Page 44 of Sweet Surrender

“Where in the world did you get these?” he finally says, breaking the silence, and he lets go of my wrist.

“You got ice cream, I bought condoms.” I shrug. “I figured that we needed to stage this better. Sell this convincingly.”

“All these condoms and none of them put to good use. What a waste,” he jokes as he picks a wrapper up and drops it back down.

“It might be a little awkward bringing someone up from the casino floor while your wife is sound asleep in the bed,” I say to play off the pang of hurt that comment unexpectedly causes.

“Hendrix. I wouldn’t—”

“Did you really talk me out of getting a tattoo last night?” I ask, wanting to change the subject. The last thing I want him to think is that I wanted to have sex with him. Or think that his joke referred to or implied that he meant me. I mean . . . it didn’t, right?

It couldn’t have.

He’s him. I’m me. A kiss is a kiss and a lot different from giving my body to him.

“Yes,” he says before my thinking spirals out of control. “You were quite adamant that you get a pink heart like the one I have on my wrist. I thought you might regret it in the morning, considering you’ve never had one before. And I’m not certain that twenty years from now, when this is all said and done, that you’re going to want a reminder of last night.”

I hate that he makes sense. “Thank you,” I say softly.

Does he really think I’ll forget? Or that last night was all that bad? I woke up with a smile on my face despite the headache and feeling freer than I can remember in years. In some respects, as crazy as this whole situation has been, it was exactly what I’ve needed because of how Fuck You, Paul, dismantled my life.

“I’m all for rebelling, sweetheart, but I have a feeling that marrying me is more rebellion than you’ve ever tried, so let’s just take it one day at a time, one hour at a time, before we permanently mark your skin.”

I bite my bottom lip and nod. It’s reasonable enough. More than. And yet a little part of me—the same part of me who repeats fuck you, Paul, every morning—wonders if I’ll regret not doing it. Commemorating me living a little.

“I still can’t believe you did this.” He chuckles.

“Sex.” I point to the condoms, wanting to end this conversation. “Drugs.” I point to the Ibuprofen bottle sitting on the counter open. “And rock and roll.” I point to him.

A grin slides across his lips. “You’re something else.”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Gizmo

Twenty Years Ago

It feels like there’s a rock in the pit of my stomach.

No. More like those atomic sour candies that we all dare each other over to see how long we can keep them in our mouths before spitting them out. That’s what it feels like. A hundred of those burning a hole in my stomach.

I struggle to breathe. Why does my chest hurt so bad?

“Jase,” Nathaniel murmurs as he stands next to me and shakes his head. A warning for me to be quiet.

But I don’t look at my brother. I don’t respond. Our dad is standing in the middle of the room. His hands are on his hips, and he has a weird expression on his face like when the lawnmower broke, and he wasn’t sure if he should fix it or take it to the dump.

And the two of us are standing side by side, barely breathing as if the slightest movement will make him turn his attention toward us.

“It’s not that easy, Maggie,” he says to our mom. Her eyes are glassy and red from crying. “I have a new wife and a new family. I can’t just . . . take both of them.”

She says something I can’t hear. It’s a whisper that has Nathaniel jolting and me looking around to see what I missed.

“Per the court order, we each get one,” my dad says.

Mom’s eyes flicker over to us and then back to him almost as if she didn’t see us. She nods slowly, her voice unemotional and empty when she speaks. “It has said that for the last three years, and yet I’ve had both, so don’t give me any of that play by the rules shit now.”