Slow Burn

by Alexis Adaire

  “Normally when a man proposes, the woman accepts if she wants to marry him.”

  “Don’t be glib, Ty.”

  He looks at me expectantly. The other diners have politely turned away from the obviously tense discussion. I try to gather my wits.

  “Is there anything at all you think you should tell me?” I ask.

  “I should tell you that I’ll be crushed if you don’t accept my proposal.”

  “You’re hiding something from me.”

  He looks baffled.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know very well what I’m talking about,” I say, frustrated that he won’t just come clean about it. “Your past, Ty.”

  “What about my past?” his voice is tinged with defensiveness.

  “There’s nothing important you think I need to know before I agree to marry you?”

  “Jess, you’re being vague and mysterious, and I don’t think I deserve it, in all honesty.” His arm is still wrapped around my shoulders.

  “Honesty? Honesty, Ty?”

  It sounds snarky, but godammit, I want answers, and this man knows very well what I’m referring to.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Now he’s getting angry. I look at him, tears still streaming down my face. It’s not anger; he’s hurt. Maybe embarrassed, too, and confused, but mostly hurt. I’m sure he assumed I’d love the idea of marrying him.

  And I do—but not if he can’t be completely honest with me.

  I lower my voice to a whisper. “You’re a…” How the hell do I say this? Convicted felon? Murderer? They all sound so harsh, and he so doesn’t seem the type, if there is a type for such things.

  “Maybe I was wrong about you,” he says out of the blue, before I can find the right words.

  “Wrong about me?” I ask. “I’m not the mysterious one at this table, Tyler Jackson.”

  “Jess, what the holy fuck are you talking about?”

  I stare into his eyes, wanting him to know that I know. That I know about him, what he’s done, what he is. All I see in those eyes is puzzlement, pain, anger. Then a strange thought bubbles to the surface.

  Is he really able to hide his guilt from me that well?

  I suddenly feel ill. He looks perfectly innocent, while I know he’s anything but. He’s been convicted of one of the most serious crimes imaginable, and he’s apparently so comfortable hiding it from me that I can’t find any trace of that guilt in his eyes at a moment like this.

  My stomach turns, and the wine I’ve been drinking makes me dizzy. I have to get out of this place, get away from this man.

  I place my napkin on the table and stand, wriggling out from his arm.

  “I have to go.”

  I hear him start to protest, but I’m already walking quickly toward the front door. I don’t look back, and as soon as I step outside, I know I need to hide, because he’ll be out here any second, and I cannot talk to him now. Across the street and down a half block from the restaurant is a Starbucks, and I walk briskly there in my heals, ducking inside and heading straight to the restroom. Once there, I call for an Uber and stay put until the driver arrives five minutes later.

  Carefully emerging from the coffee shop, I climb into the car and duck down in the back seat.

  “Go!” I say, “Please. I’m avoiding someone.”

  My phone dings and I see a text from Ty.

  Where did you go? We need to talk about this.

  I turn off the phone and sit up in the seat, the restaurant safely behind us now.

  “Are you okay? What happened?”

  “I’m fine,” I tell the driver.

  But his question remains.

  What the fuck just happened?

  Chapter 18

  Ty

  Call it a blessing in disguise, I suppose.

  Jess refused my proposal, got all weird on me, and ran out of Osteria Daniele and off into the night. By the time I gave my credit card to the waiter, told him I’d be right back, and followed her outside, she was gone.

  Vanished, like magic. Poof!

  Don’t get me wrong, I’m still madly in love with the girl, but love doesn’t always work out. I know from experience that sometimes, love can lead you to strange, dark places. Better to suffer a little now that to endure the pain of a failed marriage later, and I’m beginning to think that’s where Jess and I would have ended up.

  Sure, it hurt like hell to go from a high point in my life to a low the depths of which I’d never experienced, all within a few minutes. I’m trying to be realistic, though, and if that brief interlude at the end of dinner was any indication of Jess’s communication skills, we would have had problems.

  Not to mention the needless drama. A man like me does not need drama in his life. I like things simple and dependable, and that’s what I thought I’d be getting with Jess.

  Over our three months together, the only time she’d behaved the slightest bit strangely was on the first two days of our road trip. I just chalked that up to her not feeling well. By the end of the trip, she was back to her old self. A better version of her old self, even, which is why I decide to propose. That’s the Jess I wanted to spend my life with, the sweet, sexy, fun, normal one—not the vague, confused, babbling woman who couldn’t even give me an answer to the most important question I’ve ever asked anyone.

  That bitch doesn’t deserve me.

  At least that’s what I tell myself as I’m trying to get to sleep. The reality is that my heart is heavy and I feel like my entire body is in a vice, being gradually squeezed tighter and tighter.

  Sleep finally comes around four in the morning.

  Of course, Beau wakes me up at six.

  I check my phone and find nothing from Jess, then make a pact with myself that I will not be the first one to reach out. I tried last night after she fled the restaurant, sending two texts and leaving a voicemail message. If she isn’t big enough to get in touch so we can sort all this shit out, then there’s not much I can do about it.

  I lie around the house for a couple of hours, then decide I need to get out of town, to find some peace and quiet. I don’t work today or tomorrow, though I’m supposed to be on call. A quick couple of texts take care of that, and Kevin, our captain, agrees to let one of the other guys cover for me in case anything comes up.

  I pack a few things, then load Beau into the truck.

  We’re going fishing.

  I need some peace and quiet to figure out the best way to break up with Jess and move on with my life.

  As I’m pulling out of my driveway, I get a text from her.

  I can’t do this anymore, Ty. Please don’t contact me again.

  I slam the phone against the steering wheel so hard that the screen smashes to bits, then throw it out the window into my yard as I tear off down the street.

  Something tells me peace and quiet might be unreachable goals today. But at least I no longer need to find a way to break up with her.

  Chapter 19

  Jess

  “Good girl! Good girl!”

  I open an eye. I’m in my bed and it’s daylight. Dust particles drift haphazardly in the beam of sunlight slicing across the room through the window.

  I didn’t sleep a wink last night. After I got home from the debacle with Ty at Osteria Daniele, I cried for hours. My confusion and pain weighed so heavily on me that sleep was simply impossible. At dusk, I took Bianca from her cage and scratched under her wings, the thing she loves most.

  By ten I had been thinking of Ty for twelve hours straight and was utterly exhausted. I took a long, hot shower to try to relax, and it did the trick. After toweling off, I tumbled naked into my bed and passed out. Right now, I have no idea what time it is.

  I lie motionless, watching the minute specks of dust float through space between me and my window.

  “Good girl!”

  Groaning, I drag myself out of bed. Mindy has been asleep on the floor this whole time, and she follows me i
nto the kitchen, where I pour myself a bowl of cereal, giving a little bit to Bianca as a treat. Then I plop down on the couch to figure out what I’m going to do about this Ty situation.

  The facts, as I see them, are that he’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of in a man. Handsome, works hard in an honorable profession, and is financially self-reliant. He’s charming and fun to be around, smart in all the ways a man should be, responsible, and the best lover I’ve ever had—and it’s not even close.

  Just when I start to wonder why the hell I wouldn’t jump at a chance to marry such a guy, I remind myself that he’s also a convicted murderer (self-defense!) and evidently has an honesty issue. He’s even willing to lie to the woman he’s proposing to.

  Those last few points are all deal-breakers in my book.

  That leaves me no choice. I’ll have to break up with him. The sooner the better.

  I take my phone out of my purse and turn it on. When it boots, I see that Ty left a voicemail.

  “Hey, I’m home now, and I’m guessing you took a cab from the restaurant. I don’t know what happened tonight, but it’s obviously pretty damn serious on your end. I would talk it over with you, but I have no idea what the problem is, and that makes it difficult, if not impossible.”

  There’s a pause before he continues.

  “I love you, Jess, but it would appear you have some stuff you need to sort out before we can think about a future together.” He pauses again, then concludes with, “Please call me.”

  The message makes me ache, because I’ve adored the time Ty and I have spent together. I honestly thought I’d found him, the one, my perfect match and my future husband.

  Compounding my pain and misery is the realization that now I’ll be starting over, going back to dating the slim pickings Linville has to offer when it comes to eligible bachelors. I was beginning to hope I’d left those days behind for good.

  Why, Ty? Why couldn’t you have at least admitted it to me? I might have understood enough to stick with you anyway. I’m sure stranger things have happened.

  I gather my strength and compose a text.

  I can’t do this anymore, Ty. Please don’t contact me again.

  I stare at the message and begin to cry all over again. Every fiber of my being is screaming at me not to hit send, but I know I have no choice. After waffling for at least ten minutes, I finally send it and immediately feel empty inside.

  Now I wait to see if he’s going to respond. Even though I just told him not to contact me, I can’t help but hope that he will. I want him to realize his error and demand that I let him apologize. I want a man who will fight for me, no matter the odds.

  I thought Ty was that man, but half an hour later, my phone hasn’t made a sound.

  I need to get out, to distract myself. I just can’t deal with the end of my relationship right now. I decide to take Mindy to the dog park, thinking that maybe some sun and fresh air will do me good.

  Watching Mindy frolic with other dogs usually brightens my mood, but not this time. The more I dwell on Ty, the more I realize that the task of getting this man out of my mind is going to be anything but easy. In fact, it’ll likely be months before I stop thinking of him. Years, maybe. By the time we leave the dog park to head home, I’m weary to the bone, my heart still even heavier than before.

  I drop Mindy off at home because I have to do my grocery shopping for the week. I’m not in the mood to handle a Sunday afternoon supermarket crowd, but I have no choice because I’m out of everything.

  On the way to Safeway, I drive past the Cedar Estates trailer park, again chuckling at the idea of those two dozen or so grand “estates” inside. I briefly consider whether I should return in a week or two and try to find Bobby Moncrief, just to get some details on this self-defense murder Ty committed. I’m sad when the common-sense area of my brain speaks up and tells me that it no longer matters.

  Even if Ty had ample good reason to kill, it wouldn’t matter to me now. His inability to be honest with me about it is inexcusable.

  I drive on, my heart aching.

  A few minutes later, I’m on the pasta aisle when someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn to find the blonde woman I’d seen standing in the door of the trailer where Bobby Moncrief lives. She’s holding a little boy, probably about two years old, and another slightly older kid is in her nearby shopping cart.

  “I thought that looked like you,” she says.

  “Hi,” I say, surprised and unsure why she’s approached me.

  “Bobby called me last night,” she says, shifting the child to her other arm, “and he said he remembered you from high school.”

  “We weren’t good friends,” I say for some reason. Maybe I don’t want her to think I’ve got designs on Bobby.

  “That’s what he said. So, I asked him about Tyler Jackson—that was the name you said, right?”

  “Yes. What did he say?”

  “He said he remembered a guy named Tyler Jackson at your school, but hasn’t seen him since he quit school.”

  “Ty quit high school?” I have a funny feeling in my stomach.

  “No, Bobby did. Well, maybe this Tyler guy, too, I don’t know.”

  That’s a relief, but it doesn’t help me.

  “So Bobby doesn’t know anything about the murder?”

  “What murder?” The kid in the cart throws a can of Chef Boyardee spaghetti onto the floor, and the woman picks it up and puts it back in the cart. “Stop it, Jake.”

  “There was a stabbing in the trailer park where you live, years ago. Somebody was killed. It was a fight over a woman, that’s all I—“

  “Bobby was there that night. That wasn’t Tyler Jackson.”

  What? I must have misheard her.

  “Excuse me?”

  “No, that was Bobby’s friend, Taylor. This guy shows up swinging a tire iron and screaming about some girl Taylor fu…“ She looks at her kids. “…hooked up with, and Taylor had to defend himself or he—”

  “Wait a minute. Taylor? Who is Taylor?”

  “Taylor Johnson. He was staying with Bobby back then.”

  My mind starts spinning as she continues.

  “It was self-defense, but they sent Taylor to prison anyway ‘cause he had prior convictions. He’s still there, far as I know.”

  Oh my god.

  What have I done?

  My heart suddenly racing, I thank the woman and rush off, leaving my shopping cart in the middle of the aisle.

  This can’t be happening. I’m going to kill Lyle.

  But first I have to attempt to explain this horrible mistake to Ty.

  Chapter 20

  Ty

  The fish aren’t biting. I went to all the trouble of renting a boat and loading Beau into it, and now I’m floating in Lake Pankin with nothing to show for my troubles except a few empty beer bottles. To add to my misery, all I can think about is Jess.

  Not the crazy-ass Jess who ran off when I proposed to her last night, or the moody Jess who was there for the first couple of days of our road trip, but the other one—the one I’ve grown to know so well during the time we’ve spent together. That’s the Jess who’s tearing my heart apart here in the middle of the lake.

  That Jess would have loved being here with me and Beau. That Jess would have probably packed an amazing picnic lunch to bring with us out here, and would have remembered to include some treats for Beau. That Jess would have made me not give a shit whether the fish are biting or not.

  I’ve had a few serious relationships in my thirty years on this planet, but I have never been this torn up about a woman before. That makes sense, because this was the first time I’ve ever asked a woman to marry me. I was planning to spend the rest of my life with Jess, to start a family and grow old with her.

  That line of thought inevitably leads me to last night at Osteria Daniele. What the hell was up with that woman? Everything seemed fine until she saw the ring, and then she slowly lost her mind, calling me dishonest and making
me sound like the world’s worst boyfriend. I know enough about being a man to recognize an asshole when I see one, and that’s not the guy I see in the mirror every morning. I may have my faults, but I am honest and loyal to the people I care about.

  Jess’s behavior last night was certainly the opposite of what I expected when I decided to ask her to marry me. I could swear she seemed torn about the whole thing, as if part of her wanted to accept my proposal and live happily ever after, while the other part slammed on the brakes.

  That text she sent, though, wasn’t the slightest bit ambiguous. I grab for my phone to read the text again, then remember it’s lying in my front yard, smashed to pieces. It doesn’t matter; I clearly recall the exact wording of the message.

  I can’t do this anymore, Ty. Please don’t contact me again.

  This can’t actually be the end of it, can it? We’re done? So, I’ll never see Jess again, never hold her in my arms? Never taste another of those scorching hot kisses, share a meal with her, or play with those amazing tits while she’s grinding away on top of me?

  Does this really mean I’ll never again wake up before her and spend a few minutes staring at her beautiful face, in awe of my good fortune to have a woman like her in my life?

  The more I think about the situation, the angrier I get. I simply can’t wrap my brain around the concept of Jess not wanting to marry me. We have been so perfect together, so incredibly right for each other, and I know she felt that as much as I did. Hell, we talked about it many times, how lucky we were to have found each other again after so many years.

  Her turning me down makes no fucking sense at all.

  By the time the sun starts going down, I’m thoroughly pissed off. I’m angry at everything; at the fish for not taking my bait, at Jess for her strange behavior and for fucking up a good thing, and mostly at myself for being willing to give up so easily on something this important.

  It’s not like me at all. I’m a man who starts projects and pushes forward until they’re finished. I see things through to the end, no matter how much effort they require.