Angela cringed. “That must’ve been an ugly fight.”
“There was no fight.”
“You mean she apologized?”
“No. See, I never actually confronted her.” Ken wished there were more wine in his glass. He wanted to flag down the waitress, but instead he continued. “We both pretended nothing had happened. After the gift card incident, she started coming home super late. Claimed it was mandatory overtime. One night, I decided to surprise her with her favorite ice cream sundae. I went to the office at six o’clock and found it closed. When she got home hours later, I asked how work had been. She said they were swamped, that she had just left the office.”
“Lied right to your face?”
“Yeah. Could’ve exposed her then, but I didn’t. Anyway, this whole song and dance went on for three years. After a while I started rationalizing it. I thought maybe she needed a break from me since we’d been dating since high school. Then I convinced myself she wasn’t actually cheating on me, that she had a ‘private friendship’ or something like that. I was a fool. I kept pretending the floor wasn’t crumbling beneath me.
“Eventually I proposed. We scheduled the wedding for the first week after school let out. We wanted to get married in the basin under our favorite waterfall. I wore a tuxedo-themed wetsuit and treaded water while our families and friends waited on dry land. We waited. And waited. And waited.”
Angela slumped in her seat. “So that’s why you freaked out in my pool…”
He nodded. A lump formed in his throat. He coughed three times before finding his voice. “Olivia agreed to meet me at a park the next day. When I got there, she and the drama teacher were sitting on a bench, holding hands. She told me she couldn’t go through with the marriage. Said she’d been seeing him for years. I told her I knew.
“Then she said something I’ll never forget.
“She said if I had called her out on her cheating at any point, she would’ve been swimming with me on our wedding day.” He swallowed hard. “But she couldn’t marry a pushover.”
Silence hung between them. The breakfast table became a conversational no man’s land. He wanted to say something to kill the awkwardness, but nothing sprang to mind. He hoped Angela might respond—rescue him—but her lips remained motionless.
She pressed her thumbnail to the table and picked at a smudge near her napkin. The scratching went on, back and forth, until he could take it no more.
“Angela—”
“I’m no better,” she said.
“What?”
“I’m no better.” She glanced up. He recognized the vulnerability in her eyes—something he’d never seen in them before. Usually she carried herself with bubbly confidence. Seeing her like this both startled and comforted him. “My story isn’t as dramatic as yours. Right now my husband, as you know, is away on business. He’s probably snuggled up next to some underwear model. The usual. Honestly, it doesn’t even bug me anymore. And yet, here I am, too afraid to walk away.”
Ken’s heart pounded. “You afraid he’ll hurt you if you do?”
“No, Dom’s not violent.”
“Then what’s stopping you from starting over?”
“That’s just it.” She squirmed against her seat. “I’m afraid to.”
“Afraid? Why?”
“Ken, I grew up in South Wilkes-Barre, crammed into a house with three siblings and two parents who could barely carry us above the poverty line. This is gonna sound super shallow, but I hated never getting what I wanted when I was growing up. It made high school a nightmare. I couldn’t express myself with the right clothes or makeup or anything. I always felt like an outcast, and some extra money could’ve changed that.
“Fast-forward to college when I met Dom, this hotshot graduate making big money out in Philly. When I saw him, I saw an escape. Not only that, I saw an opportunity to be a teacher—my biggest dream growing up—without having to scrape by like my parents. I mean, you know how it is, Ken. Us educators get paid peanuts.”
He nodded.
“When I met Dom, I knew I could have it both ways. What I didn’t realize was that having it both ways doesn’t mean you can have it every way. Money and job satisfaction came at a cost.” She fingered her necklace. “It cost me a part of myself, the part that wanted to be truly seen, understood, loved.”
Ken felt his gunhand growing itchy inside the cast. The way she spoke about Dom made him wonder. “You said Dom isn’t violent. Is he…emotionally abusive?”
She shook her head, dismayed. “Aside from the cheating, no. But I can’t knock him for the cheating. Not after the other night in the pool.” She avoided his eyes. “Dom’s decent to me. He listens. Supports my career. Buys me anything I want.”
“Sounds like that’s the problem,” he said. “Dom keeps you content.”
“God, I feel so pathetic.” She frowned. “I want to leave, but it’s hard to walk away from a nice house, a home gym, and all that financial security. I’m addicted to it. Dom must’ve known because he made me sign a prenup before we got married. That stupid document is what scared me into staying with him this long.” She met his eyes. “I know I can start over and support myself and be happy, but… Well, I guess we’re all cowards.”
“We don’t have to be,” Ken said. “I mean, look at me. This morning I asked you to breakfast. That terrified me.”
She smiled. “Hope your bravery is contagious.” She clinked his empty glass. “Enough about me. Let’s hear another secret. What about ‘Ken the Eraser’?”
“Thankfully, that’s not a secret.”
“Aw, please?”
“Maybe later.”
“Fine. Back to the game. Tell me something you’ve never told anyone.”
He stared at the tiny red puddle left in his glass. Then he looked at her, meeting her eyes. “Sitting across from you makes me glad Olivia left.”
She turned away, blushing. “That’s heavy for a first date, don’t you think?”
But not for a last date, he thought.
He clinked her glass. “Your move.”
Before she could respond, breakfast arrived. The waitress set their plates down. Steam rose, carrying the scent of egg, butter, and mushroom sauce. Though he loathed mushrooms, it made his mouth water. His eyes also watered—the last time he’d eaten an omelet was with Dad on Friday morning, which felt like eons ago.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said, grabbing his fork. “And you still owe me a secret.”
“Next time,” she said.
They devoured their meals. Ken finished a second glass of wine. He repeatedly glanced out the window, but Officer Tormon never arrived. Ken couldn’t have been happier; the meal was too perfect to be ruined by an abrupt departure to commit homicide. Better yet, he hadn’t felt any murderous urges, even with the deadline creeping closer.
After paying the check, he stood and felt the alcohol swishing through his brain. He welcomed the lightheadedness as they left the restaurant together, hand in hand. He couldn’t remember taking her hand, but here he was, approaching their cars and wishing this morning didn’t have to end.
“You know,” he said, eyeing the trail behind the pond, “we shouldn’t leave yet.”
“Really? Why’s that?”
Because I don’t have to waste a drug dealer till around ten, and I have the sucker’s address.
“Because,” he said, “I’m not sober enough to drive. Know how many glasses of wine I had? Two.”
“Two? My God!” she said, her tone scandalous. “Can’t drive around like that.”
“Think I’ll walk that trail over there.” He gestured to the woods. “You don’t mind joining me, do you? I mean, you’re in heels.”
“Oh, please. Jeep girls come prepared.” She popped her Jeep’s rear hatch. Within seconds she’d slid her feet into a pair of hiking boots and tied them expertly. Any other woman might’ve looked silly standing there in a floral sundress and hiking boots, but Angela
made it look chic. Made it look special.
He took her hand and headed for the trail.
Chapter 42
“Tell me about Ken the Eraser,” she said as they ducked beneath a low-hanging oak branch.
The moment she mentioned it, he stumbled, and his head crashed through a cluster of bug-eaten leaves. One branch caught his eyeglasses and tore them from his face. They clattered to the dirt, where she scooped them up. Though his vision was blurry, he saw her grinning as she backpedaled up the trail, twirling the glasses in her fingers. “Tell me the story. It’s the least you could do after I recovered your glasses.”
“You know, you shouldn’t pick on the visually impaired.”
“Hey, I wear contacts. It’s a fair fight.”
He extended his hand. “C’mon, give them back.”
“Not until I hear this story.”
“Another time,” he said. With everything going so well, he didn’t want to sour what was likely to be his final morning with her. He wanted to go out on a high note. “Besides, you owe me a secret.”
“True,” she said and handed him his glasses.
They headed down the trail. At some point her arm slid around his back, and his arm curled around her shoulders. They strolled along the path together, sides brushing, hips bumping. He promised himself that if a murderous urge struck, he would turn back. None came.
She squeezed him closer. Her hair tickled his ear as she leaned in. “Glad you talked me into breakfast.”
“Enjoyed it?”
“Very much. Thanks for being my bright spot on a gloomy day.”
Sunlight flickered through the branches above, prying at his sleep-deprived eyes. They continued through the woods; she outpaced him in those boots of hers. She promised to slow down if he explained how his hand ended up in a cast. He picked up his pace instead.
Under a shaggy canopy of half-barren oaks, the air grew cooler. The breeze tingled his skin. The trail wove through a shadowy section and dipped toward a rocky creek, which they opted to follow rather than cross. He spoke openly about subjects he never discussed: Mom’s death, Robby’s addiction, Dad’s crippling tumble down the stairs. In avoiding the impossible subject of his gunhand, he found himself revealing nearly everything else without fear or hesitation.
Angela listened with a kind, nonjudgmental ear, waiting until he finished before she vented about the school district, her upbringing, and her home life. At one point she met his eyes with a dark, powerful gaze.
“What I said at breakfast, I take it back.”
“What part?” he asked.
“The part about not wanting to leave my cushy home. I can’t keep wasting my life like this.” She dragged her toe through the dirt. “Still, it feels like I’m driving down an endless highway with no exits. I want to get off somewhere—anywhere—but I can’t. And as I continue driving, the lane gets tighter and the guardrails get higher. There’s no way out.”
He shrugged. “Leave the car and climb the guardrail.”
“Yeah…that could work.”
They stepped out of the woods onto a rocky, dirt-covered slope. Down below was a field of tall, waist-high grass, a pond gleaming toward the center. The moment he spotted it, he wanted nothing more than to take her there. Any other day, he would’ve feared catching a tick, but now he squeezed her grip and ran downhill. They raced through the sprawling grass, the blades tickling through his khakis until he reached the mud surrounding the pond.
Angela laughed alongside him before tugging him to an abrupt stop. Ken, however, did not stop. The soil underfoot was slick, and his heels slid. His stomach floated while he waved his free arm to maintain balance. It was no use. He landed with a hard, soggy plop and thought, Why must I always make an ass of myself?
Then, to his surprise, she deliberately plopped down next to him. She showed no concern for the mud stains on her sundress. Instead she let her hair down. Dark locks spilled onto her shoulders and gleamed in the morning light. She reached over to take his hand. Their fingers interlocked. Her touch made his scalp buzz.
On a whim, he leaned in. He closed his eyes and let the warmth of her breath guide him. He met her open lips with his own. Her kiss was cool. Slick. Practiced. As if she’d been waiting all weekend for it. Her tongue made a move that knocked his brain out of his skull.
Wow.
She pushed him onto his back, her weight a welcome burden on his chest. The soil sank gently beneath them while she leaned forward. His cheeks tingled as her hair swished downward, the sensation nearly as sweet as her incoming kiss.
He wrapped his arms around her, clutching her tight, clinging to the moment.
“We should get my dress off before it gets too dirty,” she said.
“Good idea.” He reached under her skirt. She trembled as his fingers caressed the smoothness of her thighs. He pushed the skirt up, up, and away, marveling at the firm curve of her hips, the softness of her belly.
She lifted the dress overhead, leaving herself with nothing but a bra and panties. She then helped him remove his clothes, working around the clunky arm cast. Before he knew it, he was naked but for the cast. The moist woodland air licked him all over.
Her eyes tempted him as she continued undressing. His heart threw haymakers when she unhooked her bra and slid the straps down her shoulders. Before the cups came loose, she crossed her arms over her chest, daring him with her eyes.
Oh, did he dare.
He made a play for the bra, but she teasingly twisted away. They laughed, and when the laughter settled, he slid his hand beneath the waistband of her underwear. He worked his fingers between her thighs, mixing his movements and rhythm until her arms dropped, allowing the bra to slide away. Sunlight warmed her tan lines. He couldn’t wait another second.
He flicked his tongue over a nipple, teasing it to life. Then he raised his mouth to hers. Mid-kiss, he surprised her by tipping her onto her back. She landed with a soft slap. Her breath huffed in his face as he guided her thighs apart.
Propping himself up on the cast, he shifted his weight. Mud sank beneath his knees, and before he could sink too far, he met her eyes and eased himself inside her. Delicious flames spilled down his neck. For the moment, there was no gun, no target, no remaining bullets.
Only Angela.
Beneath him she moaned, shifting her body to meet his thrusts. As clumsy as he was working one-handed, she seemed transfixed.
Before long he was panting, approaching his tipping point. Her moaning, her slick warmth, her mere being—he could no longer bear the intensity.
Grunting, he started to pull out when she snapped her arms around his back, squeezing tight and locking him inside her. He grunted louder, signaling that he was ready to pop, but her grip grew fervent as her nails raked the flesh along his shoulder blades. She became too much. Explosions went off, blasting him to dust, tearing him in a thousand different directions.
He was done. Spent.
Spent but alive.
Holding each other, they rolled onto their sides, panting as they searched each other’s eyes. He brushed a mud-streaked strand of hair from her cheek and kissed her for a long, long time.
“Know what?” she said once their lips parted. “That made up for the other night.”
“I’m forgiven?”
“Not yet.” She reached for his shaft, then cupped the head and massaged it until it plumped up again. “Let’s find this guy a home, shall we?”
He climbed over her and picked up where he left off.
“Oh God, Ken…” She propped herself up on both elbows. Her dark eyes locked with his. As he quickened his pace, her gaze drifted beyond his shoulder. Her panting stopped abruptly. Her arm darted forward, pointing behind him. “Shit!”
He turned his head.
At the bottom of the slope stood two men wearing jackets and jeans.
One held up a gold badge. He had a goatee and a scar on his left cheek.
The man was Officer Tormon.
Cha
pter 43
Both plainclothes officers stared ahead and sipped their coffee. Tormon lowered a Styrofoam cup from his lips and wiped his gray-black goatee with his sleeve. Beside him his partner—a shorter, younger man wearing aviator sunglasses—shooed a mosquito away. Neither said anything. They looked exhausted, bored even. The tall grass swayed behind them.
“Morning, officers,” Ken said. Though Angela was hyperventilating beneath him, he forced himself to stay calm. Public fornication wasn’t a capital crime. There was no reason for the cops to march him through metal detectors at the police station. All he needed to do was act civil and send Angela away somehow. Then he could question Tormon. But he needed to move fast. “Let me say upfront that this was my idea. Not hers. If anybody’s at fault, it’s me.”
The officers sipped their coffees.
Ken was hoping for more of a reaction. He added, “I was wrong. I got caught up in the moment. Went further than I should’ve.”
Another sip.
Ken was losing patience. Blood boiled through his gun-fused fingers. The dormant desire to shoot flushed through him, and without thinking he swung his cast toward the cops. His sweaty index finger found the trigger.
What the hell am I doing?
He lowered his cast to the mud.
“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Tormon said, yawning. “You two are gonna get dressed, head back to your cars, and leave. If you do that before I finish my coffee, we’ll pretend this never happened.”
“Oh God, thank you,” Angela said, gasping with relief. “This is so embarrassing. I don’t know what came over us.”
They dressed, their backs to one another. Gone was the passion and tenderness. Instead of trading quiet compliments and an occasional kiss, they said nothing until they were fully clothed and ready to leave.
“Thanks again,” she said to the cops as she hurried past them and started uphill.
Ken, however, paused in front of Tormon. “Can I ask you something?”
“You can,” Tormon said, lifting his cup. “Just remember what I said. You better be gone before I finish drinking this.”
Entry Wounds: A Supernatural Thriller Page 19
