But the man that I’d been running away from had been the one to step out of that officer’s vehicle, and my already confused head went a little more fuzzy.
There I was, in the end of my workday, at my new job, and wondering if maybe I was seeing things.
But no, I hadn’t seen things.
I’d seen exactly what I thought I’d seen.
The man standing at my door, my husband, was fully alive and breathing.
He was missing some tattoos, had a beard, and was wearing a police uniform of all things.
He’d followed me out of the hospital room I’d seen him in and now we stood staring at each other in the middle of a deserted highway where no amount of harsh setting sun could change what I was seeing.
“What. The. Fuck.”
Gentry’s eyelid twitched.
He was older now.
He had gray at his temples and his beard.
But his once gray eyes were now brown.
And again, he was missing every single one of his tattoos.
What in the world was going on?
“Herb,” he said, and I flinched.
There was no love ever between us.
But the night that I’d been assaulted, he’d held me in his arms while we waited for the police, and I’d shared my name with him.
He’d laughed and had teased me about being ‘Herb’ to him.
The name had stuck, and he was the only one to ever call me that.
Now, here he was, back from the dead, proving that he was exactly who I thought he was.
“How?” I asked.
Honestly, I was surprised that I was able to get words out at all.
He lifted that tattoo-free hand and said, “Can we go somewhere more private?”
I nodded stiffly. “Lead the way.”
He did, all the way to my RV, as if he knew exactly where I’d been living all this time.
He knew where I lived!
Which also meant the motherfucker knew damn well and good where I’d been, so he could’ve shared that he was alive this entire time!
And now that I thought about it, wasn’t it a fucking coincidence that I was in the same place that he was?
Let’s be honest here.
This wasn’t a coincidence.
