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I nod once before pulling out a hundred dollar bill from my wallet and setting it on the table. “Let’s go.”
Casey rubs my back as we head out of the bar. “What does Camden Hayes look like in person?”
I narrow my eyes as an image of that kid comes to mind. I wasn’t really paying attention to his appearance, but he had the look of a person who rarely smiles.
He had an aura of melancholy. I recognized it because I live in that world too. He loves a woman he can’t have.
It doesn’t have to be that way. He could have Lauren if he really wanted her. Everyone has a price. Maybe she’d never love him. Maybe that aura of melancholy would always hover somewhere in the distance, but he could ward it off if he had her close…
But I don’t have Whitney close. I don’t even get to enjoy the benefits of owning my wife.
Fuck, why am I here? Why do I always do this? It doesn’t help. I reached this exact conclusion a few days ago, and yet here I am again.
It never works.
Just as we make it to my car, I turn to Casey. “I just remembered something I have to do. It’s urgent.”
She frowns. “That’s okay. I can come with you. I’ll wait in the car.”
I shake my head. “I can’t hang out with you today. We’ll have to rain check.”
She pouts, and I set my hand on her arm. “I know you were looking forward to staying in the Ritz-Carlton. I’ll call the hotel and give them your name. Bring whoever you want. It’s yours until eleven tomorrow.”
“I wanted to stay there with you.” Her voice is faint.
“Another time?”
“I guess so.”
There’s hurt in her voice, but I don’t have time to console her. I’m practically flooring the gas pedal and tapping my thumbs rapidly against my thigh at every stoplight.
I’m going home to my wife today.
CHAPTER8
Present Day
Mark
I tugon the loop of my tie after ringing the doorbell.
This is my home. I spent the last two decades building a life here, and everything that’s ever mattered to me was once contained within these walls.
Now here I am, standing on the porch ringing the doorbell, waiting to be let inside.
Maddy opens the door, and typical of her capricious teenage moods these days, she turns around and walks back to the living room without even a nod of acknowledgment.
“Miss me?” I call out to her.
“No,” she says, and a smile tugs at my lips. She’s been a mama’s girl ever since she was a fussy little baby. We didn’t tell her and Mason the reasons for our separation, but they both seem to intuitively know it was my fault.
It’s how it should be. Part of my penance.
A moment later, footsteps sound at the top of the stairs. I look up, and my breath hitches. Whitney’s wearing a white dress that clings to her lithe body. Her hair is swept to the side and hangs in waves over her shoulder.
There she is. My beautiful angel of a wife. This might be the last time I ever see her this way. A year from now, she might have a different man waiting for her at the bottom of these stairs.
A sharp pain stabs into my chest, and I take a deep breath through my nose. I had such lofty hopes when I locked her into this agreement six months ago. I thought we’d be announcing the end of our separation at this ball, giddy that the misery was behind us.
