by Devney Perry
His shoulders fell. “Genevieve, please.”
“No. Knowing the whole story doesn’t change anything. Just like last night, us being together, doesn’t change anything.”
Another lie.
Last night, he’d let down his guard.
Last night, I’d fallen asleep in his arms.
And last night, I’d stopped pretending I wasn’t in love with my husband.
Chapter Eighteen
Isaiah
“Is this it?” I held up a necklace I’d found at the bottom of a plastic tote.
Genevieve looked up from the tote she’d been digging through and frowned. “No. It’s not in this box either.”
“Damn. Sorry, V.” I put the necklace back where I’d found it.
“I hate that Dash might have been right about this.” She put the lid on her tote. “I hate that I didn’t think of it myself.”
“I know. But you’ll feel better if we catch a break.”
“I hope so.” She sighed. “We’d better get going, or we’ll be late.”
I nodded, closing the tub to stand and grab my coat. I shrugged it on and helped Genevieve into hers. We collected hats and gloves and scarves and walked outside.
It was pitch black. The stars and moon were hidden by the clouds that had rolled in this morning. The forecast was calling for a light snow, fitting since we were headed for the Clifton Forge Christmas Stroll downtown.
Genevieve gripped the railing as we descended the slippery stairs. “I wish I could remember if I’d packed up that necklace at Mom’s house. Maybe she lost it. Or maybe I lost it. Maybe it’s in all my stuff in storage.”
“You put everything in those totes?”
“Yep.” She nodded. “Everything else I left in her house to sell furnished.”
“Lee might have taken it.”
“Bastard,” she muttered. “I liked that necklace and I don’t want to think of him touching it. It was the one I wore to my senior prom. It had this dainty gold chain and a small North Star pendant with a white crystal in the center. It probably cost ten bucks but she’d had it forever. At least I have the ones she wore more often.”
We’d spent the better part of the afternoon going through those totes, like we’d promised Dash and Bryce earlier in the week. The minute we’d pulled the boxes down, Genevieve had started cataloging jewelry. I was glad she had the task, something concrete to focus on so that rummaging through her mother’s things didn’t make her as sad.
It worked. Not once had I caught her teary-eyed. Instead, she’d held her face in utter concentration, inspecting everything she touched. She’d searched through every book, every envelope, every item. The necklace was the only thing she couldn’t find. And there had been no hint of Amina’s boyfriend Lee. Nothing he might have left behind.
We reached the last step and she let go of my arm to walk to the driver’s side of her car. “Are you sure about this?”
I took a deep breath. “Yeah.”
“I don’t mind if you want to drive separately.”
“I’ll be all right.” I opened the door and climbed inside. Riding shotgun was better than driving her around.
She got in and gave me a reassuring smile.
The car was warm and running. I’d come out ten minutes ago to scrape the ice from the windshield and give the seats a chance to heat.
As she pulled away from the garage, I gripped my thighs and stared out the window. I waited for the anxiety.
One block passed, then two. My heart rate was normal. My hands weren’t sweating. I wasn’t ready to fling myself out of the moving vehicle. What the hell?
I looked at Genevieve’s profile. I hadn’t had the nightmare of her dying in a car crash in two days. Not exactly a feat, but considering I’d had it nearly every night since she’d been sick in November, the break was welcome. And now I wasn’t panicking at being in a car with her. Something was off, but I had no complaints.
“What?” she asked. “Do I have something on my face?”
“No.”
She stretched to see her face in the rearview anyway.
I faced forward, breathing again. Waiting for that feeling. But it was . . . less. Not gone. I was very aware we were in a car together. This was not relaxing, but I wasn’t in a crippling panic.
Maybe it was the sex. Maybe jerking off in the shower for years hadn’t been enough to relieve the stress. Or maybe the past two days of peace were because of Genevieve. Because I’d finally confessed.
Whatever the reason, a weight had come off my shoulders. There was a lightness in the apartment too, like we weren’t tiptoeing around each other anymore. For the first time in a long time, I could breathe.
“Brrr.” Genevieve shivered. “I hope we don’t freeze tonight.”
“I’ll—” Keep you warm. I swallowed the words, covering with, “We’ll be fine.”
Shit. I’d been close to making those types of slips for two days.
We hadn’t had sex since that first night. I’d slept on the couch. She’d been in the bed. We didn’t avoid touching, but we didn’t touch more than we had before either. She’d reach for my arm when we took the icy stairs. We’d brush as we passed one another in the kitchen.
I was afraid to do much more for fear I’d get carried away. But, fuck me, I wanted to touch her. I wanted to be inside her again.
There’d be no avoiding touch tonight. We were meeting Dash and Bryce at the stroll. Emmett and Leo would be there too. We’d be playing the happy, loving couple—though it didn’t feel as much like a lie.
Presley was planning to come with her fiancé, Jeremiah. In all the months I’d worked at the garage, I’d never met the guy. From the way Dash, Emmett and Leo talked about Jeremiah, he wasn’t well liked, and I wanted to see for myself how he treated Pres.
I got the impression that Jeremiah was stringing her along. He’d asked her to marry him but had been dragging his feet about the actual wedding. I didn’t want to make a judgment based on grumbles and rumors, but my gut said if a guy never came to see his fiancée at work, something was up.
Hell, Genevieve and I were pretending, and I picked her up and dropped her off every day. Sure, that was for her own safety, but no one could say I wasn’t attached to my wife.
And damn was I ever attached.
“I don’t want you to go,” I blurted. Son of a bitch. Of all the slips to finally make its escape.
“Go where? Here?” She pointed to the grocery store’s parking lot, where she’d been about to park. It was where most people left their cars for the stroll since Central would be blocked off. “Where should I park?”
“No. Park here.” I pointed her into the spot. “I meant, I don’t want you to go. To leave.”
“Oh.” She gave me a small smile as she put the car in park. “Good. I wasn’t going to anyway.”
I grinned. My stubborn wife.
We hadn’t talked about the argument again. We hadn’t talked about the accident. I didn’t want to talk about either. Maybe we could simply leave it as settled.
Genevieve wrapped a scarf around her neck and made sure the ends of her gloves were tucked into her coat sleeves. She pulled the beanie covering her hair lower over her ears.
I zipped my coat all the way up my neck and got out, meeting her in front of the car. “Yeah, it’s gonna be cold as fuck tonight.”
She giggled. “We need hot chocolate. Stat.”
Her laugh drew me in and chased away the chill. I took her gloved hand in mine. Her nose was already red from the cold. She smiled, a full, bright, white-toothed smile.
I nearly fell on my ass. There was no pity in her gaze, only affection. She looked at me like I’d never told her about Shannon. Like those years in prison had never happened.
Genevieve looked at me and saw the man I’d once been. The man who’d laughed easy. The man who hadn’t appreciated his freedom. The man who’d needed a woman like Genevieve to straighten him out—though apparently, I was still that man
.
I don’t deserve her.
“Ready?” she asked.
I managed a nod as she tugged me along.
As we approached Central, she buzzed with excitement. Her grip was firm on my hand as she urged me to walk faster.
Above us, large garlands streamed from one side of the street to the other. Five of them created a canopy that stretched for blocks. The businesses and shops along Central were open late, some serving hot cider and others handing out cocoa. Groups huddled together. Mothers and fathers corralled hyped-up kids into Santa’s line for pictures.
“Wow.” Genevieve tipped up her gaze to take in the lights wrapped around lampposts. “This was worth it.”
“Worth what? The cold?”
“No.” She flashed me that smile again. “Worth moving here. Maybe Clifton Forge isn’t so bad.”
Before I could respond, Genevieve’s attention shifted, and her smile got impossibly wider. She waved at Bryce and Dash, who were wandering our way.
“Hey, guys,” Genevieve said, not letting go of my hand to hug Bryce.
I shook Dash’s hand. “How’s it going?”
“Good. Better if Bryce would stop asking me to get my picture taken with Santa.”
“Oh, stop.” She rolled her eyes. “One of the guys from the paper, Art, is Santa. I promised I’d stop by and I’m not going to stand in that line and not have my picture taken.”
“Or you can just see him at the newspaper tomorrow,” Dash said. “Skip the line altogether.”
Bryce ignored him. “Do you guys want to get one taken too? All the proceeds go to charity.”
Genevieve sandwiched my hand between hers. “Can we?”
“Fine by me.”
After going through Amina’s things today, I’d been baffled at the sheer number of pictures she’d taken. The tubs had been crowded with photo after photo, most rubber banded into tight stacks. Maybe it was a mother thing, wanting photos of your kid.
In all the time she’d lived here, I couldn’t remember Genevieve taking a picture.
She didn’t post selfies on social media. She didn’t snap pictures of anything in town. I wouldn’t mind having a picture of us together, something to remember her by years down the road when she was gone.
Who would she end up with? Genevieve deserved a good man, but I could barely stomach the thought of her in another man’s arms.
I shook off the envy, holding her hand tighter as we strolled through the crowd, following Bryce and Dash as they led the way.
Dash seemed to know everyone tonight. He’d wave or jerk up his chin to those we’d pass. He’d nod and introduce Bryce to the people who’d stop, but for his sister, he’d barely spared a single glance.
I bit my tongue as we kept moving toward the Santa line, knowing if I said something, it would ruin the night for our wives.
The only time Dash stopped to have an actual conversation was when an older man with a protruding belly pulled him in for a short, backslapping embrace.
“You hear anything yet?” the man asked.
Dash shook his head. “No. Nothing.”
“Goddamn it.” The guy kicked at the snow with a heavy black boot. “You call me if you need anything.”
“Will do, Louie. Appreciate it.” Dash slapped him on the back once more, then nodded for us to keep walking.
When we were a few steps away, Bryce glanced behind us. “Is that the same Big Louie who used to be in the club?”
“Yeah. He used to be a Gypsy.”
I leaned in to whisper in Genevieve’s ear. “Did you look into him?”
“Yes,” she whispered back.
“I’m going to have to go through your notebook and catch up.”
“So am I,” Bryce said, joining in our conversation.
She giggled. “By all means.”
“Louie bought the bowling alley in town a while back,” Dash told us. “He doesn’t come to the garage often, but he keeps in touch with Dad.”
We took up our spot at the tail of Santa’s line. Kids weaved through their parents’ legs as they ran around and played. The scent of a campfire filled the air from where they’d set up a marshmallow-roasting station.
“You want some hot chocolate?” I asked Genevieve and Bryce, receiving two nods. Dash stayed with them while I went to grab four cups from a stand on the other side of the street. I was handing Genevieve hers when a prickle ran up my spine.
My shoulders tensed and I twisted to look behind me. I’d spent three years in prison learning what it felt like to be watched. Someone was staring at me, but who?
I scanned the crowd. Nothing seemed odd. People were enjoying themselves, laughing and talking. The street was packed with people and not one seemed to care about me.
I shifted closer to Genevieve as she gabbed with Bryce.
The hairs were still raised on my arms, my gut screaming, and when I looked at Dash, his eyes were scanning the crowd. He’d felt it too.
Dash put his arm around Bryce, holding her close.
I did the same with Genevieve, tucking her into my side.
“You okay?” She wrapped her arm around me, tipping her chin up.
“Yeah. Just a strange feeling. It’s gone now.”
“Dash.” Emmett’s voice carried through the crowd as he strode our way, Leo just a few steps behind.
Their expressions were ice cold and not from the weather.
“What?” Dash asked.
Genevieve tensed as they inched closer to talk so no one around us would hear.
“Leo and I were walking in,” Emmett said. “Saw a group of Warriors.”
“Fuck.” Dash cursed first but it was only a split-second before my own. “Thought maybe we’d catch a break and they’d give up on us.”
“Guess not,” Leo muttered.
“What do we do?” Bryce asked.
“Nothing, babe,” Dash answered. “We keep an eye out. Stay together.”
The mood shifted as we stood in line. None of us spoke. We only shuffled forward as our place in line progressed.
“Hey, guys!” We all turned at Presley’s happy voice. Her white pixie cut was covered by a slouchy beanie. Her smile faded as she reached our group. “What’s wrong?”
“Warriors.”
Presley stood on her toes to look around. When her eyes landed on something behind us, she froze.
Three men wearing Warrior cuts over their coats were talking to a lanky guy with a cigarette pinched between two fingers.
“What the fuck is Jeremiah doing?” Leo barked.
Wait, that was Presley’s fiancé? Why was he talking to the Warriors?
“Those are the Warriors?” Presley asked, her eyes widening as she turned to Dash. “I didn’t know. Jeremiah told me they were a couple guys he met playing poker. They come over sometimes.”
“To your house?” Emmett asked.
She nodded, her face paling. “They didn’t wear those vests.”
“Goddamn it.” Dash rubbed his jaw. “So they haven’t been lying low. They’ve been here this whole fucking time.”
“Do you talk to them?” Leo asked Presley.
She shrugged. “Sometimes.”
“About what?”
“Nothing. I don’t know. One of them asked me where I worked. They talked to me about the wedding. It wasn’t anything important. Mostly they came over, hung out for a while and then Jeremiah went out with them.”
“Did he know they were Warriors?” Emmett asked her.
She closed her eyes. “I don’t know.”
Genevieve stiffened at my side. We’d been fools to think they’d believed us. Convincing as she was, Genevieve had lied to their faces. Either the Warriors knew, or they suspected.
When they found out, I was a dead man.
“We’re up.” Bryce nudged Dash for their turn at pictures. They smiled but neither’s reached their eyes.
When it was time for Genevieve and me to go up, I didn’t want there to be strain in our fa
ces. This might be the only picture the two of us would have together. So right before we were ushered in for our pictures, I took Genevieve’s face in my hands. “Block them out.”
“How?”
I dropped my lips to hers, letting the kiss linger for a long moment. I savored the soft feel of her lips and the smell of her hair.
When we broke apart for our picture, she had a rosy glow on her cheeks and a little smile on her face. Picture or not, I’d remember that look until the end of my days.
Even if that end was right around the corner.
“I’m an icicle.” Genevieve’s teeth chattered as we hurried to the car.
The seats were going to be cold inside, but a breeze had picked up as we’d left the stroll and I was ready to get her out of its path.
We weaved through the cars in the grocery store’s full parking lot. An overhead lamp cast a glow on the trunk. Genevieve beeped the locks.
My steps slowed. “What the fuck?”
Genevieve gasped and her hand flew to her mouth. “What is that?”
“Give me the keys.” I took them from her. “Stay here.”
She didn’t listen. As I crept closer to the car, her hands clutched the back of my coat.
There was a small animal on the trunk of her car. Dead. A baby pig. Its throat had been slashed and its blood was freezing to the car. It hadn’t been there long because some of it still dripped onto the snow.
“Oh my God.” Genevieve spun away, burying her face in my chest. “Was it them? The Warriors?”
It had to be. Who else would do this? My eyes were glued to the animal as I pulled off a glove and dug my phone from my pocket. I pressed Dash’s name.
“Hey,” he answered. “I can’t talk right now. Someone broke out the window to my truck.”
Not someone, the Warriors. Dash and Bryce hadn’t parked at the store. They were on a residential side street. The Warriors had been busy searching for both vehicles. “Someone sent us a message too.”
As I told him about the pig, Genevieve burrowed into me deeper.
“Take a picture,” Dash ordered. “Clean it up. Then get the fuck out of there.”
