“Really?” Mitch rested his elbows on the steering wheel. “The girl moves fast.”
“She’s bringing a date tonight.”
Mitch huffed into a sick laugh. “Fuck me.”
“No,” Ryder groaned, scrubbing his hand over his face. “Fuck me. I shouldn’t have pushed her into it.”
“Whoa, whoa, back up.” Mitch got out of the cart, but stayed behind the windshield as if using it for protection against him. “You told her to bring someone to the wedding?”
Ryder couldn’t answer or admit what happened, but he didn’t need to. Mitch saw right through him, as he always did.
“Ryder, I hate to say this to you, but at this very moment, you’re both the smartest and dumbest man on the planet. What the hell were you thinking?”
“I was thinking of what would make her happy, but I was a fucking idiot.” Waves of nausea rolled through his stomach as he took another swing. This time, the ball popped out of the sand and landed outside the green with a dull thud. “Oh yeah, admit the truth and the ball cooperates.”
“You don’t think you’re the one who could make her happy?”
“No, I can’t be.” Ryder’s hands shook as he lined up his shot. “She’ll never be able to accept me for what I am.”
“Here’s the thing.” Mitch leaned over the hood of the golf cart to watch Ryder’s put. “You can’t beat yourself up over something that happened years ago with someone else, because you’ve changed since then. If Josie loves you, she’s not going to think you’re anything but you. She’s not going to view you as a monster, because you’re so far from it. She’s going to love the wolf part of you as much as this prick standing in front of me.”
Letting Mitch’s words sink in, Ryder gripped the club’s shaft and shook out his hands as they began to sweat. Willing the trembling to subside, he aimed, tapped the ball, and watched it drop in.
“There’s another element to this you’re forgetting.” Ryder rested the club on his shoulder as he retrieved the ball. “If by some miracle, she can accept the wolf part of me, and decides to become a werewolf herself, we’ll live together a thousand years.” His stomach wrenched. “No one can commit to staying together that long. Love like that is dead, Mitch.”
“Wow,” he said, his face an emotionless mask. “Promise me you won’t use that in your toast tonight.”
Ryder tossed the ball and club into the bag and fell back into the passenger seat. “Come on, let’s go. I’m tired of the game.”
But Mitch didn’t move. “Know what I see when I look at you?”
“No, but I bet you’re going to tell me.”
He rambled on without skipping a beat. “I see a man who’s given up. You don’t look like you want to be out here golfing, and you love the game. It used to be one of your favorite things. Actually, now that I really look at you in the sunlight, you look like death. You’re frowning, and your pasty-ass skin is fifty shades of gray. Your shoulders are slumped as if all the joy has been sucked out of you, and you smell like you haven’t showered today. Don’t kill me for pointing it out, but it looks as if you’ve lost the will to live.”
He didn’t want to live without Josie. Not for a second.
As the thought struck, a deep, resounding ache settled in his middle.
“I can’t pin her down to a life with me,” Ryder said, a giant hole forming in his chest, “but I’ll die without her.”
Mitch started the cart. “Just don’t die today, all right? I’m getting married later. Hopefully after you shower and shave.”
“Selfish prick.”
As they drove toward the next tee, Ryder’s pocket vibrated. Removing his cell, he checked the screen. “Unknown number,” he said, and read the text aloud. “Mr. Boone will be at the Sheraton Fisherman’s Wharf hotel with a brunette tonight at five. If you want to catch him cheating, now’s the time.” He frowned as he reread the anonymous message. “Interesting.”
“Think it’s solid?”
Ryder shrugged as his hundredth migraine of the day lanced through his temples. “I don’t know, but I should probably head over and figure that out.”
He pocketed his phone as the desire to catch Mr. Boone with his pants down fizzled away. The thrill of the chase that normally accompanied this moment was noticeably missing. Before meeting his Luminary, he was fine with how things were going in his life. He got a rush out of catching cheaters in the act. He’d spend morning and night following them around, proving how many scoundrels roamed the streets. But he had no idea how empty his life truly was, how completely void of happiness and fire and purpose.
Until now.
Josie had changed everything.
How would he live another day without her?
Chapter Twenty
After showering and shaving, as Mitch had demanded, Ryder sat in the front seat of his Charger scrolling the cheating checklist on his iPad. Mrs. Boone would arrive any minute to go over it one final time before confronting her cheating bastard of a husband.
Forty faithful years, his ass.
Mr. Boone was cheating. Plain and simple.
Ryder had called Mrs. Boone to let her know the moment he knew for certain. She’d demanded the details. Truth was, not twenty minutes ago, he’d witnessed the cheating scoundrel walk into the Sheraton across the street. On his arm, a forty-something woman with wavy brown hair smiled brightly.
Reluctantly, he’d reported the facts to Mrs. Boone, and she’d been adamant about the fact that she wanted to confront her husband while he was in midst of the affair. She’d been angry, fuming over the phone.
Ryder double-checked the time: an hour until the wedding. He’d finish up here, support Mrs. Boone in her confrontation, and then jet to the wedding. How he was going to be able to face Josie and walk arm in arm with her down the aisle when the ceremony ended, he had no idea.
Waiting across the street from the hotel, Ryder went over the cheating checklist again.
Lipstick and condoms had been discovered in the front seat of Mr. Boone’s car.
Work-break rendezvous had been scheduled at hotels far from home.
Late-night poker nights had turned into secret jewelry purchases.
Calls to unidentified numbers had been noted from Mrs. Boone’s own snooping into her husband’s phone.
According to hotel records, a suite had been booked at the Sheraton hotel for tonight under Mr. Boone’s name.
There was no other explanation.
The poor excuse for a husband was cheating on his wife of forty years. She’d given him everything. She’d dropped out of college when she got pregnant with their first child. Rather than go back to school, she had a second and third child. Mr. Boone got a second job to keep her home to raise their children. She sacrificed her dreams of a full-time career to care for him when he became ill last year. Their kids were grown now, with families of their own. From the outside, Mr. and Mrs. Boone had come together to create a perfect, loving home and had raised the perfect family.
Ryder knew better.
On the inside, everything fell apart, as it always did.
Two knocks on his driver’s side window startled him, until he turned and laid eyes on Mrs. Boone. She was dressed in a long dress covered in flowers. Tightening the shawl hugging her shoulders, she stared with red-rimmed eyes.
He rolled down the window. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Boone.”
“There’s nothing good about it.” Standing up on tiptoe, she peeked into the car. “You look sharp. What’s with the tuxedo?”
“I have a wedding after this.” He glanced down at his threads, and then readjusted his bow tie as she nodded approvingly. “Want to hop in and look over a few things?”
“No, I’m ready to confront my husband.” She hitched her thumb over her shoulder to the Sheraton. “Is he in there…with her?”
God, he hated this part.
“Yes, but we should probably talk about the plan of attack.”
“You plan,” she said, char
ging across the street. “I’ll attack.”
Wasn’t exactly what he had in mind, but he admired her fire. Exiting the Charger, he slammed the door shut and ran to catch up. She was really storming now. For a woman on the shorter side, she was quick. Or incredibly pissed.
“Have you or Charity figured out who called you with the tip yet?” she asked.
He held the front door open as she whisked through. “No, but Charity’s working on it.”
“Good.” She jerked to a stop in front of the elevators and punched the button. “What floor?”
Trepidation whirled in his stomach. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
She glared. “Would you want to know if the person you gave your life to has decided to move on without telling you?”
His thoughts raced to Josie and the Doctor Dipshit she was going to ask to be her date to the wedding. How would he have felt if she’d simply shown up with him? It would’ve been her right, as he hadn’t claimed her as his own, yet the dismissal would’ve burned him clean through. Having spent forty years with her? He couldn’t imagine the pain.
Until he looked into Mrs. Boone’s eyes. Agony shone through, capturing him.
“I think you know,” she said. “What floor?”
The doors opened and they stepped inside. “Seventeen.”
“Thank you.” She punched the button. Stepped into the center of the elevator. Hitched her purse strap over her shoulder. Stared at the floor numbers as they lit up. Tension filled the space between them. “Have you done many of these?”
“A few.”
“Are they all this way?”
Nodding, he swallowed hard. Why did this case seem to be so much harder for him than any other? Maybe it was because Josie had caused him to doubt. Some part of him, on some level, secretly wanted Mr. Boone to be innocent.
Little did Josie know, that just didn’t happen anymore.
Everyone moved on at some point, no matter how much it hurt.
“What are you going to do when you see him?” Ryder asked, unable to stop himself. “It’s none of my business, of course, but—”
“I’m going to jerk him out by his collar,” she interrupted, focused on the numbers as they climbed toward seventeen. “And then once he’s in the hall, I’m going to tell him what I really think of him.”
Mrs. Boone was ready to unleash her anger. Fury flowed off her in waves, tingling Ryder’s senses. The seventeenth floor was about to blow up.
As the doors opened, they spilled out.
“Which way?” she asked.
Ryder pointed. “Seventeen-sixty.”
Reading the sign directing the way, she turned left, eating up ground toward the room. Standing in front of the door, she took a deep breath.
“It’s not too late to rethink this,” Ryder said. “You can go home, collect your thoughts, and wait for him to return. You can talk privately there.”
“I don’t want to give him any chance to deny it. He has to know that I see this, and I see him for what he really is.”
Mr. Boone was going to get his ass handed to him.
“If you’re certain.” Ryder turned toward the elevator. “I’ll be waiting downstairs in the lobby.” He had to stay to make sure she was safe and okay to drive home. It was the least he could do. He wouldn’t be late to Mitch’s wedding; there was still time. “If you want me to come back up for any reason, call the front desk. I’ll make sure they know where to find me.”
She knocked hard. Twice. “I want you to stay.”
He stopped. Turned back. “Why?”
“Because I want to say my piece and leave. I don’t want to be sucked into any drama, and I don’t want him to think he can manipulate my softer side into talking more about this than I want to.” She pounded her fist against the door again. “And there’s something about you that exudes strength and protectiveness. It’s why I came to you with my suspicions in the first place.”
“All right,” he said, standing a few steps behind her. “I’ll be right here.”
The door swung open, and Mr. Boone stood in the doorway, a smile on his face. Sucker didn’t even look remorseful as he closed the door on the dark room behind him. Sign one million of a cheater: shut the door to hide your mistress behind it.
“Hey, beautiful,” he said, stepping close to his wife.
“Don’t give me that look.” Mrs. Boone raised her chin in defiance against his… charm? “I know what you’re doing here.”
He held out his hands for her. “I don’t think you do.”
“I hired a private investigator to follow you around for the last six days.” She folded her arms over her chest. “He’s the one who tipped me off that you were here with another woman.”
“Evelyn,” he started.
But she cut him off. “I told him I wanted to tell you what I thought of you, and I’m burnin’ to do it.”
His gaze shifted to the door behind him. He clicked it shut, just to be sure. Didn’t want the mistress to hear his wife in the hall?
Bastard.
Ryder clenched his right hand into a fist and then held it behind his back so he didn’t give in to the urge to punch Mr. Boone in his deceitful grin.
“For the last forty years, you’ve been my husband, and I’ve been your faithful wife.” Her voice shook, and the anger that’d been flowing off her moments before shifted to something rosier. “I’ve loved you more than any other, and every day of my life that love has grown into something I could’ve never dreamed of. We’ve built a foundation of trust and mutual respect that I’ve honored and cherished. I’ve been proud to be your wife.”
As she pounded her fist against her heart and choked up, unable to go on, Mr. Boone dragged her into his arms.
“My love,” he said, stroking her back. “Don’t cry.”
“I’m going to finish.” She pulled away and locked her gaze on his. “I know you have a mistress you’ve been seeing for the last few weeks. I have proof, and I have the private investigator here with me to attest.”
Mr. Boone didn’t even look at him.
“I think you’re weak,” she pushed out, hiccuping through a sob as it wrenched out of her. “And I forgive you for that.”
What the—what?
Anger and tears he’d expected. Forgiveness? Not in a million.
Mr. Boone kinked his neck to the side as if he hadn’t expected the notion either. Frowning, he wiped a tear from her cheek with the edge of his sleeve.
“This is not what you think it is,” he whispered. “If you would let me explain…”
“I forgive you because I love you too much to hate you.” She lowered her head to the matted carpet. “I’ll love you every single day for the rest of my life, but I can’t allow myself to be disrespected this way.”
She’d love him forever?
Forgiveness was one thing, but loving him, too? Where was the anger and hatred? The sorrow and vows of vengeance?
“My dear, I could never cheat on you.” Mr. Boone reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small blue velvet box. “I’d planned to give this to you later tonight, but I don’t think there’s a better moment than now, to prove how much I adore you. I bought this for you at Charlie Ann’s—it’s your favorite jewelry store. You know, the one I always say is so expensive they must charge for air?”
Charlie Ann’s?
Ryder leaned around Mrs. Boone. Opening the lid, she held up a silver band with four tiny stones arching over the top.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, her voice strained. “Were you planning on giving this to the brunette you brought up here earlier? Is she still in there?”
Straight shooter, God love her.
“Brunette?” Mr. Boone’s fat face scrunched, sliding his glasses up his nose. “No, Evelyn, the ring is for you. Four diamonds for each decade we’ve been married.”
“You’re quick,” she said. “But what about the walk you took the other night after the poker night?”
�
�I had to sneak away to buy the ring so you wouldn’t know I did it.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “And the lunch date earlier this week?”
He laughed. The nerve of him. “Evelyn, how could you ever think I’d love anyone but you?”
“You’re standing in front of a hotel room, Barney.” She tapped her foot as she stared him down. “If you’re not cheating, what the devil is going on?”
Brushing his hands up and down her shoulders Mr. Boone held his wife tightly. “You were right to an extent. I’ve sneaked around at night, made quiet calls while you were sleeping, and I’ve gone behind your back more this week than I have in forty years.”
“Barney!”
He hushed her. “Inside this room you will find a brunette.”
She shrank away. He held her still.
“You’ll find many brunettes, actually. A few blondes. And the redhead I had lunch with who set this whole thing up.”
“You’re having an orgy, Barney?” She made a shocked chirping sound at the racy word. “An orgy?”
Ryder stifled a laugh as heads poked out of rooms down the hall.
“Jesus, Evelyn, I’m not having an orgy, I’m throwing you a surprise fortieth anniversary party.” Eyeing the door, he shuffled his feet back and forth. “And I’m sure everyone inside is thankful there’s not an orgy going on right now.”
Laughter and clapping sounded from inside the room. Stomach dropping to his dress shoes, Ryder pinched his eyes closed. Now that his attention wasn’t so intently focused on Mr. and Mrs. Boone, he sensed humor and love flowing from beneath the door.
“I don’t…” She shook her head as tears began to fall. “I don’t believe you.”
But the doubt in her voice said otherwise.
“Here.” Mr. Boone used his key and pushed the door open wide.
The room was full of smiling faces. People waved. Grinned coyly. Hid their faces in their hands. Mrs. Boone gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.
“How did you—”
“I worked with an event planning company. They reserved the whole suite. It took a few private meetings with the organizer to get the details straight, but I couldn’t meet her at home, and I didn’t want you to know who I was talking to on the phone.”
What a Werewolf Wants (San Francisco Wolf Pack) Page 16
