Page 29 of Beautiful Crazy
Waving me off, she says, “No, you have nothing to be sorry for. You had no way of knowing. It was a valid question.”
She’s right, I had no way of knowing, but I can’t help but feel like an idiot now. “Well, I’m so sorry for your loss,” I add softly. “Were you two married?”
She nods, a smile curling her lips like one you’d get after thinking about a memory you haven’t thought about in a while. “Yeah, we were.”
“Does Sutton remember him?”
“Yes and no,” she murmurs. “He, of course, remembers him, but as far as actual memories go, he doesn’t have awhole lot of them. And he doesn’t remember the accident either, which I’m thankful for. The therapist he saw after Dylan died said it’s probably a mix between his young age and the trauma of losing a parent.”
“I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like for either of you.”
“It was hard. Honestly, some of the most unimaginable pain I’ve ever experienced. Not just for me, but for knowing that Sutton wouldn’t get to know his dad.” She takes a drink, her shoulders tense. “I think that was the hardest part for me. Having a child, all you want is what’s best for them. You never want them to face any sort of trauma or pain. And a child needs their dad. I don’t know. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I just word vomited that all over you.”
She huffs out a laugh, but her cheeks pink up like she’s embarrassed, and I hate that she feels that way. I want her to feel comfortable.
“No, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for, Gemma. You can say as much or as little as you want with me.”
Her dark eyes slide over to me, and something silent passes between us. Something that has the hair on my arms standing up. “Thank you,” she breathes, standing up. “I’m getting another glass. You want one too?”
“Might as well.” I laugh before downing what little is left in my glass.
Back a few minutes later, she hands me my drink, our fingers brushing, sending an electric current through my body as she takes her seat beside me again. “So, what about you?” she asks vaguely with a tip of her lips.
I arch a brow, smiling back at her. “What about me?”
“Well, you now know about my past relationship. Tellme about yours. Why istheEverett Windward a single man?” She waggles her brows suggestively.
I snort. “You say that like I’m royalty or something.”
Giggling, she shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe back in Seattle you were.”
“Yeah, exactly that. You’re so right.”
“I know.” She fake preens. “I always am.”
“But no, I don’t have any exciting stories, really.”
“You mean, no dead spouses?” Gemma snorts as I gape at her, trying not to laugh myself because it’snotfunny, but it also kind of is the way she worded it.
“No dead spouses,” I confirm as she laughs a little more.
“Okay, I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.” Gesturing toward me with her hand, she says, “Continue.”
“My last relationship ended a little over two years ago,” I explain. “Her name is Meg. We were together for a while, but eventually ended things when we both realized that we were better off as friends.”
“Well, that’s lukewarm,” she chuffs, bringing her glass to her lips and taking a sip, her eyes full of mirth as they watch me.
My chest rumbles with a chuckle as I do the same. “Well, I’m sorry my story didn’t live up to your expectations.”
“Tell me a secret.” Memories of the first day we met each other on the pier float around in my mind, my stomach fluttering. She grins before she adds, “And make it juicy.”
Thinking for a moment, unsure howjuicyshe actually means, I decide to go big or go home with my mostembarrassing story to date. “When I was in college, I discovered something about myself.”
Gemma grabs her wine, tucks her feet under herself on the chair, and says, “Oh, this is gonna be good.”
Laughing, I continue. “Well, I discovered how much the idea of public play turned me on.”
Eyes wide, Gemma asks, “Like, sex outside?”