Page 17 of Writing Mr. Wrong

GEMMA

O utside the coffee shop, they snapped a couple of photos for their social media and their publicists.

Then they returned to the coastal route and went maybe another five kilometers before taking what didn’t look like an actual road.

It led to the kind of deserted cove Gemma had been fantasizing about writing in earlier.

Mason parked the bike and led her to a spot sheltered from the wind, where he spread a blanket from the saddlebags.

She opened her mug and took a long draw, closing her eyes and sighing in pleasure as the warm cocoa slid down.

“So good.” She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Thank you for this. For today. I didn’t realize how much I needed a break, and this one was perfect.” She looked at him. “I really had fun.”

“That was the plan.”

“I don’t get enough of that—” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, thank you.”

He stretched out his legs and took a bite of his croissant. “You think you’ll get a bike again?”

“I do.”

“Did you give yours up when you got married? I know a couple of guys whose wives asked them to stop riding. Motorcycles are dangerous. Other drivers don’t always see them.”

“Yes, it was when I got married, and he did claim it was for safety, but…”

She gripped the mug. That was more than she intended to say.

“He made you give up the bike?”

No one makes me do anything. That’s what she wanted to say. What she wanted to snap, chin lifted, eyes flashing.

“I thought he was worried, when he was just…” She shrugged. “Clipping my wings.”

Mason inhaled sharply. “Fuck. Well, I’m glad you got away.”

Her fingers tightened more on her mug, and before she could stop herself, she said, “I didn’t. He left.”

She straightened. “Look at that view. Let’s enjoy that, shall we?” She reached for the pastry bag.

“Whether he left or you did, you still got away.”

“Did you pack any of those jam cookies?”

“You don’t like talking about it?” he said, and she could almost laugh.

Whatever gave you that idea, Mason? Why, yes, I love talking about the humiliating experience of my divorce.

“Fine,” she said. “Let’s do this. I married a guy who sold me a false promise, and he’d claim I did the same.

He wanted a corporate wife, and he thought—with a few tweaks—I could be that.

So he wooed me, won me, and then set about trying to remold me.

At this point, do you know what I should say, Mason?

What I would love to say? That he couldn’t break me.

That I stood up to his bullshit with both middle fingers raised.

But that’s not the story. The story is that I stayed in that marriage and tried to give him what he wanted, until the day he walked out.

Sixteen months later, I saw him again in the initial divorce proceeding, with his girlfriend and eleven-month-old son. ”

She could see Mason doing that math.

“Yep,” she said. “And that is the full scope of my humiliation. Thanks for asking.”

He looked over, gaze meeting hers. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Gemma.”

Her eyes filled, and she looked away, wanting to stay angry, needing to stay angry. Angry with Mason, for making her admit to that.

But he didn’t make her, did he?

She chose to.

“I should have left,” she said. “That’s the worst of it.

That I stayed. But it wasn’t as if he changed overnight.

It was like that story about putting a frog into boiling water, and it’ll do anything to get out.

But if you put it in normal water and slowly turn up the heat, it doesn’t notice it’s dying until it’s too late. ”

Her voice caught, and she dropped her head, eyes shutting. “I’m talking too much. Can we change the subject?”

Something brushed her leg. Gemma opened her eyes to see Mason beside her. His hand hovered over her bent knee, his expression asking for permission. She nodded, and he squeezed her knee.

“My mom never left my father,” he said. “Part of me used to—” He rubbed his free hand over his mouth.

“I’d get frustrated. Wonder how she stayed with him.

Blame her, even. Why not get out? But it was like that frog in the water.

And it wasn’t as if he was always awful to her.

She loved him, and she clung to those moments when he was nice, and I just wanted… ”

His free hand fisted. “I should have done more. I should have seen she was trapped, but instead of helping her get away, I got away. Left as soon as I could and then threw money at her, as if that would fix the problem, as if it was all she needed.”

He looked up. “I’m not saying your marriage was like that. Hell, I don’t know what I’m saying. Just that I know it’s not easy to leave—or to even realize that you need to leave. By the time I figured that out, it was too late.”

“Too late?”

He shrugged. “Mom passed away seven years ago.”

“Oh!” She reached to lay her hand on his. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I remember your mother, from when she’d help at school.”

He quirked a smile. “She remembered you, too. Used to ask every now and then how that Gemma girl was doing. She said—” He shook it off and cleared his throat.

“Anyway, however it happened, I’m glad you got away from him, and also, I would like his home address and an identifying photo. For reasons.”

Gemma smiled and shook her head. “Good thing I know you’re kidding.”

“Kinda not, though if he’s paying alimony—which he damn well better be—you might not want me paying him a visit.” He paused. “Unless he forgot to switch the beneficiary on his life insurance.”

“Oh, I’m sure he did that right away. As for alimony, I didn’t want anything tying me to him. Also, please don’t pay him a visit. It’d make him way too happy. You’re his favorite player.”

Mason stared.

“Not joking,” she said. “He thinks you are the bomb .”

“Well, he’s never getting an autograph now.”

Gemma choked on a laugh. “That’ll teach him.”

“Oh, I won’t stop there. I am having my lawyer draw up a cease and desist. Your ex is not allowed to call me his favorite player ever again. I am officially evicting him from the Mace Moretti fandom.”

Gemma leaned against Mason, and he put his arm around her shoulders.

“I could deliver my cease and desist in person,” he said.

She shook her head. “It’s enough to imagine his face if you did. You’re right. I’m glad I got away, however it happened. I’m free of any ties to him.”

“Including no kids, which must help.”

Gemma stiffened.

He must have caught her expression, because his eyes widened. “Just because you don’t have them doesn’t mean you didn’t want… Fuck. I put my foot into it, didn’t I?”

She squeezed his hand, still resting on her knee. “It’s okay. Yes, I wanted kids. We both did. I had… a few miscarriages, and the doctor suggested we take a break and consider other solutions, which, apparently, Alan did without me.”

Mason’s grip tightened. “Bastard.” His head leaned against hers.

“My mom lost a few pregnancies. That’s why I’m an only child.

I remember how hard it was on her. She cried a lot, but only when she thought no one could hear.

Otherwise, everyone acted like nothing happened.

One day there was a baby coming and the next there wasn’t, and everyone behaved as if there’d never been one in the first place. ”

Gemma leaned into him, letting his arm tighten around her shoulders.

“We have a weird way of dealing with miscarriages, and I never realized that until it happened to me. I don’t think of them as lost children.

They were never born. I never held them in my arms, but…

” Her voice caught. “They had names. Hopes. Plans. Even if those only existed in my head. And then they were gone, and I got a day off work to recover, as if I’d had food poisoning.

My family was different—they grieved with me—but Alan?

He treated it the way you said, like they’d never been there at all, and maybe that was his way of coping, but… ”

She took a deep breath, her chest constricting. “I’m sorry. This is way more than a simple explanation about why I gave up motorcycles, isn’t it?”

His hands went under her, and before she knew what he was doing, she was on his lap, his arms tight around her.

She tried to force a smile and gripped his lapels. “This is a very expensive jacket, and you do not want the leather ruined by salty tears.”

He didn’t return her smile. Didn’t say a word. Just pulled her to him and patted her back, and she tried to hold out, she really did, but then the dam burst and she started to cry.

MASON

Mason could say the universe had taken pity on him for last night, but without even trying—too hard—he had made Gemma happy. She’d cried, too, but it wasn’t because of anything he’d done, which was a refreshing change of pace.

She’d opened up to him, and now he understood what she’d gone through with that absolute bastard of a husband, and he could rest easy in the confidence that he could clear that low bar without even breaking a sweat.

Now they were walking along the beach, holding hands.

He’d taken hers when she’d been crying, and then he just kept holding it when she said she’d like to walk.

He’d waited for her to shake him loose. She hadn’t.

Which was a damn good omen, if you believed in shit like that.

He was going to start believing in shit like that.

He liked this, walking and sipping their hot chocolate. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d held someone’s hand. Grown men put their arm around a woman. But that felt like saying, This is mine , while holding hands felt like saying, I’m with her .

Sure, this technically wasn’t a date—even if he’d decided it absolutely was.

Picking their way along the rocky beach hand in hand felt like being a kid and holding tight so you don’t get lost. So the tide doesn’t sweep either of you out to sea.

It was comforting and reassuring and just… nice. Really nice.

They’d navigated to a stretch of beach where pockets of sand dotted the rocky shore.

The wind whistling past made his eyes sting, but he lifted his face to it and let the mist spray him as he inhaled the briny smell of the sea.

They couldn’t talk over the crash of waves, but that was fine. It was peaceful.

When Gemma paused to look into a tidal pool, her curls whipped in the wind. She tucked hair behind her ears and glanced over at him and smiled, and his heart did a weird squeeze.

He shoved the insulated mug into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and snapped the photo while she was looking away. Then he tugged her over and got a couple of selfies of them both before they resumed walking.