Contract Marriage: I Will Never Love You
Chapter 185: Whiskey

Chapter 185: Whiskey

Rebecca

It’s been three days since Marcus boarded that flight. I watched him walk through the security gate at JFK with that stupid, confident smile on his face. The one that always hides how nervous he actually is. He turned back three times to wave at me.

And I stood there, a mess of emotion, clutching my coffee.

I thought I’d be okay. I thought I’d come back to my hometown, binge something dumb on Netflix, and distract myself with work. But I haven’t been okay.

It’s not the absence that hurts the most. It’s the space he left behind.

The way my phone feels heavier in my hand, waiting for his text.

The way I almost make two cups of coffee in the morning.

I hate this.

I curl up on the couch now, in his hoodie. It is gray, too big, and smells like his cologne and I scroll through our last chat.

I smile at the screen. I miss him.

I miss him so damn much it surprises me.

I always thought I was good at being alone. Independent, unattached, unbothered. That was kind of my whole thing.

But now I’m realizing being alone and being without him aren’t the same thing.

Ah, darn it. I need to keep myself busy with something else. Maybe I will go Visit Hailey. And maybe Josh, too. It has been a while since the three of us hung out together.

I send a text to the group chat:

"Anyone up for mediocre wine and unhealthy amounts of takeout?" I write.

Sarah: "Always. I will ask Matthew to watch Rhea. Your place or mine?"

"Mine," I quickly type. My phone lights up with another text.

Josh: "Only if it’s that disaster pad thai from Thai King, because living dangerously is my vibe right now."

I smile to myself.

Within the hour, Josh and Sarah are here.

"You look like death, babe," Sarah declares, shaking her head. "Absolute train wreck. Is this about your man?"

I groan and collapse onto her shoulder.

"Marcus. He is gone," I say.

"He is not GONE. He is in Germany for work," Josh calls out from the couch, where he’s already ten minutes deep in a boba-fueled rant about the latest MCU reboot.

"And it has only been three days," Sarah says, popping open a second bottle of wine even though the first one’s not technically finished.

I groan. "A long time."

Josh grins. "Always so dramatic. I can’t believe you are dating Marcus, of all people."

"You don’t get him," I protest. "He is not some shallow asshole. And besides...he said he loves me."

Josh’s eyes turn wide. "No shit."

"Tell me more!" Sarah demands.

"And I love him. Guys, don’t make a big deal out of it," I say.

There’s a stunned silence.

"YOU LOVE HIM?!" Sarah exclaims. "Is this a joke? Are you pranking us?"

Josh stares, mouth open in a perfect O, his straw abandoned mid-suck. "Back up. You’re, like, actually in love? With that guy?"

"Yes," I say, cheeks burning. "Yes. I think I am. Don’t make it weird."

"Oh, honey, it’s already so weird," Sarah whispers, eyes shining with unshed tears. Possibly from joy, possibly from multiple glasses of rosé. "How did this happen?" Josh demands to know.

"It’s like he sees me, the way I actually am, and not just the fun, quirky parts. And he still wants me anyway," I say tentatively.

Sarah’s eyes go soft, her hand squeezing mine over the table. Josh just shakes his head slowly. "Wow," he says. "He is really good. Hailey did tell me he is a player. He got you good, huh?."

"It’s not like that," I snap at him. "You don’t know him like how I got to know him, Josh. There is so much more to him than just some cold, arrogant man. He...he is good to me."

Josh’s expression softens. "Alright, Becca. I am sorry. As long as he is good to you."

"Yeah, you have our support," Sarah agrees.

The rest of the night passes in a looser, easier kind of comfort. We eat, laugh until we cry about old stories, then collapse in a heap in front of an absolutely abysmal Netflix documentary about haunted dollhouses.

In the morning, there is a message waiting.

Marcus: "It’s late here and I miss you too much. Call you later, Beautiful. xo"

My chest tightens.

You’d think, after everything, it would be easier to breathe. But love has a way of squeezing the air out of you.

I text back, ignoring the hour.

Rebecca: "Miss you more. Hope Germany is ready for you."

For a while, I just hold the phone in both hands.

My phone lights up.

"No one can be prepared for Marcus Winters," he wrote.

I roll my eyes. There’s my arrogant, self-absorbed boyfriend.

I stare at Marcus’s message for a solid minute, grinning like an idiot.

"No one can be prepared for Marcus Winters."

God, he is such a dork.

I hug the phone to my chest and flop back onto the couch, blanket tangled around my legs.

I type back:

"They’re lucky to have you. Even if you’re a little insufferable."

A typing bubble appears almost immediately, then disappears. Then comes back. Then, it disappears again. I wait, oddly giddy.

Finally, it appears:

Marcus: "You love me even when I’m insufferable."

I blush instantly, like a teenager, even though I was the one who said it first. Love.

I scroll up to reread his earlier message, then mine, then his latest. I should probably get on with my day, shower, and eat something, but I just stay there, curled up in his hoodie, letting the warmth of it linger.

He hasn’t even been gone a week, and I already feel like I’m living half a life.

It’s terrifying how fast someone can become your home.

"I do. I love you even when you use three-in-one shampoo and call it ’efficient.’"

Marcus: "Blasphemy. It’s elite multitasking."

"It’s a war crime," I reply.

Another bubble. I wait.

Marcus: "If you were here, I’d throw a pillow at you. Then kiss you to make up for it."

My heart clenches in the softest, most annoying way. I stare out the window at the overcast sky and try to imagine what the weather’s like in Germany.

Is he thinking about me the way I’m thinking about him?

I sigh and pull the blanket tighter around me. Then I start to type again.

"Promise me something?"

There’s a pause.

Marcus: "Anything."

"When things get busy over there, when you’re working long hours and you’re tired and overwhelmed, I want you to text me anyway. Even if it’s just a word. Even if it’s nonsense. Just so I know you’re still... with me."

Another pause. My heart tap-taps nervously.

Marcus: "Whiskey."

I blink.

"What?"

Marcus: "That’s the word. If I send you that, it means I miss you like hell, but I’m too tired to string a sentence together."

I laugh, suddenly and breathlessly.

"Whiskey. Got it."

I don’t know how I am going to make it through the next four weeks.

I type again. "Do you feel like I am being too clingy?"

Marcus doesn’t reply and I immediately regret sending him that text. What if he does thinks I am too needy?

But then...

Marcus: "No. I feel like I’m being starved and you’re the only thing I crave."

I stare at the screen, heat rising to my cheeks. My fingers curl around the edge of my phone, holding on like it’s him.

That’s the thing about Marcus. He doesn’t always say the right words, but when he does, it’s like being struck by lightning. Gentle and devastating all at once.

I cover my face with one hand and breathe out a soft, disbelieving laugh.

"I hate how smooth you are," I text, biting my lip.

Marcus: "You love it."

Okay, he is not wrong.

I glance at the time. It’s way past noon. I should probably get dressed and do something productive. But instead, I curl up tighter and scroll back through our messages, letting myself be hopeless just a little longer.

My phone buzzes again.

Marcus: "Want to try something weird and sappy?"

My heart stutters.

"Always."

Marcus: "Okay. When you go to bed tonight, leave a space on the pillow next to you."

"Why?"

Marcus: "Because I’ll be doing the same thing."

Oh.

That’s when the tears come.

Not the big, ugly kind. Just the quiet ones. The kind that sneak up on you when you’re holding your breath too tight for too long.

"Okay. Deal. I’ll leave a space. Just for you."

I stare at the blinking cursor, wanting to say more. Wanting to tell him I’ve never done this before, missed someone like this. Loved someone like this. It feels like I opened a door and the whole world changed colors.

But instead, I just type:

"Whiskey."

He sends a heart.

And suddenly, even though he’s a thousand miles away, I don’t feel so alone.