by Devney Perry
I blinked at him, astonished. How could he stand there and criticize my relationship with Logan? How could he think that three dinners and a movie would make up for his actions in Vegas?
But he was right. I should have gotten that divorce a hell of a long time ago. Something I would remedy immediately.
“We’re done. My lawyers will be in touch. Leave. Now.” I pointed to his truck.
“I’ll be here tomorrow after work to pick you up. We’re not done.”
“We. Are. Done. You’ve played your game and it didn’t work. No more dates. No more avoiding the truth. Just go!” I shouted.
“You think this is a game?”
“What else would it be? That’s all you’ve ever done. You’re playing me again but this time I’m not going to be the stupid idiot that falls for it.”
“You seriously think I’m fucking playing you?”
“Yes!”
Tipping his head to the sky, he roared, “Fuck!” His chest heaved and his eyes closed as he worked to calm down. “Tomorrow night. You’d better be here when I show up. You’re not, I’ll find you,” he threatened. “You want to know everything? Fine. You’ll get all the answers you want. Maybe see that this isn’t a fucking game to me. This is my fucking life!” he yelled and stormed down the stairs.
Rushing inside, I sagged against the front door the second the latch clicked. His truck rumbled to life outside and sped away. Gripping my belly, I sank to the floor.
I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t be around Nick anymore. It hurt. But even with the pain twisting at my sides, I had to know the truth.
Whatever he had to say would likely crush my heart all over again but the thing I feared the most was that everything he had just said was true.
Nick
“Fuck!” I shouted at my dashboard. The speed of my truck matched the rhythm of my frantic heartbeat.
Emmy wasn’t going to forgive me. I could see it in her eyes.
I had foolishly hoped that by spending time together, we could get back to where we had been once. That maybe she’d let go of the past and I wouldn’t have to tell her the truth.
But that was just a fucking pipe dream.
My only chance was by laying it all out there. Years ago, I had made the decision to leave her for her own safety. We hadn’t talked about it the night we’d gotten married, but I’d known she had money. Money that would attract the evil and soul-destroying demons that were my family.
So I had ripped out my own heart to save hers.
The image of her the morning I’d left was burned into my brain. Her naked body sleeping peacefully, draped over the place where I had been lying. Her beautiful hair spread down her bare back and all over the pillows. A small smile playing on her rosy lips.
I remembered gently lifting a strand of hair off her porcelain face before whispering that I loved her. Words she had never heard me say. And then with an aching hole in my chest, I’d silently crept from the hotel suite, leaving behind the only person who could bring warmth to my cold heart.
Nine years and I could still hear the click of that fucking hotel room door.
She had been better off without me. Back then, I had been too deep into my family’s dangerous life to keep her safe.
I had vowed to stay far away but things were different now. She was here. And I had learned that living a life without warmth was no life at all.
The moment I had laid eyes on her again, the heat had spread like wildfire through my chest. And I’d known I would fight to the death to win her back. Every minute that I’d spent with her this week had reinforced my desire to keep fighting.
The boyfriend could go fuck himself. She was mine.
Emmy had been an incredible person nine years ago, but somehow time had managed to make her even better.
She was so fucking smart and witty. Never once had she flaunted her wealth. If anything, she took extra measures to ensure those around her weren’t intimidated or threatened by it. She was kind and loving. The way she beamed at Rowen Cleary made me desperately want to see that light shine on kids we made together.
And beautiful. She was breathtaking.
Today on the mountain, with her flushed cheeks and pink nose, it had taken every ounce of my willpower not to take her right there in the trees.
“Fuck the secrets.” No matter what it would take, I was getting my wife back. My Emmy.
Even if that meant telling her things I’d sworn never to reveal.
“Did you move there for him?” Logan asked.
I clenched my phone tighter. “No, I didn’t move here for him. I just told you, I didn’t even know he lived here. If you need the private investigator’s reports to prove I didn’t know, I’ll send them over tonight.”
“I don’t know if I can believe you.”
Tears dripped down my cheeks. Wow, that hurt. “How can you say that, Logan? I have never lied to you.”
“Really? You don’t think that not telling me you were still married was a lie?”
“No, I mean, yes. I just . . . I don’t know why I didn’t tell you. But it wasn’t to hurt you.”
“Did you call Fred Andrews?” he asked.
“Yes. I talked to him right after I found Nick. He’s working on the divorce papers.” I waited on the phone, listening to Logan breathe.
“I don’t know what to do here, sweetheart.” His soft voice caused a fresh wave of tears.
“Believe me when I tell you I didn’t expect him to be here. And that I regret not getting a divorce nine years ago.”
“I need some time.”
“Okay.” I sniffled, trying to pull myself together.
“I hate that we are having this conversation over the phone.”
“Me too. I love you, Logan,” I added before he could hang up.
“I love you too. I’ve got to go.”
Today had been a wreck and the worst was yet to come.
Date five.
After Nick had left yesterday, our conversation had replayed in my mind over and over again. Sleep had eluded me and I’d finally gotten up at three thirty and cleaned. Even though I had gone to school utterly exhausted this morning, at least my house was spotless.
The only break I’d caught today was with my students. They’d been angels, like they could sense I’d been on the edge of a meltdown and instead of pushing me over, they’d clung to my feet and kept me anchored.
When I’d gotten home, I had reluctantly called Logan. Not letting him brush me off again, I had forced the inevitable conversation. Now that was over and I had to mentally prepare for another evening with Nick.
It was only five thirty. I was guessing Nick wouldn’t get here until after six, which gave me at least thirty minutes to sit on my couch and cry.
And that’s just what I did.
“What’s wrong?” Nick asked when I answered the door.
“Nothing,” I lied. “What are we doing tonight?”
Nick crossed his arms over his chest. I mirrored his stance and we went into a stare-down.
I didn’t owe him any explanations. If I was upset, that was my problem. Not his. And there was no way in hell I was going to tell him that I’d been crying over my phone call with Logan. My relationship, my business.
“Fuck, you are a stubborn woman,” he muttered.
I raised my eyebrows and stuck out my chin, silently reminding him that he had yet to answer my question.
“We’re going to my place.”
“Fine. Let’s go,” I said and pushed past him, slamming the door behind me.
We rode to Nick’s house in silence. The sun was starting to set behind the mountains, the orange and yellow sky slowly fading into bright pinks and purples.
I had assumed that Nick lived in town but he actually lived quite close to me. After turning off the highway, we started winding up a narrow gravel road lined with tall trees.
The end of the lane opened into a small, round clearing in the forest. In the center was a two-st
ory log cabin. A covered porch ran the length of the house, and two large dormer windows jutted out of the roof on the second story. Behind the cabin was a large brown metal shop.
This was the quaint Montana cabin I had wanted. Seeing this place made me regret buying my house. It was too big and ostentatious. But a place like this would have been just right.
The front door opened to a large, open space. The glow from the soft white lights created a warm and cozy atmosphere. The floors were made from a rough-cut tan wood, and when I looked closely, I saw the circular grooves made from the saw blades.
One corner of the main room was a square kitchen filled with dark cabinets. A tall counter separated it from the rest of the living room. A stone fireplace was surrounded by brown leather furniture aimed at a large television in the corner.
Opposite the living room was a dining room table surrounded by six chairs. Both the table and chairs were made in the same log style as the living room’s coffee table.
As I inspected the inside of the house, I regretted my extravagant home purchase even more.
“You want something to drink?” Nick asked.
“What do you have?”
“Beer. Whiskey. Water.”
“Whiskey, please.” There was no way I was going to make it through tonight’s conversation without alcohol, and since I wasn’t a huge beer drinker, whiskey would have to do.
As Nick moved to the kitchen, I walked toward a set of bookshelves at the back of the room, next to the wooden staircase that led to the second floor.
Nick’s book collection surprised me. I hadn’t figured him for a reader but the shelves proved me wrong. He had quite a few classics as well as some more recent thrillers. I also noticed a couple of thick automotive texts on the bottom shelf.
A long shelf in the middle was completely dedicated to framed photos. All of the pictures were small, but there were so many packed onto the shelves, I couldn’t see the ones in the back.
A few of the pictures showed a younger Nick. In one, he was with a group of men all wearing leather vests and standing next to a line of big motorcycles. In another, he was on a bench with a beautiful brunette woman, another boy at her other side.
The remaining pictures were of the Nick I knew, with his messy hair and full beard. In one, he and three other men were wearing green jumpsuits. Behind him were the remains of a completely burned forest with black trees sticking out of the scorched earth.
Sliding some of the pictures to the side, I started examining the ones hidden toward the back. My eyes caught on a small, unframed picture tucked into the corner joint of the shelf. I grabbed its edge and pulled it free from the wood.
I gasped when the light hit the photo. It was a picture of me from Las Vegas.
I was sleeping on a white pillow. My hair was a wreck, sticking out all over the place. I was still in makeup from the previous night and it was smudged on my eyelids. My lips were red and puffy from a night of kissing Nick. I looked like a mess. But even in sleep, I’d looked happy.
Tears filled my eyes and the picture blurred.
Nick had taken a picture of me the morning before he’d left me alone at the Bellagio. And he’d kept it all this time. The edges of the photo were worn and wrinkled, like he had held it in his hands and studied it countless times. It showed the same wear and age as our wedding photo that I’d kept tucked away.
“Why?” I whispered to the picture.
“Because you’re my wife,” Nick said behind me.
“What does that mean?”
“It means we belong to each other.”
He had said those exact same words right after we had been married, right before his most blatant lie. When he had promised that we’d make our relationship work. The fact that he would throw them out there again made me instantly angry.
I spun around. “You said that to me once before. I liked it the first time. Now, not so much. Word of advice? Don’t reuse your Vegas material.”
His jaw clenched and he took a deep breath through his nose. “Drink this,” he clipped, shoving a glass of whiskey in my face. “And calm the fuck down.”
I huffed and rolled my eyes. This was going to be a long night.
“Come sit down,” he said, walking to the living room couch.
I sank into an oversized leather chair opposite the couch and took a long sip of my whiskey, grimacing as the amber liquor burned a path down my throat.
“Would you like me to cut that with some water?” Nick asked, resting his elbows on his thighs.
“No,” I coughed. “It’s fine. Explanation, please. Let’s get this over with.”
“Fine. Did you see that picture with the woman and two kids on the shelf?”
I nodded.
“That was my mom with me and my younger brother,” he said. “She died when I was sixteen.”
I closed my eyes. “I’m sorry.”
I couldn’t imagine how painful it would be to lose your mother at such a young age. My mom wasn’t the most outstanding role model, but she was still my mom. She was always there for me.
“She was murdered because of my father,” Nick added.
The muscles in my frame locked. “Your father killed your mother?”
“He didn’t pull the trigger but it was because of his fucking selfish choices that she’s dead.”
“What happened?” I asked.
Nick leaned forward and took a drink of his own whiskey before sitting back. “My dad is the president of a motorcycle gang. And it is a gang. Everyone calls it a club, they pretend like it’s just a group of guys taking weekend rides on their Harleys, but it’s a gang. They use violence to intimidate people who don’t do as they want. They have little respect for the law. And they charge their clients a fucking fortune so they can rake in a wad of cash every month.”
“What kind of clients?”
“Mostly they provide protection services for whoever will pay. Some local businesses in Clifton Forge. That’s where I’m from. They run an underground fight circuit around the state and take a rake from every fight. But their biggest clients are drug smugglers. The club provides protection for shipments coming down from Canada. They make sure the drugs don’t get hijacked or caught by the cops.”
“Canada?” I asked. “I thought most imported drugs came across our southern borders.”
“Drugs made from plant extracts do. Marijuana. Cocaine. Heroin. But a lot of meth is brought down from Canada. It gets made way up north and then driven down. Border security is tight at the official crossings but Montana’s a big state. There’s a lot of border that doesn’t get watched.”
“So I’m guessing that somehow all of this illegal activity led to your mother’s murder?” I asked.
“Yeah. Dad’s operation was expanding and they pissed off a rival gang. They retaliated by going to our house in the middle of the fucking day and executing my mother while she was gardening. My brother and I found her when we got home from school.”
A sharp pain traveled from my heart and settled in my stomach. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Nothing to say, Emmy. Just need you to understand what my life has been like.”
“Okay.” I nodded.
“When I was little, I couldn’t wait to be in the club. Then after Mom died, I couldn’t wait to break free. Dad got his revenge, brought an end to that other club and then acted like everything was okay. He kept expanding and digging deeper into the underground. He never once admitted that his need to be the most powerful club in the Northwest is the reason why I don’t have a mother.”
I shook my head but remained silent.
“It caused a lot of tension between Dad and me. He had always planned for me to take over the club but I made it clear I wasn’t going to prospect. I turned eighteen the week before graduation, got my diploma and left for Colorado. I started going to school down there to be a diesel mechanic. I got my certification a couple of years later and started working in a garage.”
“That’s when you met me?”
“Yeah,” he said, “that’s when I met you. Me and those guys I was with all worked at a garage in Colorado together. We decided on a whim to take a road trip to Vegas for the weekend.”
I sipped my whiskey. “Why did you leave Colorado?”
“My younger brother was just graduating high school. I thought if I lived in Montana, maybe I could convince him to live with me and not join the club. The job at the fire station was open and I decided to give it a try. Gave up being a mechanic and came to Prescott.”
“Did he join the club?”
“Yeah.” He frowned before swallowing the rest of his drink in a huge gulp.
We sat in silence but my heart beat louder and louder. I took a few jagged breaths and ignored the nervous energy pooling in my belly.
Because this was the end.
I had held onto Nick, or the idea of Nick, for almost ten years. After tonight, it would all be over. I could move on with my life. I would have no reason to think of him again. To look at our wedding picture. To secretly wear my ring.
“Why did you leave me?” Just asking the question hurt.
“I got a call from Dad after you fell asleep. He was in a fight with another club. Again. One of the younger guys in Dad’s club got shot and killed. He was my age and we’d grown up together. Anyway, Dad said they were getting threats against family members. That both my brother and I were at risk. Told me to watch my back.”
My nose started to burn and I felt tears.
This was his excuse? That his leaving had been for my own good?
Men had been making decisions on my behalf my whole life. Decisions without communication. Always saying afterward that it was for the best and never once bothering to ask how I felt.
“I never meant to hurt you, Emmy,” he said. “But you weren’t safe with me. Not back then. They would have come after you and your money. And I couldn’t risk your life. I wouldn’t risk having you killed like my mother. So I left.”
