” He was definitely crying. “We started talking and one thing led to another and . . .”

“Wait.” Brighton raised her palm as if calling a meeting to order. “How long have you been at the shore?”

Sniffle, sob.
“Four—no, five hours.”

“And you already . . .” She pulled her shoulders back. “What did you do, Colin? Sleep with some woman you just met?”

“We . . .”
Sob, sputter, hiccup.
“We got married.”

Brighton was officially out of things to say.

“Brighton?” Colin sounded a bit more coherent. “Are you still there?”

She had no contingency plan for this.

So maybe it didn't happen.
Denial kicked in, easily overpowering all the brutal honesty. “Colin.” She said his name crisply. “Is this a joke? Put down the tort law and tequila and tell me you're kidding.”

He started sobbing again.

“I'll take that as a no.” She knew she should probably start crying, too, but a cold, eerie calm had settled in. “You're serious? You
married
somebody else?” Her eyes widened as another thought hit. “Is she wearing my ring?”

“I'm sorry.” He sounded shattered, absolutely broken by his own decisions. “It was love at first sight.”

“Love at first sight?
Love at first sight?
” Brighton pulled her hair back with her free hand and looked around for a gutter to retch into. “What is
wrong
with you?”

“I knew you wouldn't understand.” He stopped sniveling, and a note of defiance crept into his voice. “I followed my heart.”

“Love at first sight and following your heart.” She had to laugh. “This gets better and better. Let me tell you something, Colin. The human heart? Is a moron. That's why it has to stay down in your chest pumping blood while your brain is up in the executive suite making decisions.”

“You're mad,” he stated.

“You think?! You lose your mind over a damn zipper merge, you demand the ring back, you ignore me all day, and then, when you finally do call, you tell me that you married some woman you just met at a steakhouse? I mean,
what
?” She shivered as a cool, damp breeze blew in from the water. “How does that even work, logistically?”

“The courthouse is open 'til five.” His voice was now tinged with both pride and hostility. “It was my idea, so don't blame her.”

“Oh, I don't.”

“I know this is . . . awkward, but I wanted you to hear it from me. No lying, no sneaking around.”

“This is real?” She had to keep asking. “You're serious with all this?”

“It's real. I'm married.”

There ensued a long pause while she tried and failed to process his confession. “You married someone else because of a zipper merge.”

“I'm sorry, Brighton.”

“Don't be.” She stopped shivering as adrenaline rushed through her. “I don't want your pity. I hope you and what's-her-name—”

“Genevieve.”

“—are deliriously happy together. But odds are, you won't be.”

“You're bitter.” He sighed, paternal and concerned. “You have a right to be.”

“I'm not bitter; I've just read the research on divorce rates. One to three years of dating is the sweet spot for marital longevity. Not one to three hours.”

“I don't care what the research says. When you know, you know,” he informed her. “And maybe one day, you'll find someone who's a better match for you.” He sighed again, then got down to the business side of the breakup. “Text me when you've had a chance to calm down. I still have a few things at your apartment. There's no hurry, but—”

She hung up on him and drew back her arm to fling her phone into the sand. She stopped herself in time, forcing her body to relax. Destroying her phone wouldn't solve her problem. It wouldn't teach Colin a lesson or make him realize that he'd just made a massive mistake.

But she'd find something that would.

She tucked her phone into her purse, located a tube of lip gloss, and strode purposefully back toward the bar.

•   •   •

From the moment Brighton stormed into the Whinery, she could feel the pull of the tractor beam from across the room.

Her heart was pounding, and she made every effort to silence her brain up there in the executive suite of her skull.
The CEO is fired for the night.
Adjusting the lapels of her black blazer, she threaded her way through the crowd of starry-eyed women. “Hey,”
she said to the back of Jake Sorensen's leather jacket. “Is that drink offer still good?”

He made her wait for a beat, then turned around to face her. With one look, her anger subsided, washed away in a surge of hormones and unspeakable impulses.

“I'm not supposed to talk to you,” he drawled, his dark eyes glinting with amusement.

Brighton crossed her arms over her chest. “Says who?”

“Lila Alders.” He smiled at her and her whole body felt fizzy. “She said you were too good for me.”

Brighton scoffed. “That's just one person's opinion. Lila doesn't even know me.” She lifted her chin in defiance. “Buy me a drink.”

He stood up, offering her his barstool. “You said you don't drink.”

She slid onto the stool. “I usually don't. But people change their minds—just ask my fiancé.” She stopped and corrected herself. “
Ex
-fiancé.”

“She'll have a glass of champagne,” Jake informed the bartender.

“Champagne is for celebrating,” Brighton pointed out as the bartender handed her a delicate glass flute.

“You are celebrating.” He raised his glass, which appeared to her untrained eye to contain scotch. “Here's to changing your mind.”

Brighton took a sip of the light, bubbly booze, then put down her glass with a sharp clink. “We dated for two years and he just broke up with me over the phone. Because he met someone else. Like five minutes ago.” She finished the rest of the champagne in two big gulps.

Jake slid his scotch over her way.

“Thank you, but I really, truly don't drink hard liquor. I'm only making an exception for the champagne due to extraordinary
circumstances.” She leaned toward Jake, her eyes narrowing. “Get this: He
married
the woman he just met five minutes ago.”

He loomed over her, so tall and so good-looking and so very obviously bad for her. “Damn.”

“I know.” She threw up her hands, brushing her fingers against the sleeve of his jacket. “Some random woman named
Genevieve
.”

Jake went completely motionless. The smoldering, speculative spark in his eyes flickered out.

“Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction, too.” Brighton dug into one of the little silver candy dishes and helped herself to a handful of miniature Krackels. “Two years versus two seconds. He said he took one look at her and he ‘just knew.' What the hell does that even mean?”

Jake devoted all his attention to her, shutting out the music and laughter and carousing with his intensity. The way he looked at her made her feel like the only person in the world. She realized that this was a practiced technique of a lifelong lothario, but she didn't care.

So what if he was a player? Right now, she wanted to be played with.

“How could he do this?” She pounded the bar top, nearly upending her empty champagne flute as the bartender handed her a full one. “We have one stupid fight about a zipper merge, and then, bam! He calls me crying, he's made a binding legal commitment to someone else, the end.” She shoved another piece of chocolate into her mouth.

Jake looked incredulous. “He was crying?”

“Yes! And I love him. I tried to be a good girlfriend, I really did. I spent so much time helping him study that
I
could probably pass the bar exam at this point!” She could feel the champagne starting to take effect, and she helped herself to another sip. “But
none of that matters, apparently, because she's ‘the one.' I can't compete with ‘the one.'”

Jake dismissed this with a quirk of his brows. “I give it three months, tops. He'll come crawling back.”

“I don't want him to come crawling back!” Brighton declared, although she wasn't sure this was true. “I never want to see him again.” She startled a little as her text alert chimed. Kira was checking in:

This is going to take a while. Sorry X1000. Be back asap.

When she glanced back up, Jake was still watching her intently. “That's a pretty serious suit you've got on.”

“Yeah, 'cause I'm seriously successful.” She narrowed her eyes. “That's what pisses me off about this. He kept harping about how I wanted to marry a lawyer, but I never cared about that.
He
was the one who couldn't stand the fact that he failed the bar.”

Jake seemed skeptical. “A lot of women would care about that.”

“Yeah, well, I'm not one of them. I want a partner, not a sugar daddy.” She made a face. “Gross. I'd never want to be dependent on a man like that.”

“Maybe that bothered him,” Jake suggested. “Maybe he wanted you to need him.”

“Then why'd he propose?” Brighton challenged.

“Why'd you say yes?” Jake shot back.

“Because.” Brighton nibbled her lower lip, considering. “He was the guy I always saw myself marrying. Stable. Sensible. Like me.”

Jake smiled down at her again. “He's not that stable if he married a stranger with no warning.”

“Touché.”

“Maybe that's why you liked him.” His tone turned conspiratorial. “You want a little chaos on some level.”

She shifted in her seat, acutely aware of the whisper of her silk blouse against her skin. “I don't. Trust me.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“I
don't
. I like ten-year plans, balanced portfolios, and predictable outcomes.”

“Okay.” He kept watching her as though she were the most captivating woman on earth.

“So what am I supposed to do now?” she said. “What would you do if this happened to you?”

“
I
would spend a solid decade drinking and buying expensive shit and socializing with strangers.” He started to say more, then thought better of it. “Hypothetically.”

Brighton snapped out of her emotional death spiral and regarded him with renewed interest. “Hypothetically, hmm?”

That smoldering, speculative spark had returned in full force. “You know what you should do?”

“What?”

“You should marry a stranger, too. That'd show him.”

Brighton burst out laughing. “Yeah, right.”

“I'm serious. He'd never get over it.”

“Please.” She took another fortifying sip of champagne. “Do I look like the kind of woman who marries a stranger?”

“You could do it.”

“No, I couldn't. I won't even wear a thong.”

His gaze intensified.

“Sorry. Overshare. See, this is why I don't drink.” She tipped back her head and pressed her fingertips against her temples. “Ugh. What am I going to do?”

“That's the great thing about being single—you can do whatever you want.”