It Had to Be You by Georgia Clark (e reader for manga .txt) 📗

hands grabbing his collar, his shirt, unable to get close enough. Everything inside her was flooding, breaking, and she was deliciously, deliriously gone.

“Has anyone seen the band?”

Savannah Shipley’s voice stopped them cold. They sprung apart.

“There you are!” Savannah waved and bounded toward them. “I have your tips!”

“You are a goddess.” Zach grinned and plucked his envelope. He’d transformed so quickly from passionate lover to easy-breezy Zach. Dating-round-the-clock Zach. Very-into-white-girls Zach.

“Stellar effort tonight,” he said to Savannah. “I think you had something to do with the father-daughter dance lovefest?”

Savannah laughed, launching into the story. Zach’s eyes stayed glued on her.

Something scalding and sickening twisted around Darlene’s organs and squeezed like a python.

Jealousy.

So feverish it took her breath away.

Maybe he was charming the nice wedding planner who hired them. Or maybe Zach was just a manslut. He might act like he had real feelings for her. He might even really think it. But if she gave herself to him, would the air go out of the fantasy? She was almost thirty. He wasn’t even the age his parents believed the human brain finished developing at. He wasn’t trustworthy. He was a trust fund baby.

Zach watched Savannah leave, her ass round as a peach in her tight black skirt. He turned back to Darlene with a roguish grin. “Where were we?”

Darlene fortified herself and brushed past him. “Leaving.”

50

Zia arrived at Clay’s to find him sprawled on the sectional overlooking the Hudson River, working on his laptop.

“Hey gorgeous.” He smiled. “How was the wedding?”

“Beautiful. Inspiring. The bride’s speech was so moving.” She plopped down next to him and kicked off her shoes. “I’m still kind of wired. Think we could sneak out to a bar or something?”

“There’s plenty of booze here.” He arched an eyebrow, half joking. “This way, I have you all to myself.”

It turned her cold. Her body and heart closed like an anemone.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Her first instinct was to leave. She met his concerned gaze. “Can we talk?”

Clay closed the computer. “Always.”

Zia took a few grounding breaths. She’d told the story many times, under many different circumstances. It got easier. But it never got easy. “Right after college, I met an amazing man who I thought I was going to marry. His name was Logan.”

She watched Clay absorb that, yes, this was the piece of her past that was missing. His gaze was entirely focused on her. “I’m listening.”

“He was successful, handsome, charming. I was waitressing—this was way before I started working for Global Care. Logan and his coworkers used to have lunch at a restaurant I worked at in the financial district. The first time I waited on him, he asked if I had a boyfriend. I said no, and he said, ‘Now you do.’ ” Zia shook her head, still baffled by his confidence. “I kind of laughed it off, but he was persistent. He took me to Eleven Madison Park for our first date. I’d never been to a place like that. The food, the service. The bill. Which, of course, we didn’t split. I never paid for anything. He didn’t let me.”

Clay shifted, as if ready to hold her but careful to give her space.

“I was living with my sister and her kids,” Zia went on. “So when he said I should move in with him, y’know, it made sense. So I did. And that’s when things started to get bad.”

“Bad, how?”

“Logan was incredibly controlling,” Zia said. “What I wore, what I ate, how I spoke, who I spoke to. And he was incredibly jealous. He tracked my phone. If I was ever anywhere he didn’t know about, he’d get so mad. One time, I ran into a friend from my neighborhood and we grabbed lunch near his place. Afterward, it started to rain, so I ran up to get an umbrella from his apartment. Out of nowhere, Logan shows up and just starts laying into him.”

Clay looked horrified. “Jesus Christ.”

“It was a nightmare.” Zia rubbed her arms, her muscles tensing. “I knew I should leave him, but when you’re in an abusive relationship, you lose sight of what’s normal. You forget what’s normal. He kept telling me it was because he loved me, and I believed him. So when we’d fight and”—she drew in a shaky breath—“he’d hit me, again, I just thought that was normal. That love was complicated, relationships were hard, and it was my fault for setting him off.”

Clay made a noise: a low, pained sound.

“And so one night, I watched a documentary about people who volunteered at an elephant sanctuary in Thailand. New York was the only city I knew; I’d never even been to Boston. I suggested we take a trip together. Logan traveled for work all the time, and I’d always just be stuck in the apartment. He said no. But I couldn’t let it go. Logan knew all my passwords, so I started a secret email account on a laptop I bought myself. Researched tickets, hotels. I guess I was planning my escape.”

Clay looked like he was holding his breath. His entire body was taut.

Zia kept her voice even. “Logan found my laptop. He locked me in my walk-in closet. And left. I was in there for three days. My sister called the cops, thank God. When they found me, I was almost dead from dehydration. I never saw him again, except for in court.”

“Did he go to jail?”

Zia shook her head. “Suspended sentence.”

Clay’s voice was shaking. “He could’ve killed you.”

“He could’ve. But he didn’t.” Zia exhaled, letting the memory go. She was here, in New York, with a man who cared about her. “That was seven years ago. I’ve been to therapy; I’ve done a lot of work on myself. I don’t date assholes anymore. I know there are good guys in the world.” Her past had shown her a reservoir of strength she didn’t know she had. The ability to persevere. To survive. To forgive. And, to stand up for herself.

“You’re a good guy.