I didn’t love him now, I had no residual feelings for him—except loathing—but, for some strange reason, the cheating always choked me up.

  Clearing my throat, I continued. “When it came time for the divorce settlement, they gave me just ten percent of his total debts instead of fifty percent, which turned out to be fifty percent of the new debt he’d accrued since we married.”

  “Fucking hell,” Rex said on an exhale, giving his head a subtle shake.

  “I declared bankruptcy—since there was no way I could fork over hundreds of thousands of dollars on a bartender’s salary. Oh, yeah, Walker hired me back, no questions asked. He’s a good guy.”

  “Did the bankruptcy ruling wipe out the debt?”

  I laughed. “Uh, no. That’s not how bankruptcy works. I had to pay it back—”

  “Pay it back? Pay it back?! You weren’t the one who—” Rex stopped himself, shoving his fingers into his short hair. “Sorry. Continue.”

  “They reduced the amount and gave me a payment plan to pay back the creditors and stretched it out over ten years.”

  “How many years do you have left?”

  “Two.”

  “Fuck.”

  “It’s okay.”

  Rex chuckled, a sound without humor. “It’s really not.”

  “No, it is. I learned a good lesson and that lesson has likely saved me from lots of misery since.”

  His gaze flickered over me. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

  I shrugged. “Never trust anything or anyone that seems too good to be true.”

  “Hmm.” Rex opted to stare at me and keep his thoughts to himself for several seconds before asking suddenly, “Is this why you don’t date?” He winced subtly as soon as the words left his mouth, giving me the sense he hadn’t meant to speak them out loud.

  Before he could take the question back or apologize, I answered, “It’s the main reason, yes. But also, who wants to date a bartender with hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt, trust issues, and too many hobbies?” I chuckled, shaking my head. “I promised myself I wouldn’t date anyone until the money was paid back and I was—am—debt free. I don’t want to . . .”

  “What?”

  I frowned thoughtfully at the carpet, admitting to Rex what I’d never admitted to myself. “Enter into another relationship where I’m automatically at a disadvantage, where I’m the weaker of the two, with less to offer.” I sighed, studying the weird pattern of the short fibers. “Admittedly, being a bartender has made it easier.”

  “You being a bartender has made not dating easier?” He sounded surprised by this. “You must get hit on all the time.”

  My mouth curved with a slight smile. “People tell bartenders things they wouldn’t tell their therapist or their priest. Not a week goes by without a sad sack coming in and spilling their guts about a shitty marriage. The husband cheats on her with a woman half her age. Or the wife leaves because she’s in love with someone else—usually his best friend. Sometimes they come in to celebrate their divorce and end up spending the whole evening complaining about what they didn’t get in the divorce settlement. It’s . . . marriage prophylaxis.”

  “It paints a skewed picture,” he muttered.

  I stared at nothing for a moment, sifting through all the sad stories I’d been told during my years behind the bar.

  “Why do you do it?” Rex asked quietly, pulling my attention back to him. His head was cocked to the side, his gaze open and searching. “Why listen? Why not just tune them out?”

  “Because I’ve been where they are.” I smiled wider. “Walker was my bartender, serving me Shirley Temples because I was too young for alcohol, and he made all the difference. He got me through it by listening. He set me up with Kaylee as a roommate—he knew her mom and made the introduction—so I wouldn’t be homeless.”

  “Abby—” Rex sighed, frowned, shook his head again, opened his mouth, closed it.

  I reached forward and grabbed his hand. “It’s okay, Rex. It really is. I’m good. I’m very content now with my life. And yes, the stories are depressing, but I know what they’re going through, or some version of it, and I think . . .” I waited until he gave me his eyes again before finishing my thought. “I think that makes me the right person to listen.”

  CHAPTER 10

  “Sometimes life is too hard to be alone, and sometimes life is too good to be alone.”

  ELIZABETH GILBERT, COMMITTED: A SKEPTIC MAKES PEACE WITH MARRIAGE

  The wedding was fine.

  During the reception, Rex had also been fine. Not nearly as touchy-feely as the rehearsal dinner the night before, but perfectly fine. Once I’d talked myself out of being disappointed by his lack of pretend long, hot looks, pretend playful endearments, and pretend kisses, I’d settled into my placeholder role with cheerful aplomb.

  Unlike the event yesterday, several people had braved Rex’s fuck-off-not-now face to request a photo or an autograph during the reception, which gave me a little thrill each time. I wasn’t sure of Rex’s feelings on the subject, but I’d thoroughly enjoyed watching people gush about how much they loved and admired him, taking pictures for his fans and making funny faces while I’d snapped the photos, only sometimes succeeding in cracking Rex’s granite exterior enough to make him smile.

  He hadn’t asked me to dance, and I hadn’t suggested we do so. As a paid placeholder, I figured it was not my role to have an opinion one way or the other. I’d stood next to him, smiled when appropriate, laughed when appropriate, and refreshed our drinks when the occasion arose, which had given me an opportunity to move around and stretch my legs. He drank nothing but ice water with lime and I’d nursed two glasses of champagne all night.

  All in all, this job was startlingly similar to being a bartender or a waitress, except instead of serving multiple customers, I had only one.

  Thus, when Rex leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Act like you’re tired and ask me to leave,” I gave the world a full monty view of my back molars as I yawned and leaned my head on his shoulder, whining softly about having to get up early and needing rest.

  Rex placed his arm around my waist and steered us over to the bride and groom to say our goodbyes. Amy looked stunning and her husband couldn’t stop staring at her—or trying to snog her on the dance floor—long enough to say much more than, “See you later.”

  We strolled from the reception room together and didn’t separate until we were on the elevator. Once the doors closed, I stepped away from his hold and he let his arm drop. We retreated to the opposite sides of the spacious lift.

  Rex leaned against the elevator wall, inspecting me with tired eyes. “You were amazing.”

  “Thank you, it has pockets,” I muttered, the words automatic. I laughed at the absurdity of them, rolling my eyes at myself. “I mean, no problem.”

  “Thank you.”

  I fought against the urge to curtsy, instead tipping my head. “You’re welcome.”

  “How you were with the fans, not—” He seemed to weigh his words. “Not getting upset.”

  “Why would I get upset because you have fans? Heck, I get it.”

  The side of Rex’s mouth hitched, his gaze moving over me. “I bet you do have fans.”

  “No.” I laughed, glancing at the elevator buttons and noting our progress toward the lobby. “I meant, I am a fan.”

  “You’re a fan?”

  “Of course I am. I’m a fan of yours. I love watching you play football.”

  “Really?” He cracked a smile and, for reasons unknown, something about the expression made my palms sweaty.

  “Yes. Really. Aren’t you a fan of anyone? If my hero—which, to many people, you are their hero—materialized at a party and I had the chance to tell them how much they meant to me, I wouldn’t care about talking to their date, I’d want to talk to them. I can’t even say for certain I’d notice if they had a date. When fans see the object of their admiration, they sorta have tunnel vision. You know?”

  His eyebrows pulled together, like maybe he was confused, so I added, “Maybe that makes me a bad person—”

  “No. It doesn’t. You’re right. But you’re the first woman I’ve, uh, taken to one of these things who has that perspective.”

  “Why? What usually happens?”

  Now he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, usually, she—my date—doesn’t like it, the people who come up and don’t seem to notice she’s there. My dates don’t like being invisible, and I get that. I understand not wanting to be treated like an accessory.” He sounded thoughtful, entirely reasonable, and exhausted.

  “For the record, since you’re paying me to go to these things and I’m here in a professional capacity, I don’t mind being an accessory.”

  Rex’s forehead wrinkled and I got the sense I’d said something wrong. I rushed to clarify, “And for the record, even if this were an alternate reality and we were on an actual date, I wouldn’t have felt like an accessory tonight, more like . . .” I seriously contemplated the matter and settled on, “Support. I’m here in a supportive role. Tonight wasn’t about me, and that’s perfectly fine. Not everything—or most things—need to be about me. I don’t mind being invisible. But I guess it might also help that, if I had a superpower, I’d choose invisibility.”

  “You’re not invisible,” he grumbled, full-on scowling.

  “Hmm.” I tapped my chin, deciding to lighten the mood rather than address his odd feelings about my preferred superpower. “Then I should add more camouflage to my closet.”

  That made him huff a little laugh, which had been my goal, and I smiled at my success—both at making him laugh and at making it through the evening without having to excuse myself for deep breathing exercises. It had been a good night, we’d settled into a rhythm, and I felt more confident and comfortable with his proposal than I had yesterday, especially now that he knew the truth about my past.

  Which, speaking of—

  I opened my mouth to broach the subject when the elevator dinged, cutting me off. A moment later, the doors slid open. Rex—a smile lingering on his face from my joke—put his hand over the pocket door to keep it from closing while I exited and then followed me out, stepping close to my side and wrapping his arm low around my waist.

  I was about to peer up at him in question but then caught sight of a few wedding guest stragglers in the lobby. Ah. I see.

  I wrapped my arm around his waist too, and he glanced down at me, lifting an eyebrow. “You okay to drive?”

  “No. I don’t have my car, remember? I’m going to call an Uber.”

  “Oh.” Rex frowned at this news, but his forehead soon cleared. “Text me when you get home and let me know how much to reimburse you.”

  I scoffed. “I’m sure the evening’s fee will cover a thirty-dollar car trip.”

  “No. I want to reimburse you for everything. In fact—” Rex looked left, then right, then pulled me over to a cluster of sofas in the hotel’s lobby hidden by a large column and several tall plants. Sitting us down on one of the couches, he faced me. Our knees bumped at his closeness. “Have you decided?”

  Unable to hold his hazel gaze, I worried my lip and studied the back of the column. “If it were as simple as what we did tonight, me showing up to support you when you needed, then I would absolutely say yes.”

  “Why isn’t it that simple?”

  I closed my eyes. “Rex—”

  “I’ll pay your ex-husband off. It’s nothing.”

  “I don’t want you using your money for that.”

  He was quiet for a beat. I opened my eyes and found him staring at me.

  “What? What is it?” I leaned back a little so I could see him better.

  “What if I already did?”

  I held very still. “Did what?”

  He glanced away. “It’s done.” I didn’t miss how his jaw ticked or the uncompromising severity behind the words. “I paid him off through a broker. He can’t say anything, he can’t sell his story to anyone else.”

  “When did you do this?” I’d just told him about Declan this morning! When would he have had the time?

  “I got a call just after the wedding ceremony that it was done, but I’d put it into motion this morning. My guy is really good, the best.”

  I heaved a heavy sigh and covered my face with both hands. “Rex—”

  “You underestimate how much I need you.”

  Making a sound of disgruntlement—mostly to combat the volcanic eruption in my chest caused by his words—I dropped my hands and glared at him. “You do not need me. Four days ago, you didn’t even know me. And I really wish you hadn’t paid off Declan. I don’t like others interceding on my behalf.”

  “I paid him off for purely selfish reasons.”

  I’m sure my features broadcasted the intensity of my skepticism.

  “Abby, I do need you,” he said matter-of-factly, without effect or dramatics. “My job is about hard work, talent, skill—sure. But it’s also about what’s going on up here.” He tapped his temple. “If you and I marry, a whole host of bullshit just evaporates.”

  A fissure of understanding pushed the scale toward Rex’s side of the argument. I assumed by “whole host of bullshit” he meant—at least in part—the sports announcer who’d co-opted Rex’s nickname to mean “training wheels for women.”

  “It’s Clarence O’Dea, isn’t it? That sportscaster who makes fun of your nickname?” We hadn’t discussed the guy yet, but if I had to guess now, looking at the harsh, unhappy line of Rex’s mouth and the murderous intent in his eyes, that dude and his constant perpetuating of the nickname perversion had been messing with Rex’s head.

  “That’s part of it,” he rasped out, glaring at some spot behind me. “Mostly, it’s about building a team to guarantee success. I’m tired of being distracted by failure.”

  “Failure? What failure?”

  He cut me a hard look. “You know.”

  “I don’t think I do.”

  “I’m a shit boyfriend.”

  I found this hard to believe, but it didn’t matter what I thought. He seemed to think it was true.

  I tried a different tactic and pointed out the obvious. “Not every date needs to lead someplace serious. You can date someone without being committed. Keep things casual and—what?”

  He was shaking his head before I’d come anywhere close to finishing. “I don’t do that. I don’t have time or energy for that kind of fucking around. It’s either serious or it’s not.”

  Inspecting him, I marveled at this oddity in his personality. “Who usually breaks up with who in your past relationships? You or—”

  “I do.”

  “Because you don’t—”

  “I don’t have time or energy to burn with someone who doesn’t want what I want.”

  “Which is?” This wasn’t me; I didn’t push people for information, but a wee little voice in the back of my head was leading the charge. She wondered if maybe, while I stood in as a placeholder for Rex, I could also find him his forever partner. Our former classmate Rachel McQuaid Marie had been right yesterday when she’d said Rex deserved to be with someone awesome.

  As he often did, Rex opened his mouth as if words were on the tip of his tongue, but he hesitated as his eyes moved between mine, like maybe I’d judge him for his answer.

  “Do you even know what you want?” I asked, hoping the question sounded nonjudgmental.

  “I want to be successful.”

  That had me lifting an eyebrow. “And the women you’ve dated previously didn’t want you to be successful?”

  “No, that’s not—I don’t want to let anyone down.”

  “Okay . . .?”

  He closed his eyes, looking mildly frustrated. “If I’m not enough for someone exactly as I am, if I can’t be successful at my job and meet my teammate’s needs, successful with my family—my aunt and uncle—and meet their needs, and also consistently be what she needs, there’s no point in continuing, is there? But I do need someone for events—stuff like today, exactly what you did—in order to maintain success elsewhere.”

  The picture of who Rex McMurtry was truly, as a human with flaws and peculiar hopes and quirks and strange ideas about the world, came more sharply into focus, and I filled in the remaining blanks out loud, “So you build a team of people you pay to fill the gaps, and you want me to be part of that team.”

  He nodded, but then his attention flickered to the right, perhaps rethinking our conversation. “Clarence O’Dea is definitely part of it though, what he says about the women I’ve dated.”

  “How so? Is it messing with your head?” I thought it might also be messing with his friendships. I couldn’t imagine Walker ever being okay with someone saying his wife had needed “training wheels” before marrying him.

  “It’s not about me, not really. It’s—I don’t like—” Rex made a sound of frustration. “These women, the ones he’s talking about, they’re friends of mine, good people. I don’t like how he talks about them. He calls me their training wheels—or whatever the fuck.” Rex breathed out a bitter sound. “It’s degrading and disrespectful. They deserve better.”

  Unable to stop myself, I leaned over and rested my head on his shoulder, my hand coming to his back to rub soothing circles on the wide expanse. Miraculously, the action felt entirely natural. If only teenage Abby could see me now, she’d faint.

  But it wasn’t like that. Rex was . . . We’re friends.

  At the very least, we were becoming friends, teammates, coconspirators for good (I hoped) and I wanted to help him. Currently, I didn’t feel any butterflies, I didn’t feel flustered or nervous. I felt only compassion for another person—a flawed, weirdo human—in need.