by Kat T. Masen
“You have every right to be. You love him, and the Jerk’s marrying someone else. Plus, he puts together a stupid plan?”
“Why is he doing this? I don’t understand why he wants to take Masen away from me,” I sob.
“You need to talk to him, Presley. Clear the air and move on.”
“No. I don’t want to see him.” I stand up and head to the kitchen as Kate follows me. “He’s made his decision, Kate. He’s marrying Eloise. He wants Eloise to be his wife. I’m taking Masen with me and moving to L.A. End of story.”
“If that’s what you want, Presley. Just remember that despite him marrying her, he’s still Masen’s dad.”
Of course, I know that. Masen looks exactly like him, even at this age. Every time I look at him, I’m reminded of that. How can I cope with a lifetime of staring at my child’s face and being reminded of the man who so carelessly broke me to pieces? I have no plan for how to avoid that. That’s what makes it all the more difficult.
No matter what you do, there’s no plan for curing a broken heart.
Twenty-Seven
Saying goodbye isn’t too hard because the girls will visit soon.
It’s the taxi ride to the airport that kills me.
The radio is set on some ‘80s love song marathon. It’s easy to say I can just ignore it, but when Barry Manilow is belting out a tune, you better believe your heart aches along with him. When I was growing up, these songs were so corny, yet Mom and Dad would put them on and stare lovingly into each other’s eyes while singing out of key.
That’s love. Married for almost forty years, and even with all their quirks, that love’s never faded. Mom once told me she loved Dad more now than the day she married him. Forty fricken years, I still don’t know how that is even possible.
Stuck in the usual traffic jam to the airport, the driver turns up the radio when Chicago’s “Hard to Say I’m Sorry” comes on. Blinking my eyes to stop the tears, I force myself to think about my mascara and how I don’t want panda eyes at the airport. But I’m not that strong.
The taxi driver asks me if everything is okay, and I make up some lie about being homesick. Don’t need to get into the whole the-man-I-love-got-married-today-and-I’m-a-pathetic-single-mom-running-away-from-all-my-problems story.
Song after song plays, and the more they sing about love, the more my mind wanders to today.
Haden and Eloise are officially husband and wife right now.
The vows to love each other for all eternity have been said and done. The shiny bands are sitting on their fingers, and right about now, they’re having their first dance as a married couple to some sappy song that probably played only moments ago in my cab.
I have shed so many tears over him. I’ve spent countless nights waking up in a cold sweat. If I’m ever to move on with my life, I need to grab that glue and start mending my heart. He may have torn it apart, but I’ll be damned if I’m the one suffering this lonely life all because of him. He can go ahead and be married, have a dozen babies for all I care. We both stood at that fork in the road, and he went the opposite way.
Fate—you’ve laid out all the cards, and I’ll take mine so you can leave me the fuck alone.
When street signs indicate the airport is only a couple of minutes away, I breathe a huge sigh of relief. The driver pulls alongside the curb and hops out of the cab, opening the door for me. With Masen in his carrier, an attendant pushes a trolley my way, escorting me to the check-in desk with my suitcases.
The hustle and bustle of the airport distracts me—streams of people lining up all heading to different destinations. There are plenty of businessmen standing in the first-class line waiting impatiently to be checked in. The economy line is full of families and crying kids, all waiting to continue their journey. It takes longer than expected, and by the time I reach the head of the line, I don’t have as much time as I originally set aside before having to board the flight.
Shit. I don’t know how this happened.
I scheduled everything and allowed for extra time for any incidentals like traffic or queues.
You dropped the ball, Presley. It’s what happens when you’re suffering from a broken heart.
Oh, shut up, brain!
As I walk toward the gate, I see a line has already formed. Just great. I’m not sure if I have enough time to check Masen’s diaper and grab a bag of potato chips. I have barely eaten all day. Scanning the gate area for a spare seat to change Masen, my eyes move toward a man sitting by his lonesome near the entrance. With his head bent down, dressed in a black tux, he nervously plays with his wedding ring.
How odd. As if someone would fly wearing a tux.
It takes a moment for my brain to catch on, but when it does, it’s like a strike of lightning followed by thunder. It hits me all in that one moment—that signature move of running his hands through his hair, rubbing his eyes beneath his thick black frames.
It can’t be.
You’re seeing things.
You’re tired and delusional from the lack of sleep and food. You also possibly need your eyes checked for old age. Yeah, that’s it. Blame it on old age.
Yet I am drawn to this mysterious stranger. His behavior is odd, and I’m surprised that airport security hasn’t detained him for being a suspicious weirdo. Oh God, what if he has a bomb?
I’m walking slowly toward this madman, frightened for Masen’s and my lives. What the hell am I doing. The nervous rush running through my veins is making the blood in my heart pump so hard I’m certain everyone can see.
Then I halt.
A few steps away.
My heart stops, the beats barely existent as I stand on the spot, frozen. The blood drains from my face, and like I’ve seen a ghost, the noises around me fade into the distance. My stomach is nothing but a hollow pit, the walls caving in as the pain eats away at every part of me that has struggled to exist.
All because the man in the black tuxedo is my jerk.
The man who has so carelessly stolen my heart.
I’m walking toward him like a zombie and somehow manage to place Masen’s carrier carefully on the floor beside me. With a dry throat, I’m unable to speak the words sitting on the tip of my tongue. The words that have run circles in my head, begging me to speak them out loud every second since he walked away that night. But my pride steps in and straightening my posture, I try to act calm and cool, not wanting him to see how much he broke me.
“What are you doing here?”
He doesn’t say anything, and the announcement reminding everyone that final boarding is commencing sends everyone around us into a hurried pace. Yet Haden is sitting perfectly still. Head down, staring at the carpet, twisting his shining wedding ring around his finger.
He got married.
You saw the wedding ring.
Run now.
Board that plane and never turn back.
Don’t wait for him to shatter your heart even further if that’s even possible.
“Did you know Britney Spears was married for less than twenty-four hours?” His tone is even, controlled, not a single whisper of any remorse.
Where is he going with this?
“Uh, yes, I did.”
He laughs at himself like it’s a sick and twisted joke, shaking his head as his shoulders slump. “Who would have thought I’d beat that record? Three hours. I mean, who the fuck separates after three hours?”
My voice cracks, and with a nervous stutter, I ask, “H-Haden, what are you trying to say?”
His eyes move slowly up my body causing every part of me to ache in his presence. When his eyes eventually meet mine, his stare is so deep that I’m terrified he has climbed into my soul and buried himself even further. He looks dejected, tired, and worn out. There’s no life in his eyes anymore, even when he stares back at me.
And why would there be?
He doesn’t love me.
“You see, all along I was waiting for a sign. Just like in the movies. You know,
when the priest asks if anyone objects, and the girl of your dreams runs into the church professing her undying love and then the couple run down the aisle and into a fancy car.”
“It was a guy stopping the wedding, and I believe you mean bus,” I chastise with a weak smile.
“In my fantasy, it’s an Aston Martin.”
“That’s some fantasy you’ve got.”
His eyes dance playfully. Behind the dark circles, the corners of his eyes wrinkle as a smile escapes him. “So, I’m sitting at the head table as everyone toasts the newlywed couple, and I think, wait. I’m the Jerk here. How could I expect that fantasy to come true when the woman I love avoids drama at all costs? She’d never do anything like that. And if I had opened my eyes, I’d have seen that she gave me an opportunity. An opportunity that I selfishly ignored and placed my own insecurities in front of.”
Another announcement interrupts, but I ignore it, eager for him to finish his story.
“Then, it’s time to dance with my wife, and like a giant wrecking ball that knocks the life out of me, I realize I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life. I married the wrong person because I didn’t think I was good enough for the woman who has consumed me.
“All along, my woman said she wanted more. She wanted my heart to beat for only her. She wanted to be the only one I ever thought about. And she is. My heart beat for her the moment I first met her and purposely spilled that tea all over her desk. It beat so fucking hard that I had no idea what to do. I ran away to London and clutched onto anything I could to forget you. I have never experienced anything in my life like this. I just refused to believe you could ever feel the same way about me. So, I married the wrong person hoping that the Band-Aid would fix the giant hole in my heart.”
“Haden…” I whisper, tears falling down my cheeks.
“It’s always been you, Presley Malone. Even before you even noticed I existed. I just couldn’t handle how intense my feelings were for you. I was g-going insane.” His voice cracks with pain.
I drop to my knees until we are face to face. Caressing his cheek, I don’t wait for any more signs. I lean in and kiss his beautiful lips. The second our lips meet, a warm electric current electrifies every inch of my body, and I know at this moment that I can never let him go again. I want to fight for him, for us, for our family.
I pull back momentarily, still close to him. “You said the woman you love…”
“I love you.” He runs his fingers along the side of my cheek, moving them toward my hair. His grin takes my breath away, and with a gentle whisper, he says, “I love you so much I don’t know how to exist without you. I’m sorry I put you through all that to get to this point. I should have ended things with Eloise months ago.”
“I love you, Haden Cooper. I’m sorry I didn’t have the guts to admit that earlier. I was terrified. I’ve never felt so in love with someone as I am with you.”
There, in front of the entire crowd, he pulls me in and kisses me deeply as if no one is watching. His tongue desperately searches for mine, and the moment we connect, both of us moan. I don’t care who’s watching us. I never want to stop. This belongs in my catalog of memories. A moment I want to hold onto forever because this time, I’m not going to let go of him, and I trust he will never hurt me that way again.
The crowd around us breaks into a cheer and applauds as we pull away from each other, shocked that everyone is watching us. A few are even filming us with their phones.
“I want more. But I’m not sure if I’m ready to be a YouTube sensation,” I whisper in his ear, laughing.
“I don’t care if the whole world sees this moment.” He lifts me into his arms easily like I’m a feather and screams, “I fucking love you, Malone!”
The whistles and cheers don’t stop, and I’m waiting for airport security to break up the chaos. Instead, they are standing on the sidelines with amused looks on their faces.
Suddenly, it dawns on me that we still have a major problem. “There’s just one thing,” I remind him. “You’re still technically married.”
Haden moves his lips onto mine, not answering. He pulls back, and the corners of his lips rise slowly in a half-smile, partly showing his teeth. There’s a gleam in his eyes, and I know he is holding something back. A secret that I’m not in on, yet. Slowly, he moves his hands inside his jacket and like a magician, pulls out two tickets.
“First-class tickets to the Dominican Republic. Flight leaves in two hours.”
The Dominican Republic? How will that solve this problem?
My silly, lovesick brain needs a couple of moments to catch up as he waits ever so patiently for the ball to drop.
“Oh!” I exclaim. “But my bags and Masen’s stuff are going to L.A. The car is picking us up and—”
Gently, he places his index finger on my mouth. “Sometimes, Presley, life doesn’t go according to plan.”
“You’re telling me. I can’t believe I’m going to get on a plane to fly to the Dominican Republic with a man who got married three hours ago. You’re still a jerk, you know.”
“You still love me for being one.”
Unable to control my joy, I smile back at him. “I wouldn’t change it for the entire world.”
And there, in front of the crowd of strangers, Haden has followed his heart, and mine skips along right beside him.
The trip to the Dominican Republic opened my eyes to a whole new world and a new life I would embark on.
Haden’s mission was to get that divorce. In fact, he made sure it was the first thing on the agenda the moment we landed. Okay, maybe not the very first thing. Haden surprised me by flying Gemma and Melissa over. Seeing them at the airport was a huge shock, but it didn’t take me long to figure this puzzle out. Masen needs a sitter because apparently, we aren’t leaving the room unless absolutely necessary.
And Haden was insatiable when we were finally alone.
I could go on and on about that, but my Kitty is delirious and hasn’t been about to talk or walk. In fact, for the first time in my life, she’s blissfully enjoying life on cloud nine. I mean, how did I not know all the positions one could have sex? The former Presley was such a prude, and holy fuck, Haden has a nice way of bringing the kink out of me. I could go on about his piercing and how every orgasm tore through me like a tornado, but what happens in the Dominican Republic, stays in the Dominican Republic.
Of course, I knew Haden is far from perfect. Mr. Stubborn turned into some jealous alpha during our divorce getaway. He was adamant that every busboy was trying to hit on me, and he speculated that maybe I didn’t look ‘freshly fucked’ enough by my man—his crass words, not mine. We scrapped the idea of having lunch by the pool because he needed his fix.
Let’s face it, I won’t complain, ever.
But I learned a valuable lesson. Life isn’t about everyone or everything being perfect. It’s about the misadventures, the unplanned madness of losing your luggage and being forced to spend travel insurance money and going on the best shopping spree ever.
It’s about sitting at the fanciest restaurant and seeing a rat run past the table, only to end up at the closest McDonald’s in your formal wear.
It’s called life.
Perfection is open for interpretation. Society makes us believe that when you find the perfect man, it’s love at first sight, and you say “I do” and buy that dream house. Then you have your two or three kids and live happily ever after.
And guess what? We did the opposite.
Screw a stranger in the alley of a club, fall pregnant, run away with a newly-divorced man to live in a rundown bungalow out of wedlock.
This is our perfect.
And from the moment Haden promised to give me more, I finally understood the meaning of living life to the fullest. I now understand what it’s like to have no plan and live for the moment. I don’t have to become an adrenaline junkie like Haden. I just let fate do its thing. I savor every experience, good and bad, with the man who gives me more.
The man, Haden Cooper, otherwise known as my #Jerk.
Epilogue
Haden
He’s got that stare.
Those dirty eyes.
Licking his lips in anticipation.
And he’s watching my woman.
She’s oblivious. She always is. Standing across the room, my gaze is steadily on her while she’s talking animatedly with some friends. That dress isn’t helping, and I’m so fucking torn between wanting to see her beautiful body showcased and wanting to belt every fucker who’s looking at her. It’s that fucking slit, the one that rides so far up her thigh, it doesn’t leave much to the imagination.
And I know what every single fucker in here is thinking. I can read their minds. They are thinking exactly as I am by imagining how perfect her legs would be wrapped around their face. How her huge tits would bounce around as she rode them fast until they blew their load.
But she’s mine.
My head starts to throb, slowly forming into a migraine as I struggle to ignore the sadistic thoughts running through my mind. Blame the dress. This ridiculous dress caused a massive argument between us earlier. Stubborn woman wouldn’t back down, calling me a caveman or some bullshit like that. I just knew what every jerk would be thinking. After all, that used to be me.
The room is dark and slowly morphing into a lions’ den. The beasts are hungry, waiting for their prey to make a move—a wink, even a sly smile—a gesture that will have the beasts moving in leaps and bounds, thirsty for some meat. My eyes dart back and forth—one on the prey, the other watching the beasts. The one on my left I’m certain will be him. He’s covering his mouth with a bottle, but his eyes have not left her. Then, he does the unthinkable. He moves his hand to his crotch and adjusts his cock.
