Do You Take This Man (81)

“Lear,” she murmured, the sound intoxicating and filled with question marks. RJ never spoke with question marks in her tone. This was unfamiliar territory.

“Yeah?” I inched closer to her face, our breaths mingling. She smelled different from normal—not like the perfumed, made-up version of RJ that I knew from the weddings. Whatever product was in her hair smelled faintly floral, and my hand tightened at her waist. “What is it?”

RJ bit her lower lip and lowered her gaze, pausing before she said in a voice just above a whisper, “Do you want to come upstairs? Stay the night?”

“Stay here?”

“Maybe I was wrong about not being able to do more than sex. I think I’m a little better when I’m with you, and maybe you feel the same way. I don’t let people in often, which I think you know, but I want you to stay with me.” Her expression was open, those invisible walls she kept up so high were down, and a chord in my chest thrummed. “Tonight and . . . well, maybe we could do this, we could dance.”

I’m falling in love with her.

In that instant, in the soft glow of the building lights with the breeze around us, I wanted to follow her up the stairs. I wanted to lay her down on her bed, to go slow and hold her all night. I wanted to open my eyes in the morning, sure she’d be there with the scent of her on me. I wanted to protect her and keep her safe and wake up to do it again as I learned all her secrets and she learned mine. Even as I stared into her eyes, though, a chill wound down my spine as I remembered that the last woman I’d wanted to protect and keep safe had been going to be my wife. After an entire day of almost forgetting, it came back to me in a rush. The smells of the hospital, the chill of the air conditioner, and the OB’s voice telling her it was time to push.

Sarah cradling the baby, tracing her fingers over his shock of red hair in the delivery room.

Sarah looking at me and shaking her head, holding the baby so close because she loved him, and letting me know with every inch of her body language that he was hers and not mine.

The doctor and nurses worked, things beeped, and the baby’s cries quieted, and everything went in slow motion for me.

It’s all I could see, and those feelings of pain and betrayal rushed right back. I let my hand fall from RJ’s waist, taking a small step back and a ragged breath, unable to find my equilibrium again because that’s what falling in love led to. I wouldn’t risk that again. “It’s late. I should probably go,” I said without meeting her eyes, though in my periphery I saw her straighten. “I don’t think me staying is a good idea.”

She took her own step back. “Okay.” Her voice was unsteady, and she stretched out the ay sound.

I shoved my hands in my pockets to stop myself because, despite the cold-water effect at the memory of Sarah, I still wanted to touch her. “I want to, it’s just that we’re . . . you know . . .”

“Got it,” she said, turning away and rooting through her purse for her key. “Of course. We’re not stay-the-night people.”

“Ruthie . . .” I reached for her arm, and she shrugged away.

“Don’t call me that.” Her tone was sharp, but she shrugged again. The wall was back up, only higher this time, and fortified. “Just RJ.”

“I thought maybe . . .”

“No,” she said, pulling open the door without looking at me. “RJ is better. It helps keep things clear.”

Again, Sarah’s stricken face saying “I’m sorry” filled my head, and it was like being slapped. Every instinct told me to turn on my heels and get the hell out of there because I couldn’t put myself through losing someone again, but the flash of a wounded expression weighed on my shoulders. “It’s not you, it’s—”

“You’re right. It’s late, and it’s been a long day. I shouldn’t have asked.” She plastered on a stiff smile, a fake smile. “Good night, Lear.”

“Good night.” The door closed softly before my words were all the way out. I’d expected a slam. A slam was definitive, like an angry exclamation point, and RJ’s anger always faded. Without it, the door was just closed.





Chapter 43


    RJ



I CHECKED MY phone one more time before silencing it and storing my things. My email and social media were blowing up again after a local news outlet connected the dots between my officiating duties and Dina Mayfield being represented by the firm. Still, Lear’s texts from hours before sat unread along with his email. He’d approached me when I arrived, but I’d taken a phone call to avoid him. I had three texts waiting from him, only the most recent visible.


Lear: Can we talk after the ceremony?



My body tensed reading it again, knowing he was nearby. After I’d invited him to stay and he’d turned me down, I’d never needed to get away from someone so fast. I was embarrassed and hurt, and angry with myself for thinking there was something there, for admitting I wanted him in my bed and in my space and in my life.

He didn’t contact me afterward, and I didn’t contact him, either. Making the call would mean giving up some power, and the lack of power I felt in the situation already left me unsteady. Even Gretchen had asked if I was okay. I’d pushed aside everything I’d always believed in and made the move that would leave me vulnerable, and when he said no, I hadn’t been expecting it. I reminded myself that only someone without power could be left behind. I still felt left behind, though.