Lost in You (38 page)

I think that the worst discovery was that we only lived ten blocks fr
om each other. I’ve jogged down her street many times and never once knew she was there. I climb the steps and meet the doorman. For the most part, her building is fairly secure. For the first few weeks, I had to show my ID to the doorman and the desk clerk before they’d even call her and let her know I was down there. Now they know me by name.

I ring her doorbell and wait. My nerves are starting to get the best of me. She doesn’t know I’m coming. This is a surprise. When the door swings open I’m greeted wi
th the most breathtaking smile I could ever hope for.

I kiss her, pulling her to me, smashing the flowers in between us. I know I’m making the right decision.

“What are you doing here?”

“I had to see you.”

I shut the door behind me and lock it, handing her the flowers in the process. She brings them to her nose and takes a deep breath. Her eyes close as she inhales the fragrance. I could watch her all day and I’d learn so much about her.

She follows me into the living room and sits next to me. I kiss her
again and again, thanking my lucky stars that I have her back in my life.

I clear my throat and pull her hand into mine.

“I was asked once to close my eyes and imagine I’m dancing. Play the song in my head and feel the person pressed against my body. Look at the person I'm holding and I'd know who my soul mate is.” I reach into my pocket and pull out the black velvet box I bought three days after I saw her. Getting down on one knee, I kiss the inside of her wrist.

Her
hand goes to her mouth to stifle her gasp. I can’t help but smile. I know this is right.

“Ryan,” she whispers.

“When I close my eyes, I see you. I’ve seen you since I was eighteen years old. I knew you were the one for me. If you would’ve asked me months ago if it was possible for me to find my soul mate, my answer would’ve been no. But you walked back into my life and I’m not willing to take any chances.

“I know our lifestyles are different and our jobs are crazy, but I can’t see myself with anyone else
but you. I don’t want anyone else and I know you were in that bar for a reason.”

“Will you marry me, Hadley?”

“On one condition,” she says.

“What’s that?”

“That we get married right away.”

“Why the rush?”
I ask as I slip the ring on her finger.

She picks u
p my hand and kisses it and then kisses my lips. “I don’t want to live another day without being your wife.”

I move over her, pushing her gently onto the couch. I hover above her, looking into her eyes and I know she’s sincere.

“I love you, Ryan. I always have.”

“You didn’t say yes.”

“What?” she laughs lightly.

“You didn’t say yes. I asked you to marry me and you didn’t say yes.”

“Oh—”

“Will you marry me, Hadley Carter?”

“Yes, yes I will, but only if I can ask you something in return.”

“You don’t like you
r ring?” I sit back on my knees and look at her. I love her ring. The moment I saw it, I knew it was for her. That’s how I knew I was making the right decision.

“What? No, I love my ring.” She sits up and runs her hands up my chest. “Will you move in here
?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” I say as my lips come crashing down on hers.

Finally, my life is playing out like I planned all those years ago. I know things happened for a reason, but not knowing why is probably the hardest part. In the years I was away from Hadley, I grew as a person. I wasn’t cynical or a hard-ass. I worked hard in college and at my job, paving the way for my future. I took care of Dylan as promised and even tried my hand at love once or twice, but nothing felt right until that night in the bar when I saw her standing there – and I knew. I felt it in my bones that if I didn’t keep her, I’d never find the happiness I felt when I knew her the first time because, without a doubt, she and I are meant to be together.

By Debut Author

Jennifer Miller

Chapter One

“Fashion tip: Stilettos are great when paired with a great pair of jeans skirt, or dress.  Not only do they make your legs look
longer and give your calves a great work out but they have the added bonus of coming in handy should you need to give a cheating husband a kick in the crotch!”

I blink hard and try to bring the papers in front of me into focus.  I’m almost done.  I just need to sign a few more of these freaking legal documents and then I can put this ridiculous mistake of a marriage behind me.  When I met Deacon, I was a sophomore in college. I was vulnerable, and looking for an escape from the boring student I had become.  Deacon offered me just the release I craved.  The endless parties, tapped kegs, promises of hot sex, and occasionally other experimentation that I choose to forget, made getting involved with him a no-brainer.  Add a side of studying and managing a fashion blog that took on a life of its own and you have my college life and relationship with Deacon in a nutshell. 

My heart aches; anguish now courses through my veins just as steadily as blood.  I’m really not sure at this point how or why I am still feeli
ng pain.  If I’m honest with myself, I can’t really be surprised my marriage has ended this way.  I mean, I got married in Vegas for god sakes; at a drive up chapel after a drunken late night proposal that I can barely remember.  Spring Break during our senior year, a bunch of us had the brilliant idea to spend the week in Vegas.  One night during our stay we did the traditional walk up and down the strip drinking the whole way.  I vaguely remember Deacon making a production on the sidewalk, getting down on one knee and asking me to marry him, a rose he had bought from a street vendor in hand.  Amongst the hoots and hollers of our friends, I impulsively accepted and we flagged down a taxi cab to take us to the closest chapel. 

This bizarre wedding was only
the beginning of what ended up being a marriage full of questions and contradictions.  I spent years wondering what I had gotten myself into and questioning why I stayed as long as I did.  So the question remains, why then am I still struggling?  I’ve cried until I heaved from it over and over again and had nothing left.  I’ve been so angry, that it felt like my insides were burning, and I was sure I was going to combust from the intensity of my fury.  How my heart can still ache at a loss that frankly has been coming for a while, is unfathomable to me. 

I stare again at the papers, and while the whole document is in the same font, the words
Dissolution of Marriage
seem to be screaming at me, taunting me with their meaning. 

Dissolution of Marriage.

Divorced at twenty – five.

Single and just another statistic to add to the divorce rate.
   

Admitting I never thought this would happen to me is a gigantic understatement.  My life wasn’t supposed to go this way.  At one time I had a plan, a dream, but little b
y little it all fell apart. 

I briefly close my eyes and see myself on my wedding day, well what I remember of it anyway.  Wearing my favorite designer jeans and Madonna t-shirt, giggling, with a cocktail in my hand; and while it may have been a crazy and
an impulsive thing to do, I was actually elated and excited.  When I woke up the next morning and realized what I had done, I knew things would never be the same. I had a brief sense of uncertainty and I wondered how I could have been so impulsive to make such a huge, life-altering decision but at the same time all I could see was the life I had always envisioned, more exciting and fuller because instead of just me… there would be an
us
.  I wouldn’t have to be alone, vulnerable and looking for an escape again.  Maybe I could even resurrect the real me and get my life back on track.  I would have a husband that would support me no matter what.  Right?  Any and all naysayers be damned, my life was about to start, and I would prove them all wrong.  The world was mine!  What a fool I was.

Now, just four years after saying I do, I realize my life is nothing but a horrible cliché.  I remember the day it all came crashing down and the reality of what my marriage had become was laid out before me, refusing to be ign
ored. 

With the eagerness of a child returning home after their long anticipated first day of school, delighted to have gotten off of work early and excited to see my husband, I exited the car.  Bottle of wine in my hand and a sack of just-purchased groce
ries in the other arm, I intended on making Deacon a pasta dinner by candlelight.  I opened the door and walked into our apartment, immediately overcome with the stench of pot.  As I walked to the kitchen and placed my packages on the counter, I saw a trail of clothing leading to the closed door of my bedroom.  I froze.  Doom and dread instantly ran through my body and I felt a burning from my neck to the top of my head making me feel dizzy; sick.  I knew without a doubt what I was going to find.  I slowly started walking into my bedroom…

“Olivia...? Olivia?”

Blinking quickly and shaking my head trying to rid myself of the awful picture in my mind I look up at my attorney and attempt a smile.  “I’m sorry, Clive.  My mind wandered.  You were saying?”

“That’s
okay, Olivia.  I was just asking if you got everything signed?  I am going to have my assistant make you a copy of the documents for your records.”

Clive, whom I’m guessing is in his early 60s, has a pot belly, receding hair line and rather large ears.  Hi
s kind and gentle personality never made me uncomfortable or feel stupid during this entire nightmare of a process.  Once, during our conversation, he divulged he’s been happily married for 30 years and has three grown children.  I imagine seeing the ugly side of marriages and divorces up-close and personal has made him realize how lucky he is.  I never doubted for a second that he would get my divorce done quickly and accurately. 

“Thanks, Clive. That would be great.”  I tell him as I hand him the documen
ts I’ve signed for copying.   

Clive leaves his office and I’m left there with nothing but my thoughts once again.  My mind flashes back to my apartment six months ago. 

I picked up the articles of clothing littering my apartment floor as I walked closer to my bedroom --- a man’s shirt with buttons missing, with lipstick in a shade I don’t wear, on the collar. A woman’s shirt in a very pale yellow, a color I didn’t own.  Given my skin tone, it would wash me out; my complexion is too pale to pull off such colors.  Dark haired women like me should stick to bold colors. 

I took a couple more steps and picked up an orange bra that must be a double D, two sizes bigger than I wear and in a color I did not possess.
An orange bra under a pale yellow shirt?  Really?

I tentatively, but steadily moved closer to the door and I heard the moans coming from the other side of the door.  Apparently they were much too involved… the sound of my arrival did not even phase their
sexcapade in the slightest. 

Opening my bedroom
door, I saw more clothes trailing up to my bed, an empty wine bottle on the side table and all I could think is that it’s three o’clock in the afternoon, a bit early for wine.  It took my mind a few moments to catch up before I fully comprehended the scene in front of me.  A naked thin-bodied, extremely large busted peroxide blonde woman was in my bed, in our bed, riding the shit out of my husband.  His head thrown back in apparent ecstasy, his eyes rolled back in his head.  The bitch was fiercely slapping her body up and down against his.  They had no idea I was standing there.  None.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”
I screamed dropping the clothing I was somehow still holding in my hands to the floor. 

I stared, completely dumbfounded. 

Deacon practically threw the whore off the top of him in reaction to my scream and she went tumbling off the side of the bed. 

Our bed.

Our desecrated bed.
 

Deacon yelled, “Oh my God!  Olivia!” 

“That’s right you asshole!  It’s Olivia, your wife!”  Before I even knew what I was doing I stalked over to the side of the bed where I saw the blonde bitch fall and dragged her up by her hair and bitch slapped her across the face.  Deacon was standing there staring at me with his mouth open, eyes wide and a horror-shocked expression on his face.  Before he could even comprehend what I was about to do I kicked him in the freaking balls as hard as I could. 

“You bastard!”
I shouted “How could you?” 

With fury coursing through my veins I was shocked at my reaction.  I’m not a violent person,
had never hit anyone in my life.  I was completely taken over by absolute disbelief and rage at what I was seeing.  In an instant, literally the span of three minutes, my life had completely changed.  I was filled with absolute agony.  I didn’t deserve this.