Istare at my phone, our text thread already up, the words typed out, but I can’t hit send. Not when I know there’s nothing he can do from Florida to help the situation. Best-case scenario, he hops on a plane and is back in a few hours. But where does that leave the club with the business he’s looking to handle while out there?
Most women wouldn’t care. They’d be blowing up their man’s phone, putting their marriage before anything else. Those women have never been married to the president of an MC with club problems.
No, the best thing I can do for everyone right now, exceptmyself, is handle this shit for the next couple of days until he gets home.
At least today’s over. Haley’s tucked in tight next to me, her snores steady, blowing against my side. There’s no way I would have gotten a wink of sleep with her in a different room and a stranger in the house. He could rob us blind for all I care as long as my kid’s safe.
Trenton finally took the spare room after offering to take the couch more than a few times. I got the feeling he wasn’t used to having his own bed, let alone a whole room where he could lock the door and relax from the day.
Vik told me to text him before bed, among other solacious things that aren’t even on my mind anymore, because my heart’s crushed and my head hurts. My fingers have a mind of their own, moving to delete the typed-out message staring back at me.
The TV’s on but muted. An old rerun of Friends, I know by heart and usually love, but it’s not enough to steal away my worries right now.
Sleep isn’t coming for me any time soon. I’ll regret it in the morning, but I slip from under the worn comforter, tucking a pillow in to my spot in case Hales needs something to cuddle with and head for the kitchen.
In all the awkward mess of getting home and figuring out sleeping situations, the cupcakes got forgotten. I was planning on sayingfuck itand doing as Vik suggested in the first place, but I might as well use the quiet to my advantage.
The house hums with electricity, but I can hear the chorus of bugs calling in the night through the open windows over it. The Texas summer heat is unbearable during the day, but the evenings are cool enough to be semi-comfortable, especially if the breeze blows in the right direction.
I work on autopilot, taking twice as long to do any one task to avoid making too much noise. My mind won’t shut up, racing over scenarios like the worst one it can come up with is going to win some grand ol’ prize.
Before I can drop the dry ingredients in with the wet, I’m reaching for my headphones and popping them in. Tuning to my favorite true crime podcast, I get lost in the discussion of a serial killer on the loose in Central Texas. Targeting young men and disposing of their bodies in a popular lake.
The newest information makes my skin crawl. This small town might have its fair share of crime, some of my own husband’s doing, but a serial killer? No, you won’t find anything like that here.
The mix of busy hands and an intense, nonstop conversation through my headphones is the first thing that keeps my focus redirected all evening. I work until the batch of cupcakes is in the oven and start on the dishes. I’m so engulfed by Tasha’s ability to break down the facts of a crime that the metal bowl goes flying through the air when a hand taps against my shoulder.
“Holy fucking shit balls, dude.”
His lips tuck in to suppress the smile that’s dying to light up his face. It dances in his eyes, making him look like the fourteen he is.
“I’m so sorry. I just heard something and figured I’d grab some water while I was out here checking it out.”
“No. No, need to be sorry. Noise-canceling headphones should really come with an indicator. Glasses are over there.” I nod, and he turns, grabbing one before filling it with water from the fridge.
“So, what were you listening to?” he asks, digging his socked toe into the floor and avoiding eye contact.
It pulls my attention, and I see the holes that make up more than the material covering his foot. Another pang of sadness bleeds through me. He’s in the same clothes as earlier. I wonder if that small backpack of his even has a spare set.
“Dark Demise, it’s a true crime podcast. They’re talking about the serial killer out in central Texas.”
“Another reason I headed out this way,” he says.
He must realize that’s a tidbit of information he hadn’t given up before, if the way he downs the rest of the water in his glass is any indication.
“So, that’s where you’re from?”
He sets the empty glass on the counter, shoving his fidgety hands into his hoodie pocket.
“Most recently. We moved around a lot. Always in Texas, but it was wherever they were that we followed.”
“Who’s they?” I can’t help but ask.
“Her boyfriends.”
He looks utterly defeated, ready to break down and let it all out. But I have a feeling he’s never felt safe or secure enough to do so. I don’t know Trenton, not really. But any woman with an inkling of maternal instinct can see the pain he’s shutting out. It’ll bubble up and erupt eventually. I want to wrap my arms around him, pull him in for a hug, and offer him a safe space to do it now before it bursts into something damaging. Since I can’t do that. Not with the awkward weight of our situation that we’re still tiptoeing around. I try something else instead.
“Feel like helping me decorate some cupcakes for a bunch of preschools?”
