I could picture it so clearly. And then my arms started feeling … lonely. As if I was just waiting for something to fill them. For a baby to be rocked in them. I’ve never felt such a sharp stab of longing before in my life. So, we started trying. I was so excited at first, so hopeful. It was flirty and fun, and Keaton was so thrilled he could burst at the seams. But … it’s been eight months. And I just keep getting my period or peeing on these fucking sticks and being told by a piece of plastic that my womb is hopelessly empty.”
She breaks down into heart-wrenching sobs, and I herd her into my arms. I hold my friend as the sadness wracks her body, and I grieve for her. I can’t imagine what it’s like to not be able to get pregnant, when all of your hope is riding on this tiny window of a miracle.
It’s at this moment that I realize … the happy ending doesn’t mean a person’s world lives on enchantedly ever after. The wrapped-up-in-a-bow ending isn’t a cure-all for misfortune and struggle.
Here I was, idolizing and envying Presley because she got the man and all she ever wanted. I thought that the Nash brothers and their wives were all just blissfully, annoyingly happy at all times. But, that wasn’t the truth. Everyone had problems, even the ones who found their soul mates and perfect careers.
It makes me both resolved and upset. I’ve been trying so hard to fix everything I thought was wrong with myself, contend with the demons inside me to expel them from my mind and heart. So that I could feel nothing but sheer certainty when it came to being with Fletcher. So that I didn’t regret breaking my promise or leaving the life I’d worked so hard for behind.
Finding Presley like this? It makes me realize that I don’t have to be perfect to be loved. But it also makes me terrified that when I finally do give myself to the person I’m truly meant to be with, it won’t be enough.
How can life throw terrible things your way when you finally find the happy ending?
That niggle of doubt that creeps into my heart is dangerous. It festers, infecting the love that’s sprouted there even before I know it’s wreaking havoc.
33
Fletcher
Scrape.
“Fuck.” A giggle.
Bang.
“Oh, shit …” Another giggle.
I rise from my position on the couch, where I’d been lounging, watching baseball, and walk to the front door of the apartment. When I unlock it and pull it open, a drunk Ryan is standing on the other side.
“Hey, babe.” She hiccups, which makes her giggle again.
Her lipstick is smudged, and she’s removed her heels on the short walk home from the Goat, and she looks so adorably silly right now that I want to carry her to the bedroom.
Problem is, she smells like a bottle of tequila, and immediately my hackles rise.
“Hi, beautiful. Have fun tonight?” I try to keep my voice light with amusement.
She stumbles into the apartment, throwing her bag and shoes on the ground and then unbuttoning her jeans, because why not.
“Oh, gosh, yes. I love girl’s night. Don’t you love girl’s night? Just a bunch of bitches gathering around to gossip. And drink. And talk about men. And drink.”
“Yeah, you mentioned that.” I can’t help but chuckle as she moseys through our home, throwing her clothes haphazardly as she undresses.
“Come, sit down, while I regale you.” Ryan tries to throw a sexy look my way, but almost trips over her own two feet.
I should keep my distance, but she’s allowed to get drunk with her friends. It’s not her problem that I can’t control the urge inside me. So I sit on the bed, watching as she takes out her big hoop earrings.
Before I know what’s happening, though, Ryan is crawling up the bed toward me.
She straddles my lap, and instantly, my cock is straining to be inside her. How the hell does she do this to me? I’ve had plenty of experience, not much that I remember but I do, but no one compares to the speed in which Ryan can get me hot and bothered.
It could also be the fact that I was celibate for five damn years, but we don’t need to mention that now.
I can smell the booze on her breath, and I know that if she kisses me, I’ll be able to taste the bitter fire of a margarita on