Hopeless Vows (27 page)

EACH DAY HAS
crawled by in a colorless blur. The cold, dead winter expresses my current state of mind. The bleakness of it rushes by my window as I travel down the road. There’s no joy, just harsh truths and bitter loneliness. The envelope still sits forgotten in my desk. Well, it’s not actually forgotten since I’m very aware of its presence every day I’m at work. But it’s out of sight and unsigned. I thought I’d hear from his attorney by now. Six weeks have gone by since I’ve been served and I’ve made no attempts to seek legal representation of my own, but I haven’t heard a word.

When the taxi stops, I pay the driver and get out. Looking up at the building, I take a deep breath and prepare myself for what is about to happen. Today is the reunion show. The day I’ve been anxious for and dreading all at the same time. In a few short minutes, I’ll see Austin, and I’m not sure what’s going to happen.

People move around me on the busy sidewalk, grumbling that I’m in the way, but I can’t move. My feet are glued to the concrete and refuse to go forward. I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but my mouth is too dry. After wiping the sweat off of my hands onto my pants, I shake them out. With a final blow of air, I steal my nerves and make my way inside and to my destination.

Once I’m to the production studio, my eyes search frantically for the one person I want to see most. My heart rate increases the longer it takes to locate him.

“Jillian,” a voice beside me says, startling me. “I’m Amy, and I’m one of the staffers. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to the waiting room.” She begins to walk and I follow her. “There are some snacks and refreshments available, so be sure to help yourself,” she says over her shoulder. Stopping in front of a door, she turns to look at me. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

Once she leaves my side, I stare at the door, a cluster of emotions running through me as I wonder if he’s on the other side. I guess there’s only one way to find out.

Walking in and shutting the door behind me, my eyes scan the room to see there’s only one other person in here.

Austin.

My breath catches and my heart stalls in my chest. He looks the same, yet different. He’s still devastatingly handsome, but looks harder, more tired. For the briefest of moments, I see his hard exterior slip. There’s a warm softness to his eyes, almost like he missed me too. It’s enough to make my knees buckle and jumpstart my empty heart again. But all too soon, it’s replaced by the same coldness as before. There’s no emotion, no light, just vacancy in his expression. My chest aches with his obvious dismissal when he turns away from me.

With heavy feet, I walk slowly toward the couch Austin is sitting on. “How are you?”
Really? Could I be any more awkward?
I mentally cringe with how stupid I sound.

“Fine,” he replies flatly, not looking at me.

“That’s good.” I rock on my heels and grasp for anything to say. “I don’t know if you knew, but I moved out, so you have the apartment all to yourself.” Part of me is hoping he came home and saw I was gone. If he came back, that might be a good sign.

“I know. Chloe told me.”

My back stiffens at the mention of her name. “Chloe? How would she know?” I do my best to hide my underlying resentment toward her, but I’m sure some of it seeps through anyway.

“She was the agent for the property so management informed her.” His explanation relaxes me just the slightest bit, but I’m still tense in his presence.

Knowing we can’t dance around our problems forever, I decide to get to the point. “Can we talk?” I ask hesitantly.

“What’s there to talk about?” he replies in a cold voice.

His response makes me angry, giving me the bravery to speak up that I didn’t have before. Is he serious right now? “Seriously? There’s a lot to talk about. You rip me a new ass after I get home, don’t give me a chance to respond, storm out, don’t talk to me for weeks, then serve me divorce papers. Why don’t you take your pick of issues we should discuss?” I cross my arms over my chest and wait for him to respond.

“I don’t want to discuss any of those issues with you because none of it matters.” His focus turns to me and the man looking at me is unrecognizable. He’s harsh, bitter, and mean. By the fire in his eyes, I know whatever he’s about to say is going to be purposefully malicious with the sole intent of causing damage. “You see,
Cassandra
, I don’t give a shit about you anymore. You’re nothing to me and I’m better off without you. I don’t need that kind of toxicity and scum in my life. The sooner we get done with this show, the better.”

His words cause me to back up, needing to put physical distance between me and his hate. It would’ve hurt less if he had punched me in the gut. My eyes burn with unshed tears as I stare at the man I once loved. A man who holds not an ounce of compassion for me in return. As a single tear runs down my cheek, I nod at him, feeling completely deflated.

“You’ve made your point then.” My voice quivers as I try my best to hold it together. “I’d appreciate it if you kept this between us. No one knows about my past and I’d like to keep it that way.”

He throws his head back and laughs. The sound sends chills up my spine. “Of course this is all about you, right? Keeping your secret and saving yourself the embarrassment. What about me?” He shouts the last part at me. I jump from the unexpected outburst.

“What do you want from me? I said I was sorry. I can’t change it!” I hold my arms out before letting them fall to my sides again.

He stands and walks to me until we’re face to face. “I want you to sign the damn papers.” Brushing past me, he runs into my shoulder, knocking me slightly off balance. “I want you out of my life,” he spits at me as he’s walking out the door.

I collapse in a heap onto the floor and cry. Within seconds, I’m hyperventilating and having a panic attack. Everything hits me at once. My chest is heavy and I can’t catch my breath. He hates me and wants nothing to do with me. We really are over and the finality of it is breaking me in two. My heart beats erratically and I start to sweat. Oh God, he might tell everyone the truth. Everyone will know I’m the product of drug addicted murderers. My panting becomes faster and louder and I can’t get any air into my lungs. I start seeing black spots and get dizzy. It feels like I’m dying.

Through the sounds of my gasps, I don’t realize someone is beside me until they touch my shoulder. Snapping my head to the side, I see Austin crouched down beside me. “Jesus,” he mutters. With drawn in eyebrows and wide eyes, worry mars his perfect face. He grabs one of my wrists and drapes it over his shoulder. Then he scoops me up by the back of my knees and lower back, cradling me in his arms.

I try to resist the urge to find comfort in his embrace, but it’s hard. His scent and warmth instantly soothes me, slowing my pounding heart and rapid breathing. He places me gently on the couch and sits down beside me. “Just breathe,” he says softly while rubbing my back. His words fan across my cheek and I focus on his words with my eyes closed. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.” He breathes in and out, allowing me to follow his rhythm and settle myself down. After several moments, I’ve calmed down enough where I’m not hyperventilating or feel like I’m suffocating.

“You okay now?” he asks.

I nod with my eyes downcast. I hate that he just witnessed my freak out. As if this situation couldn’t get any worse, now he probably thinks I’m completely unstable.

“Are you sure? Has that been happening a lot?” He reaches out to touch my arm, but I pull away.

“I appreciate your help, but you don’t have to pretend to care just because I’m having a hard time.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but the door opens and interrupts him. “We’re ready for you now,” Amy states. Without another glance at Austin, I get up and walk out of the room.

After cleaning myself up, I went on stage in front of the live audience to get this over with. The first few questions pertained to our time together while filming. It was really hard to watch clips from the show. We were happy and in love. There was so much chemistry and passion. You’d have to be blind not to see that. Now, we can hardly stand to sit on the same couch. I know everyone senses the tension. The doctors all gave us a sad smile when they realized we weren’t together anymore. They haven’t asked yet, but they don’t have to. It’s written all over our faces and in our stiff posture.

We come back from a commercial, and the host asks the one question I’ve been dreading. “So, tell us; are you still married, or did you get a divorce?”

“No, we’ve separated since the show ended,” I say past the lump in my throat. There’s a collective ‘awwww’ from the audience, adding salt to the wound.

“Why? What happened?”

I look over to Austin. It’s the first time since we’ve sat down on this stage. When he returns my gaze, I see it. The need to hurt and humiliate me. He wants to tell everyone. He wants to slice me open and bare my guilt ridden soul to the world. Well, fuck that. This is my secret, so if anyone is going to tell it, it’s going to be me.

Facing forward, I answer the question. “I lied about who I was.” I think I might puke. My stomach does somersaults as fear grips me with her talons and holds me tight. I can’t believe I’m about to do this.

“What do you mean?”

“I wasn’t honest. With him, with you, with the doctors, with anyone. My name’s not Jillian Taylor. Well, my name is legally Jillian now, but that’s not who I’ve always been. I was born Cassandra Rhodes.”

“Why did you change your name?” the host asks. Confusion is abundant in the room. No one knows what’s going on and there’s no way they’ll ever guess the truth.

“To run away from my past. You see, I had a really crappy childhood. My parents were both drug addicts. They’d disappear for days on benders, leaving me to take care of myself at a very young age. Most times I had nothing to eat, no clean clothes, nothing. I’d wait around for them to come home hoping they’d bring food. Except when they came home, I wanted them to leave because my dad would start hitting me.” The lack of emotion in my voice surprises even me. Right now, I’m numb to everything.

“They were gone for two days when they finally came home and my mother was covered in blood. They were freaking out about getting out of town quickly. We went on the run for a while, living out of their beat-up car, hanging out in crime-ridden neighborhoods so they could score another hit. I was left in the backseat as an afterthought. Then we’d run some more when they’d rob a store to pay for the drugs they were using.” I can still smell the tires burning on the asphalt as we peeled away after they stole money from a cashier.

“The cops eventually caught up to us and I was put into foster care until they located my grandmother. They were arrested and charged with second degree murder. They killed Kevin James, Sarah James, and Christine James in a burglary gone wrong. They were convicted and got life in prison without parole.”

Everyone’s mouths and eyes are wide open. My eyes fill with tears, but I blink them away. There, now everyone knows.

“Are you saying your parents were responsible for the deaths of Austin’s family?”

Didn’t I just spell that out?
My only response is to nod.

There’s a long pause where no one knows what to say. Even the doctors, the ones who are trained to deal with shit like this, are silent. “Did you know Austin was their son?” Again, I nod. “How?”

I take in a deep breath and let it out. “When I turned eighteen, I moved and changed my name. I essentially destroyed Cassandra Rhodes, which was easy to do considering no one really cared about me. But I became obsessed with what my parents did. I looked up every little detail I could find. I wanted to know why and how it impacted the rest of the family. I saw they had a surviving son who wasn’t home when it all occurred, so I searched for him. I wanted to know if he was okay. I needed to see he was able to have a good life despite my parents destroying it,” I choke out. I remember feeling relieved any time I’d see a picture of him smiling.

“How did you find out?” he directs his question to Austin.

“It doesn’t matter,” I answer for him. “What’s done is done.”