Chapter 15

fifteen

ISLA

I know I shouldn't do it, but my thumb hovers over Alex's username on Instagram and, before I can talk myself out of it, I give it a tap. I'd been doing better at avoiding the temptation to spy on him, but the last couple of weeks have left me feeling raw.

Clearly looking to poke at a healing wound, I click on his most recent post. Brown hair tousled in the wind, his smile is broad and bright, and his blue eyes sparkle in the afternoon sun. He's on a beach—probably Cabo because the asshole went on our honeymoon alone—and he looks so much happier than he ever did with me. Long, blonde hair blows next to him in the breeze, but the owner's face isn't in the photo. My chest tightens sharply. Is he seeing someone? At the end, I suspected he might be cheating, but he'd denied it. Is this her ?

"I have a work dinner tonight," Alex informs me as he brushes his teeth. He doesn't even look my way as I shuffle into the bathroom, bleary-eyed and still half asleep.

"Oh." I wish he'd told me sooner. I have nothing to wear. "How formal do I need to dress?"

"No. You misunderstand." His eyes bounce my way for half a second before turning back to his own reflection. "I'm telling you I won't be home. It's an important dinner, Isla, and I have to impress these people. They have the power to make or break my career. I need to make a good impression."

His words crack like a barbed whip across my flesh. I'm instantly awake. Instantly on the defensive. "What exactly are you trying to say, Alex?"

He rolls his eyes. His tone is utterly bored as his next words flay my skin again. "These are powerful people, Isla. They have certain standards and expectations. I don't want to make you put on an act with them. You'd just be uncomfortable, and I don't want you to feel inadequate."

Inadequate. He doesn't want me to feel inadequate . Heat flushes my face and chest, and I know if I looked in the mirror, my fair skin would be mottled with ugly red splotches. It's one of the unfortunate aspects of being a redhead. Even if my facial expressions don't give away my upset, my skin does with its patchy color.

"Excuse me? You're acting like I'm some kind of uncultured idiot, and not a teacher with a master's degree in education and a degree in classic literature."

Alex waves his hand in the air, dismissing me. "You spend your day with teenagers. No need to make it sound like you're doing something extraordinary. Any idiot can teach. "

I'm silent for a moment, seething. "Really? Any idiot can teach?"

"Oh, come on," he says, rolling his eyes again. "I didn't mean it like that and you know it."

Sure. He didn't mean it like that. Of course. That makes it all better. "I know exactly what you meant."

"Don't be like that, Isla. We'll both benefit if I get this promotion. Do you really want to jeopardize that?"

The painful throbbing in my chest becomes harder to ignore. Alex truly thinks my mere presence at this dinner could negatively impact his ability to get promoted? I'm his fiancée. I supported him every step of the way through law school. I helped him study, cooked him dinners when he was drowning and overwhelmed even though I was working through my own intense course-load. I listened when he vented, held him when he was upset. I've gone to so many stuffy events with him, despite wishing I could be doing anything else, and I've always charmed the people around us. Why is he saying this stuff to me now?

"I can't believe you."

"Of course, you don't understand." He lifts his eyes as if he's praying for strength. "This really isn't up for discussion. I was simply being courteous and giving you a heads-up that I won't be home tonight. I'll probably just get a room at the hotel where they're holding the event. Don't wait up for me."

Tears prick the corner of my eyes as I struggle to maintain my composure. Without another word, I turn and walk away. I lock myself in the guest bathroom and try not to cry as I take an extra-long shower.

Alex is gone when I get out .

I wasn't good enough for Alex, and we'd been together for years. Hell, we were going to get married. Maddox immediately dismissed me, and Blake was a douche. The common denominator in all of those interactions?

Me.

Maybe there is something wrong with me.

I click over to my profile, noting the lack of new content. Ever since Alex ended things, my Instagram has been glaringly empty. If my ex were to do a little snooping, he'd rightly assume I've retreated into myself without him. I bet it would bring him immense joy. We can't have that.

Screw it. I tap on the little plus icon to post my fuck you to Alex Jones. Without overthinking it, I upload the photo of me and Maddox Graves. The one where he's looking at me, not the camera. The one where it almost looks like he finds me interesting and desirable.

I consider what I should write for the caption, then decide to go with something short, sweet, and open-ended. Something I hope will make Alex wonder about me if he sees it.

Dinner with this guy. Thanks for an unforgettable night, Maddox.

There. That should make Alex wonder. What was so unforgettable? Did Maddox take me home and ravish me against my apartment door because he couldn't wait the seconds it would take to walk to my bedroom? Have we been dating long? When did we meet? How quickly did I move on? I doubt Alex will suspect it to be memorable for how awful it was and how small it made me feel.

At least there's that.

I suffer a momentary twinge of guilt at using the photo of me and Maddox. After all, he'd been kind at Skin and Tonic. He'd helped me. But he'd also been an ass when we first met, and this photo was part of the deal. It was one of the reasons I agreed to stay. It's only fair I use it for its intended purpose.

As I tap the button to post it, part of me wonders if Maddox will ever see it. I wonder what he'd think. Would he find me pathetic? Would he even care enough to have an opinion?

The guys would be excited if you came to a game.

No, I doubt he'd care enough to have an opinion. And it's probably pathetic to assume Alex thinks about me enough to stalk my socials the way I stalk his. After he broke things off with me, he made this speech about being adults and not making a scene of things . Which, to him, meant keeping up the appearance of civility. Of being friends . Not that we actually are. It just meant he didn't want us to unfollow and block each other all over social media. He claimed it was because it would make us both look bad to our employers, but that's bullshit. Now I realize he's just an asshole.

Why did I go along with that?

Well, I suppose it would be difficult to act like a voyeur in his life if I blocked him. And part of me hopes he'll slip up one day and reveal he's desperately unhappy without me. That he made a mistake and realized the error of his ways.

I wouldn't take him back, I really wouldn't. But it would be nice not to feel so insignificant and easily discarded. It would soothe me in some small way to know that recreating his life without me was just as painful as it was for me .

But Alex is off smiling on what should have been our honeymoon while I'm moping around Minneapolis, feeling sorry for myself. It's clear I was easy to move on from, and easy to forget.

It's high time I do the same. Fuck Alex Jones. I'll give him time to see my photo with Maddox, then I'm blocking his ass. No more moping. No more feeling sorry for myself.

Time to start living again.