by Molly McLain
Six days.
It’s been six days since I saw my wife and I miss her like hell. Waking up cold and alone friggin’ blows. Hell, I didn’t realize how much sleeping with her—and I don’t mean fucking her—meant until she took that simple pleasure away.
And why now? I mean, I can concede that things between us had been a little strained with the holidays. The craziness that always hits at work this time of year didn’t help. But on Christmas Day? We were literally opening gifts one minute and she was packing her shit the next. I still can’t wrap my head around the spontaneity of it.
“Uh, Rusk?” Will’s voice snaps me from my daze just as the bell rings in the octagon and the crowd roars with another wave of excitement. The Ripper retains the heavyweight championship and his opponent has no less than a gallon of blood on his face.
“Thank God,” I groan, as a few of the fans in nearby seats hurry toward the exit, trying to beat the massive crowd out of the MGM Grand. Fine by me. The faster they move, the sooner I can get the hell out of here, too.
“No, man…” Will grabs my arm and nods to something down the aisle. As more and more people push out of their seats, it’s hard to tell what he’s gesturing to…until I see it. Motherfucker.
About twenty feet away, moving in the opposite direction, is my wife. But not just my wife—my wife with a tall, Nordic looking dude I’d recognize anywhere. Hell, half the country would, even without his Chargers uniform.
“What the hell is she doing with Carter Ellis?” Will mutters, both of us bobbing and weaving to keep a bead on Lauren as dozens of fans fill the space between us.
“How should I know?” I snap. Carter’s been a client of hers at the salon for years. Ever since he found out that his brother and hers had served together in Afghanistan. Fortunately, his sibling made it home, while Lauren’s did not.
I had no idea that his interest in my wife extended beyond her scissor wielding ability and their common ground.
“I’m going to need your jacket.”
“What?” Will frowns.
“Your jacket.” I wave an impatient hand, trying to keep an eye on Lauren as she, interestingly enough, lets Carter lead her to the farthest exit from mine. Did she see me? She must have.
When I look back to Will, he’s grinning like a smug prick. “You’re going to gala?”
“Looks that way, doesn’t it?”
“Don’t make this awkward, man.”
Awkward is my wife leaving me because of a job I’ve had longer than she and I have been together and then showing up a few days later on the arm of a so-called friend. Something doesn’t add up, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to leave this hotel without figuring it out.
“You mean to tell me you’d let this go if she were your wife?” I ask as Lauren and Carter slip out of the arena. She wants someone new? Fine. She’s going to tell me that to my face, though. No more half-ass excuses.
“Of course, I wouldn’t,” Will mutters. “But you start something at the gala and you’ll find yourself in lock-up.”
“Not starting a damn thing.” Ending it maybe. Either my marriage or Lauren’s goddamn date, but that’ll be up to her. I gesture to his jacket again, and my partner sighs.
“This is a bad idea, Detective.”
Probably, but the decision’s been made. “Either you give me your jacket or I kick some other dude’s ass and steal his. Up to you.”
Amusement passes over Will’s expression before he shrugs out of the coat and hands it over. “Don’t call me when you get thrown in the clink.”
Rolling my eyes, I slip into the jacket. “Not going to happen.” I know how to keep my cool. Usually.
As if he reads my mind, Will chuckles. “Come to think of it, Carter Ellis doesn’t strike me as the type of guy who’d let the cops take care of his problems, so mayb you’re right. He’ll take you to the back alley instead.”
Ppsshh. Am I supposed to be intimidated by the guy because he knocks around three-hundred-pound linebackers? I’ve got a goddamn Glock tucked against my ribs.
“Like I said...no problem.”
Lauren
Why the heck is Ian working security? More importantly, did he see me? With Carter?
“You okay?” my date asks, his big hand rubbing gently against my back as we push patiently through the crowd, heading toward the gala. “You got quiet on me all of the sudden.”
“I’m fine,” I lie. I’m just here to help Carter celebrate our brothers’ military accomplishments with a fat donation to VETSports. “Just hungry.”
He laughs as our trek stops behind the mass of fans-turned-black-tie-gala-attendees held up at the congested ballroom entrance. Trying for casual, I glance behind us. Even in three-inch heels, I’m shorter than most of the people around me, so I listen more than I look. Thankfully, there’s no angry shoving or brute-like noises to indicate that Ian saw me.
Then again, I’m probably wishful thinking to expect that kind of reaction from him anyway. I left almost a week ago and he’s only tried to contact me via text message less than a dozen times. Guess I wasn’t far off in thinking he valued his job more than me.
“Thank you again for coming tonight.” Carter’s fingers slide to my hip, squeezing gently. It’s an intimate touch, but I know better than to make anything of it. He may have opened the limo door for me earlier, but this isn’t a real date. Not by any means.
“Of course, I’d come.” I smile softly, pretending, just like I have all week, that I’m not agonizing over what looks to be the fallout of my marriage.
“Something is off with you, and it’s not starvation.” My non-date narrows his blue eyes while silently edging me forward again as the crowd begins to move. “Afraid we’ll see someone you know?”
Too late for that. “Where the heck do you come up with this stuff?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he chuckles. “Maybe the fact that you flaked as soon as you saw your husband back in the arena.”
Crap. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
“I had no idea he’d be here,” I rasp, shooting a nervous glance over my shoulder again.
To that, Carter just grins. “You could remedy that by talking to him, you know.”
I could and I will. Just as soon as he makes an honest concession. And not via text. I need something a little more heartfelt. Something a little more…hopeful.
“You think he saw you?” Carter asks, and I shrug.
“I’m not sure.”
“My feelings wouldn’t be hurt if you wanted to find him.”
No, Ian has to seek me out. He needs to figure out where he—and we—went wrong on his own. “I’m okay,” I say, forcing a smile.
“I beg to differ, but this is your marriage, not mine.”
“If he did see us, he’s not going to be happy.”
“Well, then I guess it’s a good thing you’re with me, huh?” Carter’s eyes light up once again, and I’m reminded of why I chose to confide in him in the first place. He’s a humble, levelheaded guy despite his spotlight career. He’s a lot like Luke had been. Only his condo—where I’ve been staying all week—is a lot cleaner than anything my brother every owned.
“Let’s just try to have a good time,” I tell Carter. “Tonight is about Luke and Chase, not me and Ian.”
Carter eyes me carefully for a moment before he finally nods. “Okay, but he should happen to show up—”
“He won’t.”
He’s had six days to come after me. He won’t now.
Ian
I find her near the stage, drinking champagne and talking with Carter and the mayor, who happens to be tonight’s emcee and a military veteran himself.
I’m not going to lie—seeing Lauren with someone like Carter is hell on my ego. His mailing address might be in Las Vegas, but he’s on the road or in San Diego at least six months every year. There’s no way he can give her more than I can, money aside, because I know Lauren’s not that shallow.
Then again, what do I know? Maybe I never really knew her at all.
I swallow down the bitter question as she excuses herself from the conversation and starts for the side of the ballroom.
I don’t want to cause a scene, and I sure as hell don’t want to give her any more ammunition for staying away, but I need answers.
And I need them now.
Lauren
The bathroom door opens and closes a few seconds after I lock the stall door behind me, and I expect the click of heels to follow. Instead, there’s only the subtle rustle of fabric—pants, if my guess is right—and the quiet, possibly reluctant tread of heavy footsteps. Whoever entered after me probably isn’t a woman and, call me crazy, but my hopeful heart begins to thump hard in my chest.
Please, God, let it be him. Please.
I finish my business, forcing myself to go slow and breathe in and out carefully, just in case it isn’t him. Either way, I need a game plan.
When I can’t stall any longer, I straighten my dress and casually open the door.
My chest instantly clenches, both in relief and in fear, as the handsome, familiar man leans back against the counter a few feet away. His long legs are crossed at the ankles, just like his arms over his chest and his eyes—God, his eyes—are a quiet, brewing storm.
I can’t look at him directly, rather I watch from the corner of my eye as I make my way to the sink and wash my hands, like he’s just a woman powdering her nose instead of my estranged husband.
“You look beautiful tonight,” Ian finally says, his voice low and easy, as if cornering me in a public restroom is something he’s done a hundred times. Like there aren’t a hundred other things wants to say or ask me right now.
I should probably thank him for the compliment, but the sentiment seems pretentious when what I really owe him is an explanation. Instead I say nothing at all and, for several long moments, we stand there, me staring into the mirror, not really seeing myself, and him looking ahead as if the paint on the wall is some amazing piece of abstract art.
“You left me for Carter,” he says suddenly. It’s not a question but an assumption.
“Ian—”
“Can’t say I saw that coming. I mean, I know you weren’t happy, but him? Shit, babe, that’s rough.”
Dropping my chin to my chest, I suck in breath after deep breath, trying to remain calm. How can he possibly think I’d cheat on him?
“I’m not with him, Ian. Not like that.”
“He touches you like you are. Hell, you’re his date tonight, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“That’s all I need to know.” Just like that, Ian pushes away from the counter and stands to his full height, a steady hand sliding back through his dark hair. His calm demeanor is unsettling, especially given what he thinks is the truth. “Don’t get me wrong, Laur, there’s a lot more I could say, but I’m not sure any of it would matter.”
Now that’s the Ian I know. Not the man I married, but the man he’s become over the past couple of the years. The man who never wants to fight for anything. A man who’s become…complacent.
This isn’t the Ian I fell in love with, nor is he the version I crave or the version I need. I want him to holler. Get red in the face. Demand answers and make me feel like I actually freaking matter. Like our marriage matters.
But Ian hasn’t fought for our marriage in a long time. The sad thing is, I’m not sure he even realizes it. He’s too wrapped up in solving all of Las Vegas’s crimes to give a shit about the felony he’s committed at home.
Lifting a shoulder, I fake nonchalance like I’ve become so good at. “You’re probably right.” God, he’s wrong. So, so wrong.
“In that case, I’ll have my lawyer get in touch.”
What? No. No, no, no. “Ian…”
“Look, Lauren, I don’t want to be a dick, okay? If this is what you want…” He lifts his head, showing me the quiet, but pained emotion flickering in his eyes and my heart damn near explodes in my chest. Maybe he cares after all. “Then I’ll give you that.”
A sob rushes past my lips and I reach for him, desperate to tell him that what I really want is him, but his hand is already on the door knob.
“Wait,” I cry, as he wrenches the heavy oak open and walks out without another word.
When the door thuds shut behind him, it’s all I can do not to hit the floor. My knees shake and I can’t seem to pull enough air into my lungs.
Ian cares, that much I know. I saw it in his eyes, right along with the questions and uncertainty.
Unfortunately, I also saw restraint. He’s holding back because he thinks this is truly what I want, but he’s never been more wrong about anything in his life.
My gaze connects with the shocked, terrified woman in the mirror and another sob wracks my body. Another one follows, and then another and another, until I’m shaking not only with frustration…but determination, too.
If Ian won’t fight for me, maybe I need to fight for him.
Maybe I need to show him how wrong he is, and in the process remind him how it used to be, when I was the only thing he could think about. The only thing he wanted to think about…
I don’t know if this will work, but one thing is for certain…
My marriage is worth one more shot.
Ian
No way in hell will I walk away that easily.
No way in hell will I allow another man to take away the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
Lauren’s mine, and tonight I’m bringing her home whether Carter-fucking-Ellis likes it or not.
I march back to the ballroom, intent on finding the bastard and telling him just that, but he’s standing right in front of the stage, listening to a representative from VETSports share his gratitude for the UFC, MGM, and everyone else who played a role in organizing tonight’s events. It’s nice and all, but right now, I couldn’t give a shit less.
I want a piece of the man who’s put his hands on my wife.
Suddenly, like he’s sensed my presence, his head swivels toward me, lurking in the outskirts of the crowd. The faintest of smiles ghosts across his face before he tugs on his tux sleeves, and begins working his way to the perimeter.
“Wondered if you’d show up,” he says in a slow, arrogant drawl that turns my blood cold. I want to pulverize his pretty boy face right here and now, but there are people everywhere. “Frankly, I’m disappointed it took you so long.”
“Quit the shit, Ellis. I’m not here to make conversation.”
“Didn’t think you were.” He cocks an eyebrow. “You’re probably wondering what she’s doing here with me, huh?”
“Not hard to figure out.”
“Really?” His broad chest rumbles with laughter. “Because, as smart as you are, Detective, I’m pretty sure you don’t have a clue when it comes to your wife.”
A growl roils up in my throat and I damn near lurch for his jugular. The only thing that stops me is the flicker of movement in my peripheral.
Lauren.
“Ian, please,” she says quietly, but firmly. “Let’s talk about this somewhere else.”
I shake my head, my eyes never leaving Carter. “You think you know her better?”
“Not a chance, but this isn’t about me, now is it?” The pro baller takes another step forward and lowers his voice. “Though you should probably know it’s my bed she’s been sleeping in.”
Lauren gasps at the same time two security guards step between me and Carter, one pushing him back into the crowd, while the other corrals me toward the door.
I try to shove the guy off of me, but his resolve is a lot more intact than mine, considering the world as I’ve known it for the past seven—no, ten years—suddenly crashes down around me.
Lauren. In Carter’s bed.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“Get it together, Rusk,” the guard says gruffly as the sea of gala-goers swallows the two other men and I lose sight of them.
Lau
ren steps into my hazy line of vision over the guard’s shoulder, tears streaming down her face. Something—or someone—nearby makes a low, remorseful sound and it takes a solid five seconds for me to realize the source is me.
“Rusk,” the guard says, giving me a not-so-gentle shake that finally snaps me out of my trance and allows me to see his face for the first time.
“Trent. What the fuck, man?”
“My thoughts exactly.” My co-worker loosens his grip on my jacket, but he doesn’t let go. “You’re the last person I want to kick out tonight, so do us both a favor and settle the hell down.”
“Ian…” Lauren’s soft, emotional voice hits my ears a second before she’s at my side, her small, warm hand curling around mine. “I’m not sleeping with him. You have to believe me.”
“Why?” I don’t want to sound so fucking bitter, but goddammit, she walked out on me. In the blink of an eye, she turned my world upside down.
“Because I love you, and a long time ago I promised to be faithful to you. That hasn’t changed.”
But something has, that’s much is obvious.
“You two can’t do this here,” Trent says, finally letting me go. “I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I do know that this isn’t the place to try and figure it out.”
Lauren chases the tears off of her cheek with the back of her hand and nods. “He’s right. We should go.”
“Go where, Laur?” I demand in a harsher tone than is probably necessary. “You left, remember?”
Her pretty face crumples with a new wave of emotion that hits me right in the gut. I might not know what’s going on, but I do know my wife regardless of what Carter Ellis says and, right now, she’s breaking.
I promised I’d never let that happen and now I have to make it right.
Lauren
“I’ve waited two years for you to fight for me like that.”
Sitting on a bench just outside the hotel, Ian turns to me, his brow pinched. “What do you mean?”
