Page 32 of A More Than Mayhem Christmas

“I figured it would just happen, you know? Like, I’d knowtheright moment… the right time and place to ask again.” He says all this while keeping his eyes forward, never once looking at me.

Voice as weak as my heart, I whisper, “Jake…”

“I gave it to Logan tonight because…” He laughs once, not from humor, but more disbelief. “I guess the athlete’s superstition kicked in. I thought maybe the ring was the reason thatmomenthadn’t happened yet. Or…” he trails off.

“Or what?” I push.

“I don’t know. Maybe that ring is the reason I feel you pulling away. And it’s only gotten worse since we moved to St. Louis.” He turns to me, those deep blue eyes I fell so in love with now filled with nothing but questions. “I keep trying to pinpoint the exact moment things changed. We moved there and everything was great, and then halfway through the season, you just… I don’t know…”

I do.

“Did something happen, Kayla?”

I try to pull away, my go-to move it seems, but he’s quick to grab my arm.

“What happened?” he urges.

“It’s nothing, Jake. It’ssodumb.” I roll my eyes at myself, ignoring the heat burning behind them. “And so pathetic.” And the reason I could never find the courage to tell him.

“Tell me, anyway,” he asks. “Please.”

My vision blurs, caused by my tears, and my breaths falter. Jake pulls me in closer, lifting my legs and dragging them over his so we’re as close as we can be.

Even as I prepare the words in my mind, I realize how ridiculous it will sound. “You know how I used to sit in the suite with all the other wives and girlfriends?”

His eyes search mine, as if trying to find the end of the story within them. “Yeah?”

I drop my gaze. My voice, too. “I was running late one day, and I came in when everyone was already there, and I overheard them talking about me.”

“What the fuck did they say?” Jake spits, the harshness in his tone palpable.

“Nothingbad,” I try to assure, because I don’t want him to think he’s at fault. He’s not. But to this day, I can still remember the things that were said, and more importantly, thewayin which they said them.

“He took her in when her entire family was murdered and her house was set on fire.”

“They were strangers. They literally met the night it happened.”

“She’s been living with him ever since.”

“She doesn’t work, doesn’t do anything.”

“She’s earned nothing for herself.”

“She’s been leeching off him since they were eighteen.”

“Freeloader.”

“Gold digger.”

“The poor guy. He couldn’t leave her, even if he wanted to.”

Whenever someone asks how Jake and I met, I tell them about the dinner before senior prom, the dance, and Lucy’s cabin afterward. I leave out what happened next because reliving it brings on too much pain. Too much anguish. I don’t expect Jake to feel the same, so howhetells people is up to him. And how people interpret that is on them.

After listening to my life being torn to pieces, to my pride being ripped apart, I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Then one of them turned and saw me, and then the others did, too. They were surprised to see me, but they weren’t sorry. Even now, not a single one of them has apologized.

I don’t know if they said anything else after they realized I was there. I just remember how itfelt. Like the life I’d built and the world I’d created meantnothing,and as I stood there, I felt it all crash down around me.

I’ve never thought of myself as a weak person, or even insecure, but I felt it then, and I’ve been feeling it ever since.

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