The only person who is going to hear those words is Evie.
Mick blows out a breath. “Look, I don’t know where she is. All I do know is, she’s been coming home late from work every day this week. Usually, with sand all over her shoes.”
He gives me a look, and I instantly know where she is.
“Thank you,” I tell him in earnest.
Then, I’m running through the building to the exit. My cell pressed to my ear, I call Max. “Where are you?”
“Still outside. Figured I’d wait for ten in case she kicked your ass out.”
“You’re the best fucking friend ever. I ever tell you that?” I say as I burst out the exit, seeing his car still parked there.
“You have but not enough. I could do with hearing it a little more often.”
“Needy bastard.” I laugh before hanging up my cell.
I open the car door and climb inside.
“Where are we going?” Max asks, putting the car in drive.
“Malibu.”
This is corny as fuck, and I’ll probably get hassle from the neighbors for the noise, but Max was onto something with the song thing.
From the moment we got together, Evie and I were always living on a prayer. It was the right song for us back then, and it’s the right song for us now. Only, we aren’t living on a prayer anymore. And we will make it this time.
Okay, that was weak as shit. But it’s the best I’ve got right now.
I can see Evie sitting up on her rock, her arms wrapped around her legs, her chin resting on her knees, as she stares out at the ocean.
I knew she’d be here. This was our place. It’s still our place.
I set my docking station up, sitting it on the patio railing. I skip through to our song, turn the speakers up loud, and press Play.
The intro starts quietly, and then it’s quickly blasting out.
I see the moment she hears the song because her whole body stiffens. Then, very slowly, she looks over her shoulder in my direction.
I’m already moving across the sand, toward her, my heart beating like a motherfucker.
Her eyes are locked on me as I close the gap between us, but she doesn’t move.
When I reach Evie, her eyes finally leave me, flickering to the beach house and then coming straight back to me. She looks unsure. And she’s been crying. I can see the red around her eyes now.
And in this moment, I promise myself that she will never look this way again, not because of me.
“I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I thought you came to the beach house only on weekends. I’ll go.”
She starts to get up, but I stop her.
“No. Stay there.” I climb up the rock until I’m sitting in front of her.
She’s so fucking beautiful. Even sad, she’s beautiful.
“You haven’t come up here to push me off, have you?” She gives a half-smile.
I know she’s trying to make light of the situation, but I can hear the nerves in her voice. I know she’s scared. I am too. I’m fucking terrified.
“No. I talked to my divorce lawyer. But that’s not why I came. I was already on my way to see you.”
“Okay. But let me say something first, Adam. Well, give you something. I was going to send it with the papers, but I changed my mind, decided to leave it at the beach house for you. Well, put it in the mailbox for you.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a sheet of paper. It’s folded, frayed on the edges. “The night I left, I was working on this. I never had a chance to finish it because Ava turned up…but I’ve kept it all these years. I’ve been coming here the last few days to finish it off. I always draw better here. And I’ve finished it now, and I wanted to give it to you.”
I take the paper from her hand and open it up.
It’s a drawing of me, standing by a car.
“It was from that night, the night I left. I was always sketching pictures of you. You know that. And I don’t know why…just that night, the image of you standing by that taxi stuck in my head, and I wanted to capture it. Almost like…like I knew I would never see you again.” She blows out a breath, her lip trembling. “And I just…I want you to know, that night I left, I was thinking about you. I was always thinking about you. For the last ten years, you are all I’ve thought about.”
Tears sting my eyes and burn down the back of my throat. Swallowing, I rest the drawing safely in my lap and then look up, meeting her eyes with determination in my own.
“I’m not signing the divorce papers that you sent to my lawyer, Evie. I’m not signing them because I still love you. I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you sitting up here, and I’ve loved you all the time in between. Every second of every minute of every day for the last eleven years, I have loved you. And I forgive you for not telling me the truth. I understand why you didn’t. Now, I need you to forgive me, too.”
“You’ve done nothing wrong,” she whispers.
A tear runs down her cheek. I catch it falling, taking her face in my hand. I feel her body tremble under my touch.
“Ten years ago I failed you. I didn’t protect you from Ava. I should have. I know how fucking sick and twisted she is. I should have seen it coming, that she wouldn’t just roll over and accept me leaving the studio after we got married. That she would go after you. In the back of my mind, I always thought that maybe she had something to do with you leaving, but I didn’t push hard enough to find out the truth. I’m sorry for that. And…” I hang my head in shame, and my hand drops from her face, feeling like I don’t deserve to touch her in this moment. “I’m so sorry that I was cruel to you the other day when you told me the truth. The things I said…the harsh, horrible things…I didn’t even mean them.”
I feel her hand touch my hair, her fingers running through the strands. It soothes me. Mends the broken parts in me.
Then, her hand moves down my face as I lift my eyes back to hers.
I see her eyes shining with tears. But they don’t look like tears of sadness. I see only happiness in them.
“I love you,” she says. “I don’t care about anything else. The past, the things we’ve said or done to hurt one another—none of it matters now because you’re here. And I love you so very much.”
“God, I love you.” I grab her face in my hands, and I kiss her.
Then, she’s kissing me back.
Our song is still playing in the background, and nothing has ever felt sweeter.
Breaking away from her lips, panting, I press my forehead to hers. “Just promise me one thing.”
“Anything.”
“Don’t ever fucking leave me again.”
“Never,” she promises. “I will never leave you again.”
Today is what would have been our eleventh wedding anniversary. I say would have been because Adam and I are divorced.
Don’t panic. It’s not a bad thing. It’s a good thing, a really good thing.
Getting divorced was our beginning again. And we needed a new beginning.
We were apart for so long that we needed to go back to the start.
Our marriage, in a lot of ways, was the end for us.
We needed new.
Getting divorced and finding us again were new—but Adam has told me in no uncertain terms that I will be Mrs. Gunner again one day.
And honestly, I can’t wait for that day.
But for now, I’m happy. We’re happy.
In the beginning of us starting again, we just dated. We got to know each other again, and it was fun. It’s still fun.
We deserved fun after everything we’d been through.