Page 21 of When There Was You
Icanget closure.
By doing one thing to give it to myself.
Despite agreeing not to.
An inelegant huff leaves my lips. I’m my own woman, and this one is driving to the Claremont Hotel to get her fucking closure.
It’sdark when I arrive. The nuptials are long over, uttered in some nearby church, and not something I wanted to witness. No, I just need to lay eyes on Remy with his wife. And yeah, if I’m honest, Mick in his tuxedo. I’m not going to make a scene or even make my presence known…I don’t think.
I didn’t bother dressing for the occasion.
Glancing at my jeans and sweater, a small smile inches up my lips at how Mrs. Remington would sneer at me, the “tramp”, if I were to crash her precious son’s wedding. I chuckle, despite the pounding of my heart.That would be worth the price of admission.
Unfamiliar as I am with this swanky resort, I don’t know how I’ll accomplish my task, but there’s nothing like false bravado with a shot of venomous anger to help fuel me along.I steer one direction, but it leads to tennis courts and recreation areas. After doubling back past the main entrance, I discover a parking area flanking another section of the hotel and ease into a spot hidden by plenty of other cars much nicer than mine. Including one 1965 blue Mustang fastback.
Approaching the perimeter, I fight the urge to assume the role of 007 in stealth mode.The name’s Bond. Jax Bond.Before long, tall windows beaming with light come into view, along with a faint thumping of music. The glass panes showcase the party within.
I sink into the shadows and approach the farthest window. My pulse thunders in my ears. The gigantic ballroom is full of women in chic dresses and men in dark suits. Champagne flutes sit at table settings. Bodies gyrate to the music on the makeshift dance floor.
And then I see Mick and Remy. My chestnut-haired boyfriend steals my breath; he looks like a zillion bucks in a sharp, black tuxedo that hugs his frame. Standing next to him, laughing at something Mick said, is Remy. His copper hair is trimmed and slicked back, those sapphire eyes bright even from this distance, and he is devastating in his all-white tux.
They’re both laughing now.
It’s a kick to my solar plexus.
Two Musketeers with the third peering through the window like a fucking perv. A loser. A jilted lover. Rotten meat in a sandwich. But I can’t even blink, let alone stop staring.
My eyes prick as the bride approaches. Remy’s smile widens as he slips an arm around her and they share a kiss. She tugs his hand, urging him toward the dance floor, and the band smartly launches into the tender song, “Oh Sherrie.” All eyes are on the newlyweds as they claim the center and Remy twirls her in a circle.
Sherry is resplendent in a white gown. She oozes class, her light brown hair gathered into a neat chignon. Sparklingearrings dangle from her lobes, and even from here, I can make out the massive shiny rock on her ring finger.
As the pair waltz across the floor, it’s painfully clear there’s love between them. Remy used to look at me like that. With adoration and…more.
I think a part of me doubted it until now.
But there’s no unseeing the finality of the scene playing out.
Remy is married.
The band switches gears, launching into Bob Seger’s overplayed “Old Time Rock & Roll,” and to my dismay, my gray-eyed lover joins the fracas. He’s smiling. Dancing. Beer in hand.
It’s enough to make me want to smash through these floor-to-ceiling ballroom windows and punch him in the mouth. Do I want him to be morose? Missing me? Just a smidge melancholy that the Three Musketeers are officially deceased?
Goddamn right I do.
Mick’s gaze darts in my direction, and I flinch into the shadows, sucking in a sharp breath and holding it, paralyzed. He can’t see me, can he?
And what if he fucking did?I don’t care.I exhale with force, my tears flowing as I stalk back to my car.
I got what I came for—in fucking spades—and the weight of it crushes me. My cheeks flood with my visible pain, blurring my vision. Footfalls echo against the pavement, and I scramble to find my keys, which my purse seems to have swallowed whole.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I use my sleeve to dry my eyes. The footsteps cease, and I know before even turning around that it’s Mick.
He’s breathing hard, his eyes searching mine. Disbelief. Pain. “Jax.”
My head hangs. I can’t face him right now.
