Page 158 of When There Was You
“How are you?” Remy asks.
I have fifty retorts but can’t summon one.
“Are you…are you upset with me?”
My scoff is harsh. “Remy, you cut me off without a word. One minute, we loved each other, the next, it was as if I didn’t exist. And now you just want to, I don’t know…shoot the shit, make small talk, swap pleasantries?”
His face contorts.
“You treated me like trash. Literal trash…” My eyes water. “After everything we shared? After what we…” I swallow. “Why?”
His gaze shifts to the floor before meeting mine. “I was really fucked up back then. For a long time.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I treated everyone who mattered like shit. You never deserved that.”
Fire blazes through me. “You hurt me. And youdestroyedMick and me.”
He winces. “I know,” he admits. “If I could go back in time and change it, I would. I’m so fucking sorry, Jacqui.”
I shrug and look away. Sorry just doesn’t cut it.
“I don’t blame you if you don’t want to talk to me. But I hope you can forgive me one day. I’m trying to be a better man. It’s part of my recovery.”
I soften a tad, and my gaze swings back to his. “Are you clean?”
His sapphire eyes radiate sincerity. “Coming up on two years.”
“Good. If today was any reminder, it’s that any of us—especially you—could be in that casket.”
Remy squeezes his eyes tight.
“And you’re happy? Happily married?” I can’t disguise my interest.
A slow grin crosses his face. “Yeah.” He shakes his head like he can’t believe it either. “I wound up marrying my best friend.”
That stings more than I expect. “Then I guess it was all for the good.”
“And you?” He glances at my left hand. “You find a decent one?”
My own smile unfurls. “The best.”
Remy holds out his hand. “So…friends? Or at least off the shit list?”
Fuck. Maybe it’s the severity of the day, his stupid apology, or the part of me that’s genuinely relieved he’s clean, but I take his hand. “Not enemies,” I offer. Because friendship is a stretch.
“I’ll take it.”
He squeezes my hand and returns to the reception. A minute later, I straighten my shoulders and follow.
A few steps in, I bump into someone and spin to find Remy’s wife. Her light brown hair is styled into a flattering blunt cut with bangs.
“Oof, I’m sorry,” she says, extending a hand. “I’m Sherry, Remy’s wife. You’re the famous Jacqui, right?”
“Um…yes?” I answer, shaking it. Her big hazel eyes are assessing, but not cold, and damn if she isn’t pretty in a wholesome, girl-next-door way.
“Remy and Mick have talked about you foryears.”
They have? The warmth spreading through me like honey is undeniable. It’s quickly doused by a flash of resentment. “We were really close.”And because of you, we aren’t.
Wrong, I internally scold.Remy is the only one to blame here.
