20

NOW

"Thanks for coming with me," Van said, lacing her arm through Isaac's. "I finally get to show off my trophy boyfriend."

Isaac laughed. "We can't both be trophies."

"I know. I'm the smart one."

He laughed again. Van laughed, too, and playfully pinched his arm. They made their way across the lobby of the swanky hotel where Van's modeling agency had gathered for their annual industry meet-and-greet. It wasn't Isaac's ideal Saturday evening, but Van had gushed about what a big deal it was, how she couldn't possibly miss it. How he couldn't possibly miss it. It was at that very event, two years ago, where she'd been discovered in the first place.

Isaac didn't bother saying that she didn't really count as discovered, seeing as she had yet to land anything more than spots in low-end fashion shows, and minor catalogue and promotional gigs.

"It's one of the biggest networking events of the year," she'd said. "I could walk in there Van Trimmel, and walk out Van Trimmel: supermodel."

And so, there they were, at the doors of the grand ballroom. Van paused to fix her dress—another short, tight number, this one the color of her skin—and run her fingers through her hair.

"How's my makeup?" she asked Isaac. "Do I have lipstick on my teeth?"

"You look beautiful."

"According to my boyfriend's standards of beautiful or according to fashion industry standards of beautiful?"

Running his fingers across her hip, he assured, "Both, Van."

She smiled. "Now, remember. This is a professional event. No hanky-panky, alright?" As she said it, she moved out from under his hand, which had found its way to her behind, practically up the hem of her skirt.

"I'll do my best," he promised. But he wasn't sure he could follow through; her body was absolutely ravishing in that dress. Offering his elbow for her to take, he said, "C'mon. Let's get this over with."

Inside, the ballroom was swarming. Hundreds of people stood around talking, laughing, holding glasses of champagne and little plates of hors d'oeuvres.

"Fancy," said Isaac.

"Right? Doesn't it remind you of that one scene in Pretty Woman—"

"Sav!" someone called from behind them. Van and Isaac turned to see two girls making their way toward them.

"Sav?" Isaac mumbled.

"Hush!" she shot back just as the women approached.

Isaac thought they looked like they belong to a special society, tall and stunningly beautiful, flawless faces of dramatic eye makeup and deep lipstick. Even the least beautiful of the people in that room seemed infinitely more attractive than most of the general population.

"Sav, I'm so glad you could make it," the taller of the two girls said, placing an air kiss on Van's cheek. "You'll never guess who's here."

"Who's this?" the other girl asked, eyeing Isaac.

"My boyfriend," Van said proudly. "Babe, this is Quinn and Jess. Quinn, Jess, this is Isaac."

"Nice to meet you both," Isaac said.

Both girls grinned stupidly back at him. Jess's eyes barely left his face through the remainder of their short conversation, while Quinn tried her best to avoid his gaze. When they finally walked away, Van laughed. "Did you see them?"

"I sure did, Sav."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't start."

He laughed. "What? It's cute. Real cute, Sav."

He continued to tease her between conversations as they made their way through the room, stopping often to chat with a model or agent or photographer. Before Isaac knew it, two hours had gone by.

"I'm actually enjoying myself," he admitted, filling the tiny plate in his hand with an array of exotic appetizers. "Who knew making fun of beautiful people could be so much fun."

"Hey," Van snapped. "Don't forget, I'm one of these beautiful people."

He peered around when she said that, then looked at her again. Her lipstick was slightly faded, her hair wasn't lying as flat as it had been when they first arrived, but she still looked absolutely breathtaking. She was one of them. Inside and out.

"How did we meet?" he asked.

Van's brows furrowed. "What? You know how we met, I've told you before."

"Tell me again. Tell me everything. Was it... I mean, did I...?" How could he ask her if he'd been genuinely interested right away? How could she have known if he hadn't been? Memory or no memory, he knew himself well enough to know he could convince a woman he was absolutely head over heels for her if she had something he wanted. And he was sure Van had had something he'd wanted. She had something every man wanted.

"Well, you met Maxie first, but you guys were just friends." Maxie. Of course it all started with Maxie. "You brought her home one night, and that's when you and I met. We ended up talking for the whole night, even after Maxie went to bed. When you left, you kissed me goodnight. Afterward, once we started officially dating, I mean, you told me that you just knew. You said that by the end of the night, you knew."

He blinked, her words sinking in. He knew after one night? Months upon months had passed since he got shot, and he was still trying to figure it out, but the first time around, he just knew?

"What?" Van asked, wrapping her arm around his waist. "Are you remembering?" Her eyes lit up at the thought.

"No," he said. "Just trying to figure out how..." How I fell in love with someone like you.

It wasn't as if she were unlovable. Once he got to know her again, he got to see the woman beneath the model. The sensitive, goofy, huge-hearted woman that Van was. But before, the first time around, what had made him keep digging?

"And what about Maxie?" he asked.

She recoiled a bit, her brows furrowed. "What about Maxie?"

Wrong question. Van's features were suddenly hard and full of hostility. Lucky for Isaac, the sound of her name distracted her.

"Van, here you are!"

She and Isaac both turned as another model advanced toward them. "Hey, Elanna," Van said, an edge to her voice.

"Have you been here long? I just got here, and guess with who. Patrick Wesley!" Suddenly the girl stopped speaking and her eyes went to Isaac, as if he'd just materialized from thin air before her. "Oh, hello."

"Hello."

"Isaac, Elanna. Elanna, Isaac," said Van. The introduction was much shorter, much colder than the rest had been. She wasn't smiling or giggling and gripping at Isaac's arm.

"Isaac? The Isaac?" Elanna cried. Van's eyes grew larger. She opened her mouth to speak, but Elanna wasn't finished yet. "Well, I feel like I practically know you already. The tall, dark, and elusive fiancé. Is the wedding back on since... you know."

Isaac's head jerked in Van's direction. She was looking down at the floor. "Elanna..." she said.

"How does that work?" Elanna continued. "I mean, do you just jump back into things?"

"We're taking it slow," Van replied tightly.

Tilting her head to one side, she said, "That must be hard for you, huh? Going from almost married to practically just dating again?"

Isaac's stared at Van, jaw taut, nostrils flared. "Van," he said evenly.

Looking from Isaac to Van, Elanna asked, "What? Did I say something wrong?"

Van forced a smile. "No, it's fine. I think we're actually on our way out, though."

"We are," Isaac confirmed. Without even looking at her as he pulled Van toward the exit, he said, "It was a pleasure, Elanna."

 

Outside, Van and Isaac walked in silence back to his car. She nearly had to run to keep up with his long strides.

"Isaac," she said, out of breath and only halfway to the spot where they'd parked. "Isaac, wait."

"Engaged?" he lashed out, turning so abruptly that Van slammed into his chest. "Engaged, Van?"

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

He withdrew. "So it's true."

She groaned, raising her hands to her face. "It wasn't like, some big official thing, Isaac."

"Were we planning to get married or weren't we?"

For a moment, she said nothing. Then, in a small voice, "We were."

He shut his eyes, turned away from her. He searched his brain for even the smallest of clues, the tiniest of details. It only gave him a headache. Frustration raged inside of him. How could he be so helpless? He had lived his entire life guarding himself from vulnerability, building walls and barriers to keep people out, trusting no one, and now his own mind was betraying him.

"Just let me explain—"

"What I need you to explain, Van, is why the hell I had to find out from some stranger? She's allowed to know the intimate details of my fucking life and I'm not?"

"It was a secret!" Van explained. "No one was supposed to know, that's the only reason I told Elanna. I mean, I had to tell someone. I didn't think... I mean, if I knew she'd be the one..." She shook her head. "Please, can we just go to the car? I'll tell you everything."

He walked full speed the rest of the way to his car. Van could barely breathe when they reached it and she collapsed into the passenger seat. Groaning, she pulled off her heels and began to message her feet.

"Start talking," Isaac said.

She frowned. "Can't we go home first—"

"Now, Van."

With a heavy sigh, she said, "You proposed, alright? You asked me to marry you, and I said yes. But we hadn't told anyone yet because..." She paused, shook her head as her eyes rolled. "Because of Maxie."

"Maxie?"

"We didn't want to hurt her. We didn't want her to feel left behind or abandoned. So we kept it a secret, waiting for the right time, and then..." She turned in her seat to face him. "What did you want me to do, Isaac? When you woke up, the idea of a long-term girlfriend freaked you out. Was I supposed to just drop the bomb that we were actually engaged?"

He wasn't listening to her anymore. It was all too much. Van and marriage and secrets and Maxie. Always Maxie. Somehow, someway. She must have known. Van must have told her. Maybe not at the time, but afterward. After he was shot. They had all kept it from him. With a huff, he turned on the ignition and started for the apartment.

Gnar sat on the floor in the living room, his back propped up against the couch, as Maxie fixed them each a plate of barbequed salmon. He was watching television, one of Maxie's favorite shows, a dance competition. At the beginning of the season, twenty dancers—ten men, ten women—were chosen to compete. At the start of each episode, they were paired with a new partner and assigned a dance genre to perform. At the end of each episode, two dancers were chosen to leave, until only one man and woman were left victorious at the conclusion of the season.

"I used to say I would audition," Maxie told Gnar as he watched intently.

"You could have. You're as good as these girls. Right?" Maxie shrugged. "Hey, can you do that?" he asked for the hundredth time. Every time one of the women did something he liked, he wanted to know if Maxie could do it, too. She noticed he asked mostly about splits and leg extensions and anything else that demonstrated flexibility.

This time, though, he was watching a Latin routine. Maxie came to the living room with their plates and sat his before him. "Look, look at that!" he said, tapping her leg and pointing at the television. The girl on the screen's feet were moving back and forth, forward and backward, her hips shifting to the quick beat. Picking up his plate without looking away from the screen, he asked, "What's that? Salsa?"

"Samba," Maxie replied, watching. She'd primarily studied ballet and contemporary herself, but all forms of dance interested her and she'd dabbled in most of them at one point or another.

"Let me see you do that," Gnar said, eyeing her with a grin as he bit down into his food. "Mm," he moaned. "If you keep feeding me like this, I might start dancing."

Maxie tasted a mouthful. She, too, groaned. "Wow, I outdid myself this time, huh? It does make me want to do a little two-step." Standing just between his legs, she began to mimic the dancer on the screen, moving her feet and her hips as she took another bite of her food.

Gnar laughed, playfully dancing with her where he sat. Maxie also laughed, watching him move his shoulders and arms like the man on the screen as he held his food, taking bites at the same time. "You know," he said, "You'd make an exceptional stripper."

Maxie lost her step as she exploded with laughter. "I would never strip!" she cried.

With a mischievous smile, he asked, "Not even a private show for a devoted fan?"

"You know, you aren't allowed to touch strippers," she pointed out. "It's a rule."

He shrugged, trailing his fingertips up her calf. "Rules are made to be broken."

She chuckled, but before she could reply, the front door opened and Van stepped inside. "What's this?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "For someone who gave up a promising dance career, you sure don't stop moving, Max."

Deflated, Maxie plopped down between Gnar's legs. He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest. Kissing her cheek, he whispered, "Don't you dare stop moving."

Isaac came inside behind Van and stepped forward. Maxie could immediately see the distress in his eyes. She could feel the trouble in the air. "Maxie," he said, sharply.

"Isaac, wait—"

"I thought we agreed. I thought we agreed there were no more secrets," he lashed out. He came so close to her that Gnar raised his hand in her defense.

"Whoa," Gnar said. "Relax, man. What's going on?"

"This has nothing to do with you," Isaac snapped, glaring at his friend. Maxie shrank back into Gnar's chest as Isaac took another step forward.

"This has nothing to do with either one of them, Isaac, please," Van insisted.

"What's going on?" Maxie asked. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Van told me the truth. She told me about the engagement."

"Engagement?" Maxie cried.

Isaac shook his head. "Don't fucking play dumb, Maxie. I'm done with everyone lying and keeping fucking secrets. Secrets about my life. I deserve to know if I'm fucking engaged to someone."

Maxie sucked in a deep breath. She looked past him at Van, who stood clutching her face in her hands. "Who..." She could barely utter the words. "Who are you engaged to?"

For the first time since he burst through the door, Isaac's chest deflated. His glare softened, he took a step back.

"I told you that no one knew, Isaac," Van said quietly from behind him.

"Who are you engaged to?" Maxie repeated.

"Me, Max," said Van. "We planned on telling you. Before he was shot..."

Before he was shot? Maxie inhaled sharply. Could they see the horror, the anger, the immense, indescribable sadness that as they flooded through her? Maybe Isaac did. He was looking right at her the entire time, right in her face.

She blinked. "Oh," was all she could manage.

Silence fell over the room. No one spoke, no one moved.

"Is that all?" Isaac asked her at last. The way he was looking at her, like no one else was in the room, made her shift in Gnar's embrace.

Swallowing hard, she said, "Congratulations."

"Well, we're not still engaged," said Van stepping forward. Turning to Isaac, she added, "Right?"

Without waiting for his reply, Maxie collected her and Gnar's plates and stood to bring them to the kitchen.

"Are we finished?" he asked, frowning.

"Oh," she repeated, looking down at their food in her hands. She'd lost her appetite. "Right. Sorry." She put Gnar's plate back down but continued to the kitchen with her own.

Pausing at the sink, she shut her eyes tightly. They'd been engaged. For how long? How many nights had he snuck into her bedroom, kissed her, asked her to be with him, to really be with him while he'd been engaged to her best friend?

Engaged to be married.

He'd said he didn't love Van. He'd said it hadn't been real. But if he'd been able to fool Van, why would Maxie have been any different?

She could feel the heat of shame rise inside of her. Shame, and bitterness, and hurt. And guilt. So much guilt. Because she'd betrayed her best friend for a man who had been betraying them both. And she was still betraying her best friend, because despite her anger, she was still in love with him.

Still.

Gnar appeared beside her. She could feel his arm against hers, but she couldn't bring herself to look at him. "Max," he said, softly. "Are you alright?"

"Of course," she said with a mild shrug.

She was anything but alright. Her insides were dissolving. She wanted to melt into the floor, disappear.

In the living room, Van and Isaac continued to argue: Van insisting she had had no choice but to keep it from him, Isaac insisting that she absolutely had. And all the while Maxie wondered when Van had become so good at keeping secrets.

 

Maxie tried to ignore the knock at her door. She shut her eyes and pulled her blanket over her head and let the darkness and the sheets and the silence swallow her. It was well past the time she would normally be sleeping. Well past the time anyone would be knocking at her door.

That's how she knew it could only be Isaac standing on the other side.

He knocked again, but this time he didn't wait for a reply before pushing the door open. "Max?" she heard him whisper.

She said nothing. Maybe he would leave if she remained silent.

But he didn't leave. He made his way to her bed, and he sat at the foot of it. She felt his hand rest on her leg through the comforter.

"Max," he said. "Please."

Finally, she sat up and looked at him. "What, Isaac?"

Even through the room's blackness, he stared at her. "I'm sorry," he said.

"For what?"

"For..." He paused.

How could he even know? He couldn't remember the lies he'd told her. He couldn't remember how she'd absorbed them all. He had no way of knowing that every single one of them remained engrained in the core of her being.

And now. Now she felt as if she were coming apart, from the inside out.

"For everything," he said, at last.

She slowly shook her head. "You're not the person you were," she murmured. "You're not—" My Isaac. "I can't be mad at you for things you have no control over now, things you can't even remember. It just... sucks."

Lowering his voice, he said, "You said it was nothing, Maxie. You said we were nothing."

How ironic, she thought. How ironic that all along she'd been the fool.

Nodding, she replied, "We were, Isaac. We were nothing."

"Then why are you upset?" His tone was almost imploring. It only made her more furious.

"Why are you in here?" she demanded. "What do you want?"

"To make things right," he said softly.

She scoffed. "With me? Why don't you go make things right with your girlfriend? With your fiancé. Stop coming in here. Stop speaking to me like I—"

"What?" he said. "Like you're what?"

Matter. She knew now, more than ever, that she didn't matter. She'd never mattered. "Just stop," she said.

"I've tried," he admitted. "But I can't, Maxie. I'm incapable of stopping. I don't want you to be mad at me."

It was like his bare hand was in her chest. It was like his fingers were wrapped around her heart, squeezing it, bleeding her completely dry. "And what about Van?" she asked. "She's mad at you."

He nodded once. "I'm at little mad at her, too, at the moment."

"Tell me, Isaac. Does being engaged to Van sound like such a horrible thing to you? Does it sound so impossible?"

"She lied—"

"Forget that," she said. "Forget all of that. Here and now, knowing what you know, not what you're told. Does it sound so impossible?"

Dropping his eyes to his lap, he said, "No. Not impossible."

Maxie could feel the heat rise into her face. Tears burned behind her eyelids. She waited a moment to speak again, waited until she was confident in the strength of her voice. "I'm not mad at you," she said, plopping back down on her pillow and pulling her blanket up over her head. "You can go now."

"Max—"

"Just go!" she cried. The words came out in a wretched sob.

Isaac remained there for what felt like an eternity. When she finally felt his weight shift from her bed, he said, "You said we were nothing."

Yes, she'd said that. She'd said it to hide the truth, only to find out that it was the truth. When he left the room, she wept.

Like falling into a bottomless pool, she let herself sink.