Pretend We're Over

by Ella Miles

  I lean my head against hers. You and I both.

  My phone buzzes, and I don’t have to look at it to know who it is.

  “Is Trevor still trying to find you?” Oaklee says, her voice shaking a little.

  “Yes.”

  Oaklee hugs me tighter.

  “Don’t worry, Sebastian will protect you. He has more than enough money and resources to protect you. Tell him to hire a bodyguard, though. You know Trevor, and he won’t stop.”

  I nod, agreeing. But I’m afraid as soon as Trevor is no longer a threat, that will be the end of Sebastian and me. There will be no reason to stay together. So getting Trevor out of my life as quickly as possible no longer seems like the best idea.

  31

  Sebastian

  I have everything arranged. I was supposed to pick Millie up at the condo at seven, and then we were going to meet everyone at the club for dancing and drinking. Well, everyone but me will drink. I’ll focus on my new obsession—Millie.

  I pick up my phone to text Millie. I smile when I see her programmed into my phone as ‘Wifey.’

  * * *

  Me: Hey, wifey. I had a problem come up at work. I’ll be twenty or thirty minutes late to pick you up. Looking forward to tonight.

  * * *

  Wifey: Hey, Hubby. I’m actually on my way back from Oaklee’s. I’ll just Uber to you, and then we can drive together. That way we aren’t late.

  * * *

  Me: Perfect. See you soon.

  * * *

  And yet, I feel a tightening in my chest at the thought of Millie coming here. This is my baby. This is the best of me. I don’t want her to see the best of me. I promised her she’d see me as nothing but a jerk outside of the bedroom. Tonight was supposed to be the start of showing our friends how incompatible we are.

  “Sebastian, you’re needed in room eleven,” Shelly pokes her head in.

  “Can’t Jade handle it?”

  “She went home for the day.”

  I sigh. So much for wrapping up my day before Millie gets here.

  “It’s okay, get out the anger if you need. Destroy the furniture. Rip apart your pillow. Do what you need to do, but don’t give up. Your life depends on it. Don’t you dare give up,” I say to Zach, one of our newest patients.

  He’s nineteen—an adult by most people’s standards. But I was younger than him when I started drinking, when I got addicted. And I can tell you, there is nothing about being a nineteen-year-old addict that makes you an adult. He needs help, and that’s why we are here—to get him help. Without us, he’ll be thrown in jail or end up dead if he keeps using like he is.

  He grabs his chair and throws it against his bedroom window. It doesn’t break, though. He isn’t the first who has tried to break a window while staying at the rehab center.

  “You’re angry. I can understand that. Get your anger out; you’ll feel better.”

  He glares at me, and I know he’s about to turn his anger on me. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t realize he has a problem, and we can’t hold him here. I just hope he’ll realize that he needs to be here.

  He starts toward me, ready to bulldoze me over to escape. I stand firm, balancing on my good foot, and when he gets close, I wrap my arms around him and hold on for dear life.

  At first, he fights, hitting me hard in the mouth, and I know he’s knocked a tooth hard enough that it’s bleeding.

  “Shhh, it will be okay. It sucks, but it gets better. I just want to hug you, not restrain you.” I soften my hold, showing that he can go if he wants, I won’t physically stop him.

  He hesitates. And then he collapses into my arms, a ball of emotions and tears and apologies and curses.

  Zach grew up in a group home. He’s been on his own since he aged out last year and most likely hasn’t been hugged much in his life. That’s all he’s looking for—human connection.

  We stand like that for a while. And after a bit longer, I get him to agree to go to a therapy session and to take our boxing class to get his anger out. Only when he’s finally settled down, do I leave him with one of our therapists.

  I have no idea how long I was in that room, but I suspect that Millie has been waiting for me for a while.

  I sigh, hobbling out of the room, knowing I look like a mess. I see her standing in the hallway staring at me with big eyes.

  “I’m sorry I’m so late,” I say.

  Her eyes seem watery, and she bites her bottom lip as she comes up to me.

  “Hey, are you okay?” I ask, lifting her chin to meet my gaze as she walks up to me.

  “Mmmhmmm,” she says, dabbing at my bloodied lip with a Kleenex.

  I search her eyes and see the want as she stares at me.

  “You heard?” my shoulders drop.

  She nods. “I didn’t mean to. Shelly sent me down the hallway to your office. I heard your voice. I didn’t realize it was a therapy session. I shouldn’t have overheard.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have.” It goes against patient confidentiality. And also because of the way she’s looking at me now, like I’m a good person. She’s seen behind the mask that I put up to keep people out. Now there is no way to put the mask back on.

  “This doesn’t change anything. You’re still an asshole to me,” Millie smiles as she speaks.

  “Good,” I say, even though I know she doesn’t mean it. She saw the best of me, the kindness and tenderness I have when I’m working with patients.

  “Does that happen a lot?”

  “Yes. We have therapists and doctors who are better at helping people. But sometimes my job is convincing people they should be here in the first place. And to deal with them when they get physical. I don’t want my staff to be in danger, and I don’t like drugging patients to calm them down. I must look like a mess, and I’m really sorry we are going to be late.”

  “You look like my Sebastian. And I think everyone will understand why we are late.”

  “Nope, they won’t understand because everyone outside these walls only sees the asshole, the playboy, the jerk. They don’t get to see this side of me.”

  Millie links her fingers through mine, startling me, but damn does it feel good to be connected like this. “Got it. Back to being your usual controlling mean self once we leave.”

  I nod as we walk outside, taking in her appearance for the first time. She’s wearing jeans, a black V-neck shirt, and flats. She’s not extremely girly, and she’s not wearing a dress, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to jump her in the back of my Porsche before we go.

  No, control yourself. We are already late.

  We pull up in front of the club where we are meeting our friends, and we’re over an hour late. Millie leans over to me. “Just so you know, I like you when you’re caring and also when you are a prick. It makes no difference to me.” And then she kisses my cheek.

  I grab her wrist and pull her back to me. “Oh, yea?” I kiss her hard, yanking her bottom lip into my mouth as I nip until her lip is swollen. I drive my hand into my hair, fussing it up so everyone assumes why we were late. “I think you like it when I’m an asshole more than when I’m being sweet.”

  “Maybe I do.” And then we both step out of the car and enter the club hand in hand. I use Millie as a crutch instead of using my actual crutches I hate.

  Our friends holler at us from a circle of couches in the corner of the room as we arrive. It’s mostly everyone who was at Oaklee’s wedding with a few more of my co-workers I usually hang out with.

  “You finally made it! Now, you can cover our drinks, you asshole,” Boden shouts at me as he raises a glass from his seat.

  I feel Millie glare at me. “You invited Boden?”

  “Yes? He’s my friend, and I thought we were trying to get Oaklee and him back together.”

  She shakes her head. “You’re an idiot.” She pulls away and goes to talk with Oaklee.

  I run my hand through my hair, messing it up even more. My shirt is wrinkled and stained wit
h a drop of my blood, and I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours. I look like hell. I guess we are going to show our friends how incompatible Millie and I are tonight.

  Millie and Oaklee head out onto the dance floor, while I walk over to Boden and take a seat.

  “Be nice to Oaklee and Millie tonight,” I say as I sit.

  Boden rolls his eyes. “When am I anything but nice? And Oaklee’s my ex. I’ll be nice but not friendly. We’re over. There is nothing that will cause us to get back together.”

  “Why? What happened?” I don’t understand how you go from wanting to marry someone to not wanting to be in the same room with them.

  Boden takes a swig of his beer. “Really? The king of one night stands is asking me why I don’t want to give my ex a second chance.”

  “I’m not that guy anymore. I’m married now, remember?”

  Boden laughs. “Okay, right.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means marriage doesn’t change anything. One woman, especially a woman like Millie, won’t keep you satisfied for long. You’ll be looking for something new and exciting in a matter of weeks if you haven’t already.”

  I stand up and knock his beer from his hands.

  “Hey, what was that?” Boden asks, bewildered.

  “That was me holding back from kicking your ass. Don’t you dare talk like that about my wife ever again. I’m not going to punch you because you’re my friend, and it would ruin everyone’s night, but keep your mouth shut if you don’t want a black eye and a fat lip. Also, I won’t be paying for your drinks tonight, so don’t you dare start a tab under my name. And if you knew what was good for you, you’d leave now and apologize tomorrow if you want to remain friends.”

  I storm off. My rage is flowing through me. And for the first time in years, I want to drink. I want to pick a fight. I want—

  My eyes catch Millie out of the corner of my eye, dancing, swaying her hips to the music. And then she sees me. And her body changes. Her eyes tell me to come to her. She’ll fix it.

  I want her. More than alcohol or fighting or fucking one night stands. I want her. This doesn’t feel like any other addiction I’ve had. This doesn’t feel shaky or reckless or controlling. This feels warm and welcoming and calming.

  I head to where she’s dancing with Oaklee. Millie whispers something in Oaklee’s ear, and Oaklee walks away so it’s just Millie and me.

  We don’t speak. Millie just leans into my chest, resting her head there as her arms go around my neck, and we slow dance together even though this song is fast. For a moment, the world stops, and it’s just her and me.

  Our hearts beat together, our hips sway in unison, our bodies become one. Too many feelings flood through me, feelings that I can’t name. Feelings I shouldn’t feel for a woman who I was only supposed to stay married to for six months. We are still at the beginning of our time together, but when you have such a short amount of time with someone, every moment feels too short.

  I know that time is going to move too quickly, so I try to soak up every second I can with Millie. I try to remember it all. No matter how my heart is shifting, I know I’m not husband material. I’m too broken. One slip would destroy us.

  “I’m scared,” Millie whispers into my chest.

  Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. She can’t say what she’s feeling either, but her words tell me she’s scared of what we are feeling—scared of the pain that we could inflict upon each other.

  “Me too.” I kiss her hair, wishing I had the words to comfort her. I do work healing people, helping them recover from their addictions, but I don’t have any words that can comfort her.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but I need Millie a second,” Oaklee says, tapping me on the shoulder.

  Every muscle in my body is screaming to hold onto Millie and never let her go, but reluctantly, I run my hands down her arms until only our fingertips are touching, and then I let her go.

  I watch as Millie and Oaklee head toward the bathroom until they are out of sight. Then I head back to where our group is, but Kade corners me before I make it back.

  “Did she sign the prenup yet?” Kade asks.

  “I don’t give a damn about the prenup. I don’t need her to sign it. We aren’t getting divorced, so it doesn’t matter anyway.” My words aren’t true, but what I mean is that Millie won’t take half my money. She doesn’t care about my money.

  “Sebastian, I’m just trying to protect you. She needs to sign the prenup. I saw your little spat earlier. You may not plan on getting divorced, but it could still happen. Even the best of marriages, couples who are deeply in love still end up divorced. Love isn’t always enough.”

  I push past him, the anxious desire to quell my anger returning. I head toward the bar as old habits take over and sit down at the bar. I won’t actually order any alcohol, but I think this was a mistake—all of it.

  I can’t pretend we’re together.

  I can’t pretend we’re fighting.

  I can’t pretend anything with Millie.

  But what can I offer her?

  “What can I get you?” the man behind the bar asks me.

  “Club soda.”

  He nods and then returns a moment later with my drink. When I grab the glass, I realize how much I feel like smashing the glass. I have pent up anger about Boden. About Kade. And even Millie. I don’t know how I’m going to survive five more months. Five more months when I know this is all going to end.

  I glance over my shoulder, hoping that Oaklee is no longer in need of Millie so we can get out of here. But I spot Oaklee talking with Larkyn.

  I stand from the bar, leaving my drink on the counter, and head toward Oaklee.

  “Where’s Millie?” I ask her.

  She frowns. “She said she was coming to find you.”

  “We’ll help you find her,” Larkyn says, being able to read the tinge of electric fear zipping through me. I can’t explain the feeling, just that something doesn’t seem right.

  I nod and start walking through the crowded night club. Every woman with blonde colored hair I think is her, but each face I search ends up not being her.

  Did she leave without telling me?

  I pull my phone out of my pocket and dial her number. It rings and rings, but no answer.

  I text her, but I don’t get a response. No little dots form, letting me know she’s texting me back.

  And then, I panic. After the connection Millie and I shared, there is no way she’d just leave. She’s not with any of our friends.

  Something’s wrong. She wanted to stay fake married to me because she was running from her ex. All the little hairs on my body stand up, and I know she’s in danger. I had one job—to protect her. And I failed.

  32

  Millie

  I should have never left Sebastian.

  That’s the thought that keeps playing in my head as I follow Trevor into a corner of the club so we can talk.

  I was safe in Sebastian’s arms. And then I followed Oaklee to the bathroom so she could vent about Boden and ask for advice on how to tell him she’s pregnant.

  When I came out to find Sebastian, Trevor met me instead.

  “What do you want, Trevor?”

  “You’re a hard woman to get ahold of.”

  I cross my arms and puff my chest, trying to act like I’m not intimidated by him. I won’t let him bully me. I won’t let him have any control over me. Even though we are in a dark corner of the club, we are still in public. Surely he’s not going to do anything to harm me here.

  “We’re over, Trevor. I don’t think there is any reason for us to talk or be in each other’s lives. I’ve changed my number for a reason.”

  Trevor puts his forearm over my head and leans in until I’m trapped between him and the wall. Sweat forms on the back of my neck, my pulse jumps, and my breath hitches. My muscles stiffen, and my eyes dilate. My entire body goes into fight or flight mode.

  I want to fly, b
ut there is nowhere to run. All I have left to do is fight.

  “We have a lot to talk about, actually,” Trevor breathes over me.

  “No, we have nothing to talk about. We are over.” I try to push past him, ducking under his arm, but he lowers his arm at the last second, and my neck collides with his thick muscle.

  Trevor grabs my left hand and jerks it up so he can inspect my ring. “This is some ring.”

  Chills run down my spine. I’ve never truly been afraid of Trevor until this moment.

  “Let me go,” I say calmly, hoping that if I stay calm, he’ll release me.

  “Not until we talk.”

  “You’re done talking,” Sebastian says, standing over Trevor. He doesn’t move in. He doesn’t charge. Three little words hang in the air, exuding control and power. Sebastian may not be in a suit. He may not rule a courtroom or boardroom, but he demands to be listened to when he speaks.

  Trevor, though, isn’t phased. He continues to grip my hand, holding my fingers so tightly that I can feel the blood struggling to get through my veins to the tips of my fingers.

  “Let her go, now.” Sebastian’s voice is deeper, gruffer, and full of threats without using violent words.

  “You must be her new husband. I’ll let her go. I don’t want anything to do with the whore. You’ll soon learn that she makes a terrible wife. I just want—“

  He doesn’t get the rest of his words out. Instead, Sebastian’s fist hits Trevor square in the jaw.

  I stand frozen as I watch my fake husband pummel my ex’s face—a man I once loved.

  “Don’t ever talk about my wife that way again. You’re going to stop texting her. Stop calling her. Stop stalking her. First thing in the morning, we will be filing a restraining order against you. Trust me, we will get it. If you so much as come into the same room as us again, you’ll be arrested,” Sebastian says, before taking my hand and pulling me away from Trevor.