"I should be finished up here in a couple of hours," she said.
"Are you coming home?"
"Not if you’re going to keep slinging the same old shit at me.”
“Is Brett on duty?”he pressed.
“It doesn’t matter what I say.If I say he’s here, you’ll be jealous.If I say he’s not, you’ll think I’m lying.I can’t do this anymore.”
“Then come home right now, so we can talk about it—face to face, like actual adults.”
"Do we even know how to do that?"she questioned.
His heartbeat kicked into high gear.He recognized her tone—the same one she used when delivering devastating news to her patients’ loved ones.Day after day, their union had deteriorated with neither knowing how to stop it.He’d tried to reach her, but she never responded.Not the way he wanted her to.He wanted a woman who would laugh at his stupid jokes, cry at sappy old movies, and fall into his arms begging him never to let go.Turns out, Hope Hanks wasn’t that woman.She was a surgeon, a healer.She stitched up broken hearts every day of the week but showed no interest in meeting him halfway to revive their dying marriage.
“I’m tired, Jay.I’m gonna sleep here tonight, and we’ll talk when I get home.”
The line went dead.Jay held the phone to his ear for several seconds, his eyes still fixed on the framed photo.One of her colleagues had snapped the photo of them at a medical convention in Hawaii.The only time in their married life—other than their brief honeymoon—that they traveled together.Vacation didn’t exist in Hope’s vocabulary.It didn’t matter what destination he offered—mountains or beach, urban or rural—she reacted to relaxation as if it were a foreign concept.Jay loved to travel and had visited every continent except Antarctica.Yet another item on a long list of incompatibilities.
He nudged the mouse, bringing his darkened computer screen to life.Another picture came into focus: a younger Hope smiled back at him.She stood with her parents and younger brother, pride and relief written across her face after graduating top of her class from UC San Francisco.It marked the last photo taken of her family before her twin brother’s death.He didn’t know why it affected him so much, but something about it made him feel good inside.He’d made several comments about it during their first and only visit to her family before they married.Later, her mother emailed him a copy.Hope’s dark hair was long then, pulled back in her signature low ponytail.A brand-new stethoscope hung around her neck.Her flawless skin reflected her mother’s Asian heritage.Even now, she looked much the same.The grueling hours she worked had done surprisingly little to age her.She remained as beautiful as the day she walked out of the OR and told him Rob would make it.
Jay knew every inch of his wife’s petite frame.Every line and curve.He knew exactly how much cream she liked in her coffee and the exact temperature she preferred her shower.But after all their years together, he didn't truly know how she felt about him.
With his hands on the keys, he mentally worked out a game plan.Though she hadn’t come right out and said it, he knew it was only a conversation away.In a few short hours, they would sit down and hammer out the particulars of what he hoped would be an amicable divorce.
He typed a short, precise email to an attorney friend to set the preliminaries in motion.Of course, he would wait to see whether Hope preferred to file first.It didn’t matter as long as the end result stayed the same.They had very little to fight over.The prenup would take the guesswork out of most of it.There were a few items—paintings, sculptures, and the like.Nothing that truly appealed to him.He'd feigned interest in her love of modern art, hoping that it might bring them closer together.It hadn't.She could have her pick or take it all.
They'd retained separate bank accounts from the moment they’d said, “I do.”The L.A.condo was in his name.The fully restored vintage Mercedes convertible, in hers.They'd split the bills right down the middle from the beginning, and would continue to do so, he suspected, until she found a new place to live.With little to debate, Jay shook his head and sighed, his expression filled with regret.Their life as husband and wife would end much like the color on the walls around him.Uncontested and gray.
He flipped off the overhead light and walked to their bedroom, stopping to snatch his cell phone off the coffee table.With each step, his frustration simmered.Hope hung up on him, not even allowing for so much as a goodbye.By the time he’d showered and brushed his teeth, his frustration had become outrage.A pot of marital disharmony on the verge of boiling over.Towel around his waist, he stomped across the floor of their bedroom, a trail of water in his wake.With cell phone back in hand, he sat down on the edge of their bed.Somewhere in the back of his mind, Rob preached a cautionary sermon.A warning that nothing good would come from a text sent in anger.While his head agreed, his heart had other ideas.His thumbs punched out the message with force.Before he could second guess himself, he clicked the tiny blue arrow.Sent.The text, while concise, summed up everything he was feeling.
Jay: Our marriage is burning down but by all means please stay at the hospital tonight.I’ve waited this long.What’s one more night?
Expecting nothing, he flinched when she immediately began composing a response.Waves of anticipation crashed against his gut as the three little dots bounced for a full minute, starting and stopping as she crafted a lengthy reply.Jay braced himself for a host of accusations with plenty of exclamation points, but in the end, her text contained neither.
Hope: I’ll come home.
CHAPTERFOUR
JAY
Jay groped around the bedside table, trying to silence the annoying alarm.Only after he pressed every button and flipped every switch did he realize the sound wasn’t coming from his clock.A loud noise had jolted him from a deep sleep, and he strained to identify its source.A few seconds later, he heard it again—the doorbell, followed by someone urgently pounding on their door.He opened his eyes and squinted at the numbers on the clock.It was just after four.He sat up in bed, slightly dazed and still hungover from his last cup of holiday cheer.The pounding grew louder and drove him out of bed.He slipped his arms into his robe and silently cursed Hope with every step.
She's locked her keys in the car again!
He marched down the hallway, his head shaking in disbelief.She can stand in the OR for hours, operating on tissue smaller than a human hair, yet she can't remember to take her goddamn keys out of the ignition!This is twice in the last month!Around the corner and past the Christmas tree, he cinched the terry cloth belt around his waist with force.
"How is it that you can—" he swung open the door, stopping mid-sentence.
"Mr.Avery?Jameson Avery?"a man inquired.
"Y-yes?"Jay stammered.
"May we come in?"a woman asked.
Jay nodded with a glazed expression.It'd taken only seconds for him to size up the bodies that stood waiting in the outer vestibule of their condo.A man.Six-foot-two.Dark hair.Thick mustache.The other, a petite woman with blonde, curly hair.Two of LA’s finest, dressed in their standard-issue navy blues.A searing heat pulsed through his veins.He swayed and grabbed on to the doorframe with both hands.Though the officers had spoken just a handful of words, the look in their eyes told Jay everything he needed to know.And the brown leather briefcase in the female officer's hand—the one bearing his wife's monogram—confirmed it.
CHAPTERFIVE
