Page 1 of From Coast to Coast
CHAPTER ONE
Remy
I stare downat the papers in silence, wondering for the dozenth time if we are doing the right thing. Alex—my best friend and lawyer—has helpfully tagged each line that will need my signature. The cheerful yellow stickies seem to be mocking me, as does the cheerful sun, shining through the windows into the conference room. Looking through the glass, I stare at the ocean and wonder how hard it could really be to drown oneself.
“That’s not going to sign itself,” Alex tells me, not even glancing up from his cell phone where he’s been playing Candy Crush for the last ten minutes.
“This willend my marriage, you know that, right? It’s not a joke.”
“Your marriage ended months ago when you separated,” he replies, still in that infuriatingly bored tone. “Sign it so we can leave and go to a bar.”
Annoyed, I pick up the pen. It’s one of those fancy pensthat only people with loads of money would purchase. The damn thing screamsmoney to burn. I hold it up and kick Alex beneath the table. His gaze flicks to mine.
“Seriously?” I ask, wiggling the pen back and forth. “You are such a rich prick.”
“The longer you take to sign, the richer I become.” He grins. “I’m not doing this pro bono.”
“I know what you’re doing.”
“What am I doing?” He pushes back from the table and kicks his legs out in front of him, one step away from an un-lawyerly sprawl.
“You’re trying to piss me off”—I point the stupid-ass pen at him—“but it’s not going to work.”
He shrugs, going back to his Candy Crush. I look back down at the contract, realizing that my irritation at Alex did actually make me feel better. Anger is easier than despair. Scrawling my signature across the first line, I pause to see if the world comes crumbling down around my shoulders. It remains steadfast, so I do the same. My hand is cramping by the time I make it all the way through the divorce papers. When I finish, I shove the whole lot in Alex’s direction and stand. He smiles, sweeping the contract off of the table and out of sight. I hold up the pen.
“I’m keeping this,” I tell him.
“You going to pawn it so that you can afford me?” he asks cheekily, and stretches as he rises to standing.
“I’m going to save it. One day, this will be the weapon used in your homicide.”
He snorts. Together we make our way out of his office. We take the stairs down, no matter that his practice is on the forty-second floor—I’m not dying in a fucking elevator. I set the pace down the stairs, hurrying as I try to outrun theclaustrophobia that is nipping at my heels suddenly. Behind me, Alex keeps up without complaint and tactfully ignores my relieved sigh when we exit the building.
I turn to him. I’m not familiar with this area beyond his office building and will need his direction to the nearest palatable bar. He slings an arm over my shoulders, hugging my neck as he steers me off down the sidewalk. He doesn’t let me go, offering support no matter how difficult it makes walking.
“How are we feeling?” he asks, grinning.
“Like I just got divorced,” I deadpan.
“Jesus, stop being so dramatic. What is wrong with you today?”
Sighing, I reach a hand up and give my face a vigorous scrub. Regardless of the lack of tact, Alex is right: I’m being unduly dramatic. And, though he doesn’t know it, my marriage ended much longer than months ago. Alex, as my lawyer, was privy to a lot of conversations between Amanda and me that I would have preferred he never heard. He was not, however, present for the conversation that tipped the divorce scales in Amanda’s favor.
She’d shown up at 2 a.m., banging on my front door in a way that made me picture the police and not a 5’4” woman. I’d stepped aside to let her in, watching with trepidation as she’d stalked inside and whirled around, arms crossed tight over her chest. I’d known better than to hope for reconciliation.
“Ree, this is getting ridiculous,” she’d snapped, not even bothering with pleasantries before going for the jugular. “Sign the fucking papers so we can move on.”
“I don’t want to get a divorce.”
She’d looked like she’d wanted nothing more than tostamp her foot in frustration. I’d stepped forward and reached a hand out, but she’d slapped my arm away before I could touch her.
“Yes, you do,” she’d said, voice hard, and held up a hand to waylay my rebuttal. “Listen to me, Ree. No lawyers, no papers, nothing but us; okay? You and I made a lot of sense when we got married three years ago. We were the best of friends, weren’t we? But we don’twork. We haven’t worked in a long time, and I’m having trouble remembering a time when we did. We got together because people always expected us to, and we got married because that was the next logical step in the relationship ladder. Butwe don’t fucking work.”
She’d emphasized each separate word as though there was a hard stop before and after each one. I’d stared at her, uncomprehending. Her mouth had pinched into a severe line and she’d looked away from me, arms crossed so tightly I’d wondered if she could even breathe.
“Tell me that you’re satisfied. Tell me that I’m the woman of your dreams; that you’re happy in this relationship. Tell me that when you and I have sex, you actually enjoy yourself.” She’d looked back at me then, eyes challenging. “Because I don’t. The last time you and I had sex, I spent the entire time mentally composing a grocery list.”
“You’re divorcing me because our sex life has…become stagnant?”