It's Your Fault, and I Don't Want You

Abraham James's female assistant had traveled back through time.

On the day I went to try on my wedding dress, she threw her arms around him and sobbed until her voice cracked.

Sweetheart, I finally made it back three years. We never had the accident, you didn't die, thank God.

Before I could react, he'd already pulled her into his arms.

"Clarissa never lies. If she says it, I believe her."

"Until I figure out what she and I are to each other three years from now, we'll push the wedding back. Okay?"

I gripped the wedding dress tight and said nothing.

He clicked his tongue, clearly impatient.

"Kayla Winfield, there's a very real chance she's my future wife."

"If I rush into marrying you now, that isn't fair to her."

Three years since we met, seven together. When he proposed, he cried and said the one thing he wanted most in this life was to marry me.

Now marrying me was rushing into it.

I smiled.

"You're right."

I took out my phone. There was the message from before.

"Just marry me, okay? Please?"

I paused, then typed.

"Okay."

...

I clicked the screen dark and walked straight to the dressing room.

Abraham followed, a smile at the corner of his mouth.

"Isn't it funny, the little thing inventing this whole time-travel bit to stop me from getting married?"

I sat down and started taking off my makeup. I didn't answer.

He leaned against the vanity, hands in his pockets, in a good mood.

"And the nerve on her."

"First day on the job and she corners me in my office to confess, insisting I drive her home."

"That time you were away, she showed up at the house dressed as the cleaner. When you called, she huddled right there next to me, calling me 'sweetheart' under her breath."

"You can read every scheme right off her face. Tell me that isn't adorable."

He seemed to find the whole thing hugely entertaining.

He shook his head, laughing.

"She's a lot of fun. I'll honestly be a little sorry to let her go."

I turned to look at him.

"If you'd be sorry, then keep her."

"I'm just talking."

He reached over and brushed my hair back, his eyes gentle as ever.

"However good she is, she's still not as good as my Kayla."

"Relax. The wedding isn't getting pushed back."

"I know where the line is. I'm just playing, teasing the little kitten."

"We're not married until next week anyway. I promise I'll have it handled before then, all right?"

Handled before the wedding.

Handled before the engagement.

Handled before our parents met.

However many times he'd said that line, that's how many times I'd believed it.

Then watched him swap in the next one.

And I'd go to his company to cry, to threaten, to throw money around.

That's how I'd driven off all twenty of his previous female assistants.

Yesterday was my birthday, and he'd sworn up and down that today he'd end things clean with Clarissa Manning.

But just now, while I was in the dressing room putting on my wedding dress,

with only a curtain between us, he had his arm around Clarissa Manning's waist, flirting.

"What are you doing here? Not scared my wife will see?"

Clarissa let out a soft hum.

"So what if she sees. A few words from you and she's fine again anyway."

Abraham's voice went low and rough.

"Look how full of yourself you are. Go home, get cleaned up, and wait for me."

So this was the line he knew so well.

I lowered my head. The tiny crystals on the dress stung my eyes.

"You deal with her, and then what? Then the next one?"

"Tell me, Abraham. Is it going to be like this after we're married too?"

"You'll happily share how fun every woman out there is, then put on that fake tenderness and tell me none of them are as good as me?"

I drew in a breath and looked into his eyes.

"If I'm so good, why do you keep chasing other people? What exactly do I even mean to you?"

Abraham blinked, then leaned in, studying my face.

"Aw, are you angry?"

He frowned, lit up his phone, and tapped a few times, fast.

Ding. A message alert.

My phone lit up. Two hundred thousand dollars, deposited.

I looked at him, not understanding.

He scrolled through his phone, unhurried.

"Go have some fun abroad for a few days. Out of sight, out of mind, hm?"

"Where do you feel like? Italy, Paris? Antarctica?"

"No rush, take your time. Just be back the day before the wedding."

I closed my eyes for a moment.

The way I'd just argued with him felt like a joke.

"Abraham. Let's break up."

Shh.

He pressed a finger to my lips and glanced toward the door.

The girl's listening out there. Leave me some face, would you?

Something caught in my throat.

A thousand words jammed up behind it until my eyes went red.

He paused, the pad of his thumb brushing lightly at the corner of my eye.

There, don't cry.

Go home and throw pillows at me, refuse to cook for me, delete me off your contacts. Whatever it takes to feel better.

I promise I won't hold any of it against you.

My mouth opened, but not a single word would come out.

He must have figured he'd smoothed things over well enough, because he turned and headed for the door.

Two steps out, he looked back.

Oh, and don't call Clarissa out on any of it.

She's thin-skinned, a lot of pride. Once she really starts crying, she's hard to settle.

He was gone before I could answer.

Outside the door, Clarissa's voice came timid and probing.

Honey, did you work it out with Kayla? Did she agree to break up?

Abraham cleared his throat twice.

Not yet.

Clarissa hesitated, and something wounded crept into her voice.

Honey, you don't believe me?

Everything I told you is true. On your wedding day, you realize the one you really love is me, and you walk out of the wedding right then and go register a marriage with me.

The reason you won't break up with Kayla now isn't that you still love her. It's that you haven't seen your own heart clearly yet.

The more she said, the more frantic she got, a sob edging into her voice.

Dragging it out like this isn't fair to any of the three of us.

For a few seconds it went quiet outside.

Then Abraham let out a low laugh.

Of course the one I love is you.

He sighed, as if he were truly torn.

Kayla's been building this company with me since graduation. Two solid years in a basement, and once she nearly got herself killed saving me.

Out chasing investors, she put up with clients pawing at her. And all those nights she pulled, her face is worn out from it.

All these years, no credit maybe, but at least some effort. I have to give her a little time to accept it, don't I?

Crash!

The bottle of makeup remover slipped from my hand and hit the floor.

I crouched to pick up the pieces, and a shard sliced my fingertip.

Blood mixed with the oil and ran all over my hand, and no matter how I wiped, it wouldn't come clean.

Just like Abraham.

The boy in the white shirt who once stood on a stage and gave a speech.

How had he turned this filthy?

I sank down onto the floor.

The tears fell in big, heavy drops.

That summer, a downpour flooded the basement.

I carried a drunk Abraham out on my back, then went back for his laptop and slipped, knocking myself out at the foot of the stairs.

I lay in the cold water all night and nearly froze to death.

When I woke, he was sitting by the hospital bed, his eyes red.

Kayla, neither I nor my laptop matter as much as you do.

If there's ever a next time, you just go. Don't worry about me, all right?

Those words carved themselves into me.

I really did believe he held me more precious than his own life.

Later, I went with him to meet clients.

Those men slung arms around my shoulders, pressed their faces close, put their hands on my legs.

I was shaking all over, my nails dug into my palms, I wanted to run.

But when I looked up, I saw him down there humbling himself, pitching the plan.

So I held it in. I sat there and didn't move.

And all of that, in his eyes, came down in the end to one line.

No credit, but at least some effort.

So once the company went public and he became the tech world's new golden boy,

he no longer liked this face I'd worn out with sleepless nights, and had to keep going out to hunt down younger, prettier ones.

Wasn't that it?

Outside, Clarissa laughed, sweet as anything.

Honey, is it that you pity her? Is that why you were going to marry her?

What else?

Abraham's tone turned careless.

She's not young anymore. Once she's away from me, who's going to want her?

My hand dropped, limp.

The boy Abraham in my memory blurred until I couldn't make him out.

My phone buzzed wildly all at once, and I fumbled it into my hand.

The person on the other end sounded worked up, and like he didn't dare believe it.

Kayla, why aren't you answering? Are you sure you want to marry me?

I wiped my tears and gave a small smile.

I'm sure.

Then, should I come to you?

I shook my head.

I'll come to you.

This city I'd only stayed in because of Abraham.

I wanted to leave it.

As I stepped out of the fitting room, a text popped up.

It was a flight booking confirmation.

A message came right after.

Tomorrow. See you in Silvercreek.

Back home, dresses and lingerie lay scattered across the living room.

I looked away and headed for the master bedroom.

Just as I reached for the door, Abraham came out in a bathrobe.

When he saw me, his face darkened.

"Didn't you check your messages? Didn't I tell you not to come back yet?"

I said nothing. My eyes went past his shoulder.

On the bed, Clarissa slept soundly.

She was wearing the red silk nightgown I'd bought for the wedding.

From her neck down to her collarbone, red marks were scattered across her skin.

Abraham glanced back at her, gritted his teeth, and dragged me into the living room.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, irritation coming off him in waves.

"I told you, out of sight, out of mind. You just had to rush back and see for yourself."

"And now that you've seen it, you feel awful. What's the point?"

I looked at the bite mark on his earlobe and said nothing.

He scratched at his ear, sank back into the couch, and crossed his legs.

"So? You've seen it, you know now. And then what?"

"Kayla, what are you actually going to do about it?"

He looked at me, worn out.

"Why not just turn a blind eye, pretend you don't know?"

"Why put on that wounded face and make me feel like I've wronged you?"

So he'd known all along that it would hurt me.

And he'd still brought her home, put her in my nightgown, laid her in my bed.

I caught them, and somehow it was my fault for coming back at the wrong time.

My hurt was something I'd brought on myself.

Even his guilt, apparently, was my fault too.

I let out a short laugh.

"Abraham, we already broke up."

"Whoever you bring home, whatever you do, it's got nothing to do with me."

I turned toward the master bedroom.

"I came back for my things. I'll pack up and go."

His hand snapped around my wrist and I fell back into the couch.

He leaned over me, his eyes cold.

"That's twice today you've said we're breaking up."

"I don't like it when you act out like this. Find another way."

Act out?

Even saying I wanted to break up.

He thought that was me acting out too?

A wave of exhaustion hit me. I pushed him off and got up to leave.

"I'll be packed in a minute."

Behind me, Abraham's voice went cold.

"You woke the girl up. We're pushing the wedding back a week."

"What wedding?"

Clarissa stood barefoot in the living room, looking from me to Abraham.

Something seemed to dawn on her, and her eyes filled with tears.

"Honey, you still don't believe me. You're still going to marry her!"

She dropped to the floor, sobbing so hard her words ran together.

"I already told you, three years from now the three of us die in a car crash."

"I just wanted to protect the baby, and then everything went black... and when I opened my eyes again, I saw you."

"He's only two and a half. It breaks my heart just thinking about him."

"Honey, if you don't want me anymore, what happens to our baby?"

Three years from now? A baby? Two and a half?

Something roared in my head. Slowly, I turned to Abraham.

"She's pregnant?"

He froze, then rubbed his nose.

"It was an accident."

Then he went quiet.

Numbly, I asked.

"What are you planning to do?"

He'd already helped Clarissa to her feet.

Sleeves of his bathrobe pushed up, he was carefully wiping away her tears.

At my question, he shot me a startled look.

"What else can I do? Kayla, how can you even ask something like that?"

"Whatever else is going on, he's a life too. There's no way I'd stop him from coming into this world."

I stumbled and caught myself on the couch.

But two years ago, that wasn't what he'd said.

Back then the company had just gone public, and I threw myself into his arms with the pregnancy test results in my hand.

"Congratulations. You're going to be a dad!"

He took the paper, glanced over it, and frowned.

"Kayla, having a baby right now does more harm than good."

He flipped the results over and started making quick tally marks in the blank space on the back.

"No money. Bad timing. We can't give a kid a good life."

"And you're not mature enough. You wouldn't be a fit mother."

"Bottom line," he finished the fifth set of tallies, then looked up at me, "we can't keep it."

I stared at the wide blank under the "harm" column and asked in a flat voice.

"So there's not a single good thing about keeping him?"

"There is." He looked at me, his eyes so calm it sent a chill down my spine. "It satisfies your selfish little wish to be a mother."

"And you don't want to be a father?"

"Not right now." He said it without a flicker of hesitation. "Besides, we're not married. I won't have a kid born a bastard."

A small spark of hope lit in me, and I looked up at him.

"Then can we register the marriage first? Have the wedding later, once we have money?"

He gave me a disapproving look.

"Kayla. The way things are now, I can't give you a good future."

I lay on the cold operating table, my tears soaking into the sheet.

He, meanwhile, was in Los Angeles with his new female assistant, watching her idol's concert.

The big screen caught the two of them kissing in the crowd, and the whole arena screamed and cheered for them.

His parents saw the clip, learned I'd lost the baby, and pushed him to marry me.

He knelt in front of me sobbing, slapping his own face, then produced a diamond ring.

"Kayla, marrying you is the greatest wish of my life. Will you marry me?"

But even so.

Because of the endless parade of amusing little stunts his female assistants kept pulling, the wedding got pushed back, again and again, for two years.

A cramping pain ran through my lower belly.

My heart felt like something was tearing at it over and over, and the pain buckled my knees.

"Abraham, why? Why couldn't our child be allowed to come into this world?"

I pointed at Clarissa, my voice shaking.

"Isn't her baby a bastard too?"

"Your stomach hurting again?"

He shook his head, exasperated.

"Kayla, you had that procedure two years ago. The aftereffects don't last this long."

"If this is your way of making a scene, then I like you even less for it."

He came over, bent down, and reached out to pull me up.

"Come on. Stop the act. Get up."

I slapped his hand away hard and screamed, hysterical.

"I'm asking you! Why does she get to keep her baby?"

He rubbed his nose, pressed his lips together, and said nothing.

"Kayla, honey, my baby isn't a bastard, you know."

Clarissa leaned in from the side and waved a little red booklet in front of my face.

"My husband and I already registered. We're legally married."

The three words on that red booklet, marriage certificate, swam until my vision went black.

I heard my own voice, stiff and numb.

"When did you register?"

Clarissa was all smiles, her young, full face unable to hide her smugness.

"Today. Right after we left the bridal shop, I dragged my husband down to register."

"He was going to be my husband anyway. I'm just claiming what's mine one week early..."

Her voice grew farther and farther away.

As if through a curtain of water, I couldn't make out a single word.

"Oh."

My lips twitched. I gave a small laugh and lowered my head.

"Congra... congratulations."

"Clarissa."

Abraham suddenly cut her off and cleared his throat.

"Weren't we going to Bali for the honeymoon? Go change."

"Okay, husband."

The two of them turned and went into the bedroom.

When they came out again, they were dressed and dragging a suitcase.

Abraham, his arm around Clarissa, walked to the door and glanced back at me.

"Before we get back from our honeymoon, I'd like you to move out."

The door slammed shut.

At the same moment, a message came in on my phone.

"Don't take what I said seriously. It was for the girl's benefit."

"The registration... I had no choice either. She said if we didn't register, she'd go get rid of the baby."

"Since it's done, might as well play it out. I'm just taking her out to see a bit of the world. Don't read too much into it."

"Relax. Before our wedding, I'll definitely register a divorce with her."

I stared at those few lines, my hand shaking so hard I could barely hold the phone.

I meant to press the screen off, but my fingertip slipped and dialed his voice call.

"Kayla?"

"Le... Lewis Gilbert."

"Is your anxiety flaring up again?"

I opened my mouth.

No sound would come out anymore.

"Kayla? Kayla!"

Lewis's voice went taut all at once.

"I'm coming to you."

I don't know how long it was.

In the dark, someone broke through the door.

I was lifted carefully into his arms, a warm palm slowly patting my back.

"It's all right now, Kayla. I'm here."

So familiar. Safe.

Two years ago, it was this same voice that talked me down off the rooftop.

I unclenched my jaw, my lips still trembling.

"Lewis, take, take me away."

"Anywhere. As long as it's not here."

And with that, I lost consciousness completely.

What I didn't see was the way his jaw tightened as he turned to the assistant behind him.

"As fast as you can, take over every last debt James Tech has."

The assistant blinked.

"You mean to... bring James Tech down."

Lewis gently brushed the sweat-damp hair from my forehead, his voice light.

"Do it."

The assistant lowered his head.

"Yes, Mr. Gilbert."

...

Bali. The airport.

Abraham stared at his chat thread with me and clicked his tongue.

"She hasn't answered? She always replies in seconds. How could she..."

He frowned and quickly sent another message.

"Is your stomach really bothering you? Should I send the family doctor over?"

Still nothing.

He suddenly remembered the way I'd been curled up beside the couch before he left.

For no reason he could name, unease flickered through him.

He started calling my phone.

On the third try, it finally connected.

But the voice on the other end was a man's.

"Hello? Is this Abraham James?"