It's Holy Matrimony, Baby_The Casey Brothers Series Page 21

  “The curse is a bunch of baloney,” I say. After copious therapy sessions and hours of talking about the curse this is the first time I can say that and not have the familiar buzz of doubt that makes me want to knock on the wooden underside of the countertop. Whether any of it was ever real, or whether it was fiction, when I’d died I’d grabbed onto it as a way to explain how I could have ended up in that situation. But there was no rhyme or reason. I can see that now.

  “Did you learn that in therapy?” Dash asks, lifting an envelope out of the pile and dropping it in front of me.

  “Yes. And that it’s okay to grieve over your own death, even if you get a second chance at life.”

  “That’s good, right?”

  “I guess. It doesn’t make me feel any better though. I can’t stop loving Nox just because I chose to leave. I can’t stop thinking that I made the biggest mistake of my life, and I can’t fix it. I still don’t know what to do with this form.” I shrug as I pick up the envelope Dash dropped in front of me.

  My heart trips as I read my name on the front. I’d know Nox’s handwriting anywhere. Especially since I’ve spent day after day staring at it. I slide my fingernail into the gap and along the edge, tearing it. Pulling out the thick wad of paper inside, I lay it in front of me. It’s a sales contract for the land Casey Records is on to the development company that was building the mall across the road. Lena’s name is on the form as purchaser for the company. My name is under Nox’s as the seller. But it isn’t mine. And he shouldn’t be selling it. “Not to her.”

  “What’s going on?” Dash asks.

  “I have to call Liv.” Jumping off my stool, I search between the couch cushions for my phone. Liv doesn’t know how to make small deals. Even when we were in preschool, playing in the sandlot she used to go all in. Every head in her Barbie collection if Tucker Smith would run up and smack the teacher on the butt. Hell yeah. Her brand-new Mary Janes in the limited-edition blueberry color if Kara Calloway would swallow the class’s pet gold fish. Absolutely. So there’s no way she didn’t offer Nox something decent. At least enough that he shouldn’t need to sell the studio.

  “What did you offer him, Liv?” I ask as soon as she picks up. Snatching the contract from the counter I flip through it.

  “Nice to talk to you too. It’s been a month. You haven’t responded to any of my calls.”

  “I texted. And...” I take a deep breath “...I was in therapy every time you called. Working on my issues.”

  “Really?” There’s the hint of hope in her voice.

  “You were right,” I admit. “About some of it. I didn’t want to feel anything. I was scared and it got the better of me.”

  “I’m so proud of you,” Liv coos.

  “We should catch up and talk. Sort through what happened. I miss you.” I get to the last page of the contract and there’s a check stapled to the paper.

  “I’d like that,” she says. “I’m still in Reverence at the moment though. For a couple more weeks.”

  “Seven hundred thousand dollars, Liv?” I can barely breathe as I study the check. Nox has crossed out his name, putting mine and initialling the change. At the bottom is Liv’s signature.

  “What?”

  “He sent me the check. The one you made out to him. Did you really offer him seven hundred thousand dollars to stay married to me?”

  “Actually it was five hundred cash and whatever it cost to pay the mortgage on the studio, but that’s correct. He’s sent you the whole check?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, I guess, considering the state of the studio he’s decided to go in a different direction. Or he just doesn’t care about the money at all.”

  “Or maybe...” Maybe he doesn’t want anything to do with our time together. I drop onto the sofa. “How is he? Do you know?”

  “I haven’t seen him,” she says. “But I can ask Jack. I can find out.”

  “N-no. That’s okay.” I don’t know what I would do with the information anyway.

  “Okay. Well, I have to go, but I can’t wait to see you.”

  “Miss you.” I say, and she hangs up. I flip through the contract again. I don’t know how my name ended up on this document. It has to be a mistake. I don’t have any right to the studio or anything that belongs to him.

  Getting up, I take it back to the counter and place it next to the divorce papers. Now I have two documents to sign. Only this one is an easy decision. I pick up the pen and scrawl my signature in all the places that are marked. Then I check the envelope to see if there’s an extra enclosed for me to send it back in. There’s a small piece of lined paper inside, like the one my therapist uses. I pull it out. It’s torn along the edge and folded in the middle. My hands shake as I open it.

  I never told you why I called you Angel, did I?

  Never explained that marrying you kept Lena from getting the property in the first place. Not that I had a fucking clue about that until after you disappeared. You see, Dad didn’t want to make it easy for me to sell it so as soon we married you inherited half the property.

  You might find that funny now, considering the sales contract. You might think that you shouldn’t sign. But the thing is, while we were together I worked out what I was really supposed to hold onto, and it isn’t that damn building. So I’m letting Lena have it, and Dean and I are working on a new plan.

  I just wish I could have held onto you. I let you down, and I’m sorry for that. The deal Liv offered me, the money you told her to give me despite what happened between us, I don’t want it. It means nothing to me now.

  Take care of yourself, Angel.

  Nox

  The paper crumples in my hands as I drop them to my lap. You would think after four weeks I would have gotten this crying bullshit in hand, but no. I wipe my face with my sleeve. God, I miss him. More than I ever thought possible.

  “Why don’t you just go back?” Dash sips his coffee, leaning his elbows on the Formica. “Go see him.”

  “What if he doesn’t want to see me?”

  “Show me the note?” Dash holds out his hand and waits for me to hand it over. He scans the page with the same speed he scans a computer monitor full of code. “There’s nothing here that says he doesn’t want to see you. Maybe he doesn’t know what to say either.”

  “Maybe.” I glance at my phone as a reminder for my appointment with Doctor Ross shows up as a text message. “I better get ready. I have a meeting with my therapist.”

  “Today I’d like to talk about what’s happening with your divorce,” Doctor Ross says, pouring coffee into handleless mugs that sit on matching white saucers before gesturing at the plate of chocolate chip cookies. “Do you feel up to that?”

  It isn’t the first time we’ve broached the fact that I can’t bring myself to sign the papers. Even though Nox finally did at my insistence. Normally when she asks me whether I’ve come to a decision I dissolve into a hot mess that can’t manage a word that doesn’t sound like bubbles of saliva popping.

  I glance out the window behind me. It’s the same street I’ve seen for the past four weeks, and every single time I wish for oranges. I guess I ran as far and as fast as I could, but I never truly left. Part of my soul is still in Reverence with Nox. It always will be. “I can’t sign them.”

  “Perhaps if you did, you would find some closure,” she suggests. “Sometimes we want to hold onto the past because it’s easier than facing what’s ahead of us. With Nox you had some certainty of what was coming, or at the very least you believed you did. It must be hard to let that go when you’re not sure what will happen next. But you’re making great progress, Beckett. You’re strong enough to handle life on your own.”

  “No. It’s not that.” I reach for my handbag and plunk it on my lap so that I can rifle through it, looking for the note Nox sent me. I pull out my makeup case, packets of tissues, tampons, loose tubes of chapstick; strawberry, cherry, and watermelon flavors. A notepad. My phone. Car keys and a spare pa
ir of panties. It’s in here somewhere. Oh God, please tell me I haven’t lost it. What if those are the last words I ever have from him?

  “Are you okay, Beckett?” she asks.

  “Yes. Just give me one more second.” I drop my wallet and a bunch of receipts on top of the small pile on the table. Grope around the inside of my bag until my fingers find something hard like a pebble only... not a pebble. A square rock connected to a slim circular band. My heart starts to race as I grip the ring through the satin. The one I was so certain I lost and would never find again. “No way. Just no freaking way.”

  “Beckett?”

  Doctor Ross is staring at me as if I’m about to have a meltdown. I suppose it wouldn’t be the first time, so she has ample reason to assume that might be the case. “Do you have scissors?”

  She looks startled by my question. Although I’m a little shocked at that considering she helps people who aren’t in particularly good places mentally.

  “I just need to cut my bag.” I tip it in her direction. “My wedding ring is stuck under the lining.”

  “I think I have some.” She gets up, smoothing her hands down her skirt and moving toward the desk behind her. She opens a drawer and finds a pair of manicure scissors that she hands to me.

  “Thank you.” I nick a hole in the thin material and cut away until it’s big enough to free the ring. After handing her back the scissors, I slide the ring onto my finger. Feels like an age since the first time I saw it there. Like the entire world shifted on its axis during that time. I was so certain of who I was and what I wanted from my life. Now, I can see that that girl was scared and broken and grieving. Dealing in the only way she knew how. I want to wrap my arms around her and tell her that everything will be all right. She’ll find a good man who will tear down her walls and make her feel again. And then she’ll find her way through her trauma and her grief.

  “Did you find what you were looking for?” she asks as she takes her seat again.

  “Um.” I can’t rip my gaze away from my wedding band long enough to look for the note. Nox never wanted to sign the papers. He never wanted to let me go. But I forced him to. If I went home would he forgive me for not being strong enough to stay in the first place? Would he want me? I can’t be certain. I have no idea what my future holds if I go back and put my heart on the line. There might not be anything left to go back to. But I have to. The unknown might be terrifying, but not following my heart right now would be worse. If there’s any chance. “I have to go.”

  “We’ve still got forty minutes, Beckett. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to stay and finish your session?”

  “I’m sorry.” I start dumping the debris on the table back into my bag. “I have to see him. I have to find out if there’s any chance of saving my marriage.”

  “Are you sure you’re ready for that? We’ve made great strides, but—”

  “Remember when you told me that emotions can be both a driving force for good and for bad?” I stand up and hoist my bag onto my shoulder. “I ran because I couldn’t bear the idea of someone I love getting hurt. I couldn’t bear the idea of having to live with that pain. But every day I’m here, every moment I spend without him, I feel that pain anyway. I’m grieving him when I should be loving him. If he’ll have me again.”

  “What if he won’t?” she asks.

  One thing that therapy hasn’t had an effect on is my ability to be dramatic. I take a deep breath and drop back onto the couch. We spend the rest of the session talking over coping strategies that I might need, and the setbacks that I might go through if Nox turns me away. It could be like losing him all over again. But I have to see him. I can’t sign those papers if there’s any chance we could make this marriage work.

  “There’s a counsellor out that way if my memory serves.” Doctor Ross taps her pen against her bottom lip. “I met him at a conference a few years back. He’s a bit gruff.” She leaves her chair to go to her desk. Taps a few buttons on her computer and grabs a yellow sticky note to write on. “He’s very good though. You might consider looking him up if you stay. Or perhaps if you and Nox decide to reconcile. Couples counselling could be beneficial.”

  “Thank you.” I cross the room to meet her near the door to her office. “I’ll look him up when I get there.”

  “I really think you should.” She hands me the sticky note and squeezes my arm. “You’ve made great progress, Beckett, but I’d like to see you make more.”

  Before I drop the note into my bag I glimpse at what she’s written on it. “Doctor Finn Casey?”

  “Yes. If you decide to see him I can send him my notes.”

  “Thanks.” I smile as I walk out the door. Can’t imagine Nox would be too pleased at the idea of his brother being my counsellor. That’s if Nox is pleased to see me at all. But at least I know who to ask for a recommendation when I get there.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Love never runs smooth

  Marriage is hard

  But I’d rather be with you

  Than without you

  NOX

  Sitting on the bed, I crumple Beck’s tank top up in my hands. Found the soft pink cotton top under the bed while I was searching for my box of guitar picks. It still carries her scent though she’s been gone a month. I want to bury my nose in the material and get lost in memories of her... of us. Holding her. Laughing with her. Taking her in our bed night after night. I slide it through my palms and dangle it from my fingers.

  God, I miss her. And Hollander. Never saw anything quite like the attachment those two formed. Cradling my head in my hand, I rub the bridge of my nose. Have to work out how to let go. Move on. Like I’m doing with the rest of my life. At least that part is coming to me easily. I couldn’t see how little bricks and mortar mean in the scheme of things. But the fire—a result of old, faulty wiring—hasn’t destroyed me. If anything it gave me a chance to do something better, though I still do need her signature to finish the sale of the studio.

  Couldn’t help myself when I sent the contract. Had to write to her too. Was a fucking hard thing to do when all I wanted was to plead with her to come home. But she might not be my wife anymore, although I haven’t received anything saying our marriage is officially over. I want to find hope in that. But she was so adamant that was what she wanted. So scared of getting hurt. So it has to be coming, doesn’t it? If I thought there was any chance of her changing her mind I’d have gone to see her. Reasoned with her. Begged her. I let her down at a time when she couldn’t afford to have doubts about me. I gave in when she needed me to be stronger than her fears.

  Climbing to my feet, I drop the tank top in the hamper. Can’t quite throw it in the trash. In case she wants it. She doesn’t. She’s not coming back. She’s never coming back.

  I pick up my acoustic as I go into the living room. Rain is beating against the windowpanes, partly obscuring the valley below. The change of weather came out of nowhere, and it’s the only reason I swapped my woodworking tools for my guitar this afternoon. I drop onto the couch and run my fingers over the strings. Start to weave chords together.

  A soft tapping comes from outside. It’s louder than the rain, but not by much. Putting my guitar down, I get up and go and open the back door. My heart stalls in my chest. The pulse in my jaw fills my throat.

  Not sure I’ve ever seen such a sorry sight. Beck stands on the steps, drenched from head to toe. Her hair hangs in straggly tresses, the ends beading with water that drips onto her shoulders. She’s lost weight. Her thin cotton top is almost transparent, her shorts glued to her thighs. And her gaze is full of uncertainty. And if I’m being honest, if there was ever going to be a time I believed in her crazy curse then it would be now. Of course she would show up and it would rain for the first time since she left.

  I fill the door, gripping the frame. Push down the desire to reach out and grab her. Fight the need to fall on my knees and wrap my arms around her waist and not let go. That’s what I should have done instead o
f signing the papers. Is that what she’s come here to tell me? “What are you doing here?”

  “I...” She swallows hard. “I don’t know where to start.”

  I step onto the porch, the wood damp under my bare feet, and shove both hands in my pockets. Otherwise I’m going to touch her. And I’m not sure that would be good for either of us right now. “We’ve all got to start somewhere.”

  “Right.” She wipes the rain out of her eyes with her wrist and then reaches into her bag to extract the thick wad of papers I sent to her. “I got the contract. Your note.”

  “You didn’t have to deliver them yourself.”

  “No, I know.” She looks around her as though she’s grappling with her thoughts. “I’ve been seeing a therapist.”

  That is one of the last things I expected to hear her say. “Is that so?”

  “Yes.” She drops the contract back into her bag. “I thought when I left that I would be able to put this behind me. You behind me. If I could just remove myself from the equation then everything would be okay. You could move on and I could go back to the way I was before I met you. The curse wouldn’t cause any more damage. I was convinced we would be better off that way.”

  “But?” I’m standing right in front of her now. Fat drops are falling from the edge of the roof onto my shoulders, but the rain is easing up.

  “I couldn’t sign the application for divorce. And I couldn’t turn off my feelings. So I started seeing a counselor. She helped me realize that I never dealt with what happened. With the accident. When my heart stopped. Instead I locked down on everything that could make me feel. I obsessed over the curse story my mother and grandmother told me as though that could explain why I almost didn’t survive. Used it as an excuse to keep myself safe. And I would have glided right through my life like that if it hadn’t been for you.” She inhales. “You made me feel things I didn’t want to. You made me face my fears. You made me fall in love with you.”