A. Jackson - When We Met

My parents had made that all too clear when I’d come home from the gym this morning to find my suitcases on the driveway. A note pinned to one of them had said We can’t keep pretending everything’s okay, and the locks on the door had been changed.

Gone for an hour at the gym—and they changed the locks and packed all my stuff. They’d obviously been busy carrying out plans they’d had for who knew how long.

Through my tears and depressed-to-angry mood swings, I’d made the drive to Ann Arbor, Michigan, in only three hours, and remembered maybe five minutes of that. But none of that mattered now. As I let myself in the stale, funky-smelling frat house, I was already breathing easier knowing I was seconds away from being in Dean’s arms. He would make everything better—he always had over the last two years.

Jogging up the stairs, I worried for a second about looking like a disaster when I was about to see Dean for the first time in months, but I knew he’d already seen me at my lowest. A red, blotchy face and workout clothes weren’t going to faze him right now.

As I opened the door to his room at the end of the hall, my already shaky smile immediately fell, and I froze with one foot inside his bedroom. After the day I’d had, I wasn’t comprehending what I was seeing. I wasn’t getting the memo that I needed to do something. Like leave. Or scream. Or cry some more. Something. Anything. I just stood there staring—Dean not even noticing me through the music blasting in his room as he repeatedly drove into some girl I’d never seen before.

When everything seemed to snap back into reality, I grabbed at the docking station on the dresser near the door and launched it across the room—the music immediately stopped and was replaced by my voice.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I screamed.

The girl shrieked and shoved Dean back before trying to cover herself. “Get out of here!”

“Indy!” Dean yelled, and looked around wildly for a few seconds before coming toward me. “Indy, oh my God!”

“Don’t touch me! Don’t you dare fucking touch— You’re not even wearing a condom!” I didn’t know why that was the important issue right then, and I didn’t know why my gaze had flashed down. But that stupid, simple fact was what had the tears falling. He always wore a condom; he was obsessive about being safe.

“Get her out of here!” the girl demanded.

Dean stopped his advance for a second to snap, “Babe, shut up!”

“Babe?” I choked out, and looked away, holding my hands out in front of me to block my view of his junk just in case I turned around again. I’d seen him naked too many times to count. I knew that area of him intimately. But right now it was like a stranger was standing in front of me.

“Indy,” he crooned, his voice much closer.

“Tell me this isn’t happening. Tell me this isn’t fucking happening, Dean!”

“Just listen—”

“We were going to get married one day. You’re supposed to love me. You just told me last night that you love me. What—I don’t—what the hell happened?”

He sighed heavily. “I just . . . Why are you even here? I thought you weren’t coming back until Saturday.”

I dropped my hands and looked at him, a look of disbelief covering my face. “Obviously I’m back early! Don’t put this on me! It doesn’t matter if I’m here now, or if I’d waited until Saturday. You were just screwing someone else! How long has this been going on? And for the love of God, will you two please put some damn clothes on?”

“You need to leave,” the girl said, sneering.

“I’m his girlfriend!” I screeched, my voice echoing off the walls as I shot a glare at her that I wished could kill.

“Look,” Dean said softly, and moved forward to grip my arms. “I was going to wait until you got back to talk to you, I just couldn’t upset you while you were having to deal with your parents. It’s just—”

“No,” I pled. “No, don’t do this.”

“It’s just not working out, Indy. I love you, but I’m not in love with you anymore.”

My sobs finally broke free from my chest, and when Dean tried to pull me into his arms, I pushed away from him. “Why would you say the things you’ve said to me? Just a few nights ago you brought up getting engaged. Why? You can’t—you can’t tell me you’re not in love with me anymore!”

“Jesus Christ,” the girl complained. “He was trying to make things easy on you then, and he’s trying to let you down easy now. Dean was feeding you that bullshit while his cock was in my mouth. The talk about getting engaged? Sweetheart, it’s already happened, just not to you.” She held up her left hand, and my head jerked back.

“What?” I couldn’t breathe. All the air had been sucked from the room. This wasn’t happening. This whole day was a prank, or a nightmare. Something. I looked at Dean, but he was staring past me with a blank expression.

“Do you think this was just something over the summer?” she continued. “This has been going on almost as long as the two of you have. I didn’t mind letting you think you had him, because I knew he’d be mine in the end.”

“You’re lying,” I breathed. “Dean.” His name fell like a plea from my lips. I needed him to tell me this was all a lie. But he still wouldn’t look at me.

“Why wouldn’t I be sure of us? After all, you already confirmed something else. He’s never worn a condom with me. Doesn’t sound like it was the same with you. And seeing as you didn’t seem to have a clue about me, but I knew all about you . . . it wasn’t hard to figure.”

She wrapped the sheet around her body as she stood from the bed and pointed toward the door. “Now you need to go. It’s finally our time. The days of having to listen to Dean bitch about how useless, needy, and frustrating you are are behind us.”

I bent forward, grabbing at my stomach when it felt like the air had been knocked from me. I looked up to Dean, once again hoping he would deny what was happening—what she was saying. But there was nothing on his face that hinted otherwise.

“All he’s been doing for the last two years is putting up with the mess that is your life. He’s done, and I’m done letting you pretend you have him. His ring is on my finger, and his last name will be mine. His baby is in my body. And you have no more claim on him, or right to be here. Leave.”

My head snapped to the left to look at her, and my eyes dropped to her hidden torso. There was no indication that she was pregnant—but after everything else, I had no reason not to believe her. My life was a mess. I was always wondering why a guy like Dean would stay with me after everything I’d been through. I had considered myself lucky.

I’d been wrong.

He’d just been biding his time.

Indy

Two and a half months later

I was frozen somewhere between getting out of the chair and standing— my empty cup of coffee in one hand, my purse hanging uselessly in the other. My mouth and eyes were wide with horror as I stared at them from across the warm coffee shop. They hadn’t seen me yet, and I hoped like hell they wouldn’t. But I couldn’t seem to stop staring, just like every time I saw them together. Only this time she had a very obvious baby belly. It had jutted out considerably in the couple of weeks since I’d last seen her. Vanessa, as I’d come to learn—and loathe. Dean had his hands on her belly, his lips pressed to her neck; her diamond was shining subtly in the dim lighting of the shop like it was mocking me or something.

They looked ridiculously happy. And that probably killed me as much as it did to see him caressing her stomach. I glanced up at his handsome, smiling face and once again wished I’d actually broken his nose when I punched him that day in his room. Given him a reminder of what he’d done to me every time he looked in the mirror. But no broken nose. No nothing on that stupid, perfect face.

I sat roughly back in my chair and quickly put on my large sunglasses. Like that would help. Like they wouldn’t see my hair and know it was me. Who else had hair as naturally red as mine?

“Indy.” Misha, one of my housemates, wiggled her fingers in front of my face before her body blocked my view of them. “What are you doing? Do you feel okay?”

“No,” I panted. “I need to get out of here.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked a little louder, concern lacing her words. “What can I do?”

“Just shh! Don’t draw attention to us,” I whispered, and her dark eyes widened.

She barely glanced over her shoulder before her entire body went rigid. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh.’ Let’s go. We need to go. Like right now.”

“Back door.” She nodded in the direction behind me, and I stood and turned at the same time, keeping my head down as I did.

“Indy!”

“Balls,” I whispered harshly, and turned back around to see a guy approaching me—and just past him Vanessa and Dean were staring at me with wide eyes.

“Hey,” the guy said. “I didn’t even see you in here until you stood up. Are you going to the party?”

Do I know this guy? “Uh, what party?”

He gave me a look, amusement dancing in his eyes. “At your neighbors’ house.”

Apparently I do. Unfortunately this wasn’t uncommon lately. After running out of Dean’s frat house at the end of August, I’d called Misha to see if she was on her way back to Ann Arbor, only to find she hadn’t planned on coming back after what had happened between her and Hunter last year. But I hadn’t been about to let her hide away, and I’d needed my friend to cry to, and stand tall with me this year. She’d stood tall, and I was so proud of her . . . Me, not so much. Misha ended up meeting Darryn, a new guy next door, and I’d just tried to lose myself during every party.

Everyone thought I was showing my wild side and finally letting loose since I wasn’t with Dean anymore, but they couldn’t have been more wrong. I wanted to forget Dean, I wanted to forget everything about him and our time together—so I drank until I did just that. The downside of that was times like this. I didn’t remember those nights, which meant I sure as hell didn’t remember the people I’d met or interacted with.

“Most likely . . . ?” I responded awkwardly. “Are you going to stalk me if I do?”

A grin tugged at his lips as he stepped closer. “Don’t you want me to?” he asked huskily, and his arm wrapped around my waist just before his lips fell on mine.

My eyebrows rose, and my eyes widened. Before I could gather myself enough to push him away, he was stepping back. “Wha—”

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said confidently. Turning, he walked back a few tables and sat down where there were a couple of people studying.

I gaped after him for long seconds before turning to leave with Misha, only to find Dean and Vanessa still staring at me. Vanessa with a satisfied smirk, Dean with a raised eyebrow and an annoyed look on his face.

I needed to get out of there before I did something stupid like cry. I needed to get to that party so I could try to have fun as I drank away memories of Dean as I had done every weekend since I’d walked in on him and Vanessa.

“I don’t know what the hell just happened,” I hissed as Misha and I walked out the back door of the coffee shop.

“What do you mean?” She looked over at me with her dark eyes, her expression telling me she really had no clue what I meant.

“That”—I pointed behind us—“in there, that guy. I don’t know him, and I don’t know why he ki—”

She laughed in that soft, quiet way of hers and shook her head—her dark curls bouncing around her face. “Oh, I’m pretty sure you know him, Indy. Quite well, in fact.”

My face fell as we got in her car. “Oh no, no.”

“Oh yes, yes.”

“I’ve slept with him?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I just saw Dean and Vanessa and her stupid, pregnant stomach. And a guy I don’t know—or remember—kissed me. And Dean was there. And—I need a drink. Or five,” I groaned, and slumped down in the passenger seat.

Misha sighed. “That’s usually how the night starts out when you end up sleeping with him or someone else—and then you never seem to remember it.”

I sat back up quickly. “Someone else?” I nearly shouted. “Where are you and Darryn when this is happening? Why don’t you stop me from sleeping with guys I won’t remember the next morning? And why are you just telling me all this now?”

“It’s not like we don’t try, and based on how drunk you get and the things you say, you don’t want anyone telling you about what you do when you’re drunk,” she whispered, her tone indicating she was done with this conversation, and judging from it, I wondered just how many times they’d tried to stop me from myself when I drank.