Five Ways to Fall (Ten Tiny Breaths, #4)(51)

He flinches as he adjusts himself in his seat. “I was at this awesome paintball field north of the city yesterday and took a close-range shot to the ass.”

More like thirty shots, if you want to be specific. I purse my lips to keep my vindictive smile from outing me.

“You should go there sometime. I think you’d like it.”

“I’ll look into that,” I manage to get out with a wobble. The only thing keeping me from howling with laughter right now is replaying the visual I have in my head of the moments before we actually attacked, when I was ready to turn and run, listening to that. Thank God for my mask, or Ben would have seen my tears.

There’s a long pause as Jared takes in the other tables, his hands softly strumming against the surface. That’s a nervous gesture of his. “This is kind of awkward, isn’t it?” he finally admits with a lazy chuckle. Another sign of being nervous.

“Not as awkward as the last time.” My eyes inadvertently dart to his arm, to the large reaper tattoo peeking out from beneath his shirt.

Seeing where my focus lands, Jared rubs over it, offering sheepishly, “I’m sorry that you found out like that.”

I sigh, wondering if he’s referring to the tattoo or the cheating. Or both.

His eyes roam my hair. “You look really good, Reese. Not that you didn’t before. You just look more . . . grown up now. More responsible.”

I feel my cheeks flush as I study the plate in front of me, my appetite nonexistent. “It’s a little too boring for my taste.”

“You will never be boring.” A quick dart of my eyes catches that gleam in his. Is he flirting with me? Regarding me with that gorgeous face of his that I can’t believe I had license to kiss at all times, he finally sighs. “I f*cked up with us, Reese, and I’m so sorry.”

A tinny taste fills my mouth as I bite down on my tongue to keep myself from talking, because I know I’ll get emotional and probably say something defensive. I need to remain calm.

“I’ve loved Caroline since we were six years old. When she broke up with me out of the blue, I was crushed. Then you appear out of nowhere a week later, completely opposite of her.”

“I definitely am that,” I mutter dryly.

That cute smirk only increases the appeal of his face. “You sure are.” It falls quickly. “I was on the rebound. I wanted so bad to be over her, to not think about her, to move on, that I rushed things with you and me. And before I knew it, we were married. Then, about a month after Vegas, Caroline phoned me, crying. I hadn’t talked to her since the breakup, so she had no idea. I guess my parents phoned her parents after we went to meet them, and they told her.”

I roll my eyes at the memory of that disastrous day. I swear, his mother was silently putting a hex on me from across the dinner table.

“Anyway, she called me, crying, telling me how she had truly meant she just needed some time and space but always thought we’d get back together. We agreed to meet up for dinner one night and . . .” He shrugs. “Things happened and I didn’t know how to stop them. So many old feelings flooded back and they confused me. And then you caught us that day in the shower and . . .”

I squeeze my eyes tight against the memory, of hearing him coming as I walked in. That’s why they hadn’t heard me in the first place. But there’s something more important here. “You were already cheating on me a month after we got married?” I can barely hear my own voice—it’s barely audible—as the truth starts revealing itself. How can I even call what we had a marriage? It was a total sham.

“No! After that first night, I told her I couldn’t see her again and I didn’t for a month. But then she was at my parents’ anniversary party.” The one I refused to attend.

If I had gone, would we still be sitting across the table right now, talking about our failed marriage?

He drops his gaze to his hands. “She’s always been so sweet and caring, and . . .” I clear my throat to stifle the bitter laugh. She has him fooled. “. . . she fits with my family well and . . .” Yes, his family, who was crushed when he brought me home. “ . . . she’ll make a good mother one day.” He sounds like he’s spewing out his parents’ propaganda, but the more he goes on, the more desolate I become. If that’s what he wanted in a wife, then we never had a hope in hell. Sweet . . . caring . . . fits in . . . future good mother . . . None of those labels fit me, regardless of whether they’re real or fraudulent on her.

It feels like he’s the one with a paintball gun aimed at point-blank range at my heart, firing mercilessly. I didn’t come here to listen to this. I make a move to push my chair back when I hear, “But I miss you, Reese.”

My mouth drops open, the conflicting end to that “Ode to Caroline” startling.

Eyes thick with emotion blaze into me. “We were pretty f*cking great together, weren’t we?”

And then he reaches out to grab my hand.

The still vivid memory of them together yesterday wraps its fist around my guts and squeezes, reminding me not to let myself drift into the nostalgic, not to let myself get caught up in his words now. I want to be screaming at him, agreeing, “Yes! We were f*cking awesome together and you ruined it!” I should be stabbing his hand with my fork. But instead I let myself accept the physical contact for just a moment longer, until I manage to lose my gaping jaw, and then I pull my hand out from beneath his and use the fork to jab at my pie. It’s untouched, but at least they can’t serve it to anyone else with holes all through it.