The thick silence in the house pressed down on her. She grabbed her cell and clicked on the radio app. Closing her eyes, she hummed along to Lionel Richie’s soothing voice until the tension seeped from her neck and shoulders.
Her phone chimed. A text from Tim flashed on the screen.
Going to Sean’s to study for a biology test.
She responded: Good for you! Be home by nine, please.
Hopefully these recent study dates would stop Tim’s downward spiral. In two semesters, he’d gone from B honor roll to barely scraping by.
She trudged back into the kitchen and sifted through the freezer. Häagen-Dazs, where are you when I need you most? Alice settled for a frozen Lean Cuisine from under a frostbitten bag of peas.
Now maybe she could skip BOSU class tomorrow.
Shoving the meal into the microwave, she hit what had become her most frequently used button on her most frequently used appliance—frozen dinner. She pulled it out a minute and a half later and started to pour a glass of tea when the front door creaked open. Her gaze shot to the clock on the microwave—7:30. It couldn’t be Danny. He was at the Y lifting weights, and Tim wouldn’t be home for another hour and a half. Her heart skipped a beat as the only other option came to mind.
Trent stood in the doorway with a bouquet of rosebuds, laughter bubbling in his throat. His back pockets bulged. A wad of cash occupied one and his wife’s recently recovered jewelry the other. His paycheck, and a lofty commission from some past accounts, came just in time. A few more checks and he’d catch his breath, as long as he didn’t get fired first. Everything rode on the Peak Performance Foods account. It’d make or break him—fill his bank or send him packing.
“Alice?”
She rounded the corner and looked from the roses to his face. An unreadable expression clouded her eyes. Confusion? Curiosity? It didn’t matter. She was here, he was here, and based on her soft expression, their marriage wasn’t over . . . yet.
Trent smiled and held out the flowers. Taking them, Alice brought them to her nose. She closed her eyes as she inhaled. When she lifted her gaze to meet his, Trent’s chest warmed. Her shiny black hair accentuated her creamy complexion, a slight pink coloring her cheeks. So beautiful.
“What’s the occasion?”
“Who needs an occasion when you’ve got such a radiant wife?” He moved closer and grazed her face with his knuckles, her skin soft against his.
She smiled, but then, in an instant, her face hardened. Trent glanced around and tried to ignore the obvious distrust in her eyes. The smell of chicken and garlic filled the room.
“You eat already?” So much for his plan to pull a Romeo.
“Huh? No . . . I . . .” She turned and headed toward the kitchen. Trent followed a few steps behind and watched her pick up a plastic tray of food. She shoved it into the fridge next to a gallon of milk, then placed the flowers in an old mason jar. A moment later, she returned to the freezer and fished through packages of frozen vegetables and slabs of meat.
Trent encircled her waist with his hands, breathing in her vanilla shampoo. “I know I’ve been a real bear lately, and I want to make it up to you.”
She turned and stared at him.
“I’ve made reservations at Cutters. What do you say?” One of her favorite restaurants, it overlooked Seattle’s waterfront and stood half a block short of Pike Place Market. With windows stretching the length of it, one could watch the fog roll in across Elliot Bay, seagulls circle the pier, and local runners weave through the throng of tourists. Not to mention it had the best mahi around, Alice’s favorite.
Her mouth parted, then closed, her lips hovering between a smile and frown. He watched her kaleidoscope of emotions with growing frustration. He almost told her to forget it—to enjoy her nice little frozen dinner all by herself—but then her face brightened.
“That sounds wonderful. Just give me a minute to freshen up.” She turned and strolled toward their bedroom.
“No.” He grabbed her arm with more force than he’d intended.
She spun around, eyes wide.
Loosening his grip, he forced a smile. “You’re beautiful the way you are.” Slipping his arms around the small of her back, he brought her close, nibbling her ear. “You wait here. I’ll get you a sweater. It’s a tad chilly tonight.”
She pulled away and looked up at him. “Thank you.”
Trent exhaled. That had been close. He dashed to their bedroom and emptied his pocket full of Alice’s jewelry back into her box. For good. He would never hock her things again. Never.
Sitting by the window, Alice watched the Ferris Wheel lights through the thick evening fog as it made it’s lazy rotation, remembering a warm summer night some 20 years ago when she and Trent had waited atop. His deep-set eyes, intense beneath thick eyebrows, stole her heart. And that was when he’d proposed—with Elliot Bay below them and the Seattle skyline lighting up the horizon. Then, they’d spent the rest of the evening walking hand-in-hand along the pier, sipping lattes and talking about what the future held for them. His focused gaze and subtle charm made her feel cherished and beautiful. Like she felt now.
Trent promised to give her the world, and for a while, he had. Until alcohol sank its claws into him. Sipping her coffee, she watched her husband as he read his menu. With his square chin, thick eyebrows, and easy smile, he was just as handsome now as the day they had met. But despite the beautiful décor, her nerves refused to settle.
“This is wonderful, Trent. But . . . can we afford this?”
“You worry too much. We’re fine.” His gaze swept across her face and lingered on her lips. “I had almost forgotten how beautiful you are.” He leaned forward.
She closed her eyes and shivered as he caressed her face, continuing to the base of her neck.
R & B music played above the steady hum of conversations. Across from them sat a table of five—an older couple and three girls who looked to be of college age. The rich smell of garlic and teriyaki filled the air.
She fiddled with her fork. “There’s a couple’s retreat next weekend. At the Marriot Waterfront. Want to go?”
“I have a better idea.” He brought her hand to his mouth, his warm breath tickling her skin. “Why don’t we go to the mountains? Just you and me?”
“That’s a great idea. When?”
He pulled his phone from his shirt pocket and studied the screen. “I’ll have to get back to you on that. Maybe next month. July at the latest.”
Alice pushed a piece of broccoli around her plate. Next month would turn into next year, then the following, until he forgot the promise entirely.
He lifted his Scotch glass, swished it, then took a drink. “So, what’d you do today?”
She chewed a piece of steak to buy time while her emotions raged. She wanted to leave—him, this restaurant, the anger that flooded over her like a tidal wave. And she wanted to stay, to drink in his throaty compliments and allow his hungry eyes to devour her.
“I met with the women’s ministry committee to plan the final details for the ladies social.”
“You speaking again?”
“Unless I can find a way to get out of it.”
“You’ll do great. You always do.”
Tracing a droplet of water on the outside of her glass with her finger, she watched an older couple sitting at an adjacent table. The man sat hunched over, focused on his plate. Frowning, the woman’s gaze swept across the room. They ate in silence.
She turned back to Trent. “So, what about you? How was your day?”
“Same ol’, same ol’.” He gulped down the last of his Scotch, then opened his mouth wide to allow an ice cube in. It clanked against his teeth as he rolled it over his tongue. He spit it back. “Mr. Lowe asked me to take on some new clients.”
He stopped the waiter as he walked by and lifted his empty Scotch glass. “Add another one, will you?”
A band of pale flesh circling Trent’s ring finger caught Alice’s eye. “What
happened to your wedding ring?”
A man took off his ring for one reason. Her stomach soured as a mouthful of food lodged in her throat.
Trent blanched and stared at his hand. “I lost it. The guys and I hit weights over lunch, and I took it off before lifting—gym policy. You ever seen what can happen to a finger when the ring gets caught?” He grimaced. “Anyway, I could’ve sworn I dropped it in the outer pocket of my duffel bag, but I searched everywhere.” He reached for his glass. “I left my number, in case anyone turns it in.”
Why didn’t she believe him? “What about our finances? Did they ever send us new cards?”
He flicked a hand. “I told you I’d take care of it and I did.”
She stiffened. “I’m just trying to understand.”
He leaned forward and placed his hand over hers. “As I said, you worry too much. It’s almost like you don’t trust me.” He scanned the room, made eye contact with the waiter, and raised his glass. The kid frowned over an armload of dirty dishes and nodded. Trent turned back to Alice. “But I know you’re just stressed, with women’s ministry events and all.”
She studied her husband. Something didn’t feel right, though she wasn’t sure whether her distrust was warranted or was simply the result of a dying marriage. Either way, it was past time she addressed their problems. “We need to talk.”
“Again? Come on, Alice. Everything’s fine.”
“No, it’s not. You’ve changed, Trent. The drinking, the staying out late. This isn’t working. We need help.”
He studied her for a long moment—evidence that he was actually listening for once?
“I’m sorry. Things have been crazy at work. I’ve been so stressed out, so focused on my accounts, and I guess I just . . .” He sighed. “I’ve been a real a jerk.” He cupped her chin and ran his thumb across her mouth. “I love you, sweetie. More than the world. You know that, right?”
I’m not so sure anymore.
She dropped her gaze to her plate, lined the edge of her knife with the edge of her napkin.
Touching her chin again, he lifted it until her gaze met his. “I’m trying here. I really am trying. Can’t we just relax and enjoy our evening?”
“We need counseling.”
He tensed. “No, what we need is to reconnect. Without fighting.”
This was getting her nowhere except heading toward a fight. And besides, he was right. They needed this time together, if only to remember why they fell in love in the first place.
She smoothed her napkin in her lap. “So, tell me more about this project that Mr. Lowe has you working on.”
“This is the biggest account we’ve had in some time. And”—he rested his forearms on the table—“if all goes well, I have a feeling I’ll be seeing a promotion, along with a hefty raise.”
“Oh, Trent, that’s great.”
The rest of the meal progressed pleasantly. They talked about the boys, Trent’s career aspirations, and where they were going to spend their romantic getaway.
“We could go to the San Juans, maybe do some crabbing?” Alice wrapped both hands around her coffee cup, the warmth spreading through her.
Just then, the waitress approached with their dessert—bacon bread pudding, the flavor of the day. They normally ordered the crème brûlée, but when the waitress mentioned a dessert with bacon, Trent had insisted they try it.
“Look at that.” Trent laughed, grabbing his fork. “Bread, bacon, sweet. It’s like having breakfast for dinner.”
“Exactly.” The waitress smiled, then glanced at Alice’s mug. “Want more coffee?”
“That’d be nice, thanks.” She watched Trent slice into the delicate mound then dipped her spoon into vanilla ice cream drizzled with caramel, resting on top of white chocolate chunks. “So, what do you think?”
“About?”
“Visiting the San Juans?” They’d been there twice, once for their first night away after baby, and the second time for their tenth anniversary. Maybe going again would stir up old memories, restoring things to the way they used to be.
“What about Lummi Island?” Trent asked. “We could rent a cottage, have dinner at The Willows.”
“Oh, Trent, that would be wonderful.” She wanted to ask again if they could afford it—The Willows was a world-renowned restaurant, with a price to match—but she didn’t. If a luxurious weekend getaway saved their marriage, it’d be worth it.
CHAPTER 5
Trent’s heart thrashed as he made his way to the bar. Men in baseball caps gathered in front of a flat screen television whooping and hollering while ladies sat around tall, circular tables sipping martinis and daiquiris. He squeezed between a woman with bouncy curls and a man in a pinstriped suit, his gaze darting from the bartender to the metal door on the far wall.
The bartender handed a glass of wine to a slender woman with short blond hair, then turned to Trent. “Can I help you?”
He leaned forward, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m here to see Jay.”
The bartender’s eyes narrowed. “He expecting you?”
He nodded. “Tell him Trent’s here.”
The man turned to a girl in a red tank top and frayed jean shorts. He motioned to his customers with a jerk of his head. “You got this?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, whatever.”
Rounding the counter, he wove through the crowd and then disappeared behind the thick metal door. Trent followed and waited, pulse racing. A few seconds later, the door opened and the bartender’s emotionless face appeared. Holding the door ajar, he motioned for Trent to go in.
Smoke clouded the 10-by-15-foot room. Jay’s guys huddled around the poker table drinking and smoking while Jay occupied a desk in the back. A pudgy kid in ripped jeans and a baggy T-shirt stood in front of him, his bony arms quivering at his sides. Stacks of cash lay spread across the desk next to a torn manila envelope.
Bruce, Jay’s thug for hire, stood, one eye on his boss, the other on Trent. The muscles in his arms bulged as if charged for a fight.
Jay shoved a white package at the kid in front of him. “Don’t make me wait so long next time.”
The kid’s head bobbed like an ocean buoy at high tide. He took three steps backward, spun around, then bolted out the door.
The hair on the back of Trent’s neck stood on end as Jay’s gaze landed on him. “You got my money?”
As if on cue, Bruce closed the distance between them. Trent swallowed, his eyes narrowing on the man’s clenched fists. He stepped backward and held out his wad of cash. “It’s all here.”
Jay and Henry rose and walked toward Bruce until the three of them stood shoulder to shoulder. Their hard eyes darkened. If only Trent had stuck with penny poker, he wouldn’t be in this mess.
Bruce grabbed the cash from Trent’s trembling hand and counted the bills one by one. When finished, he handed it to his boss and stepped aside.
Jay’s scowl eased into a thin-lipped smile. “I always knew you were smarter than you looked.”
Trent exhaled as his tightly coiled muscles relaxed. It was over. He turned to leave, but Jay placed a heavy hand on his shoulder.
“So, what do you say? Wanna give it another whirl? I’d hate to see you walk out of here empty handed.”
Trent glanced from the thick wad of cash to the tall stacks of chips on the table. He swallowed hard. Two thousand dollars was a lot of money. If he could win it back . . . Just thinking about it flooded his veins with adrenaline. Except this wasn’t bingo night, and if he lost . . .
Trent shuddered. “I don’t know.”
Jay flipped through the wad of cash again, slower this time. Trent’s eyes followed the movement of every bill. At the table, a man wearing a long-sleeved flannel shirt and thick glasses sifted poker chips through his hand. He wore his ball cap pulled low, tufts of hair curling up beneath it.
Trent swallowed again and shifted. Logic said turn around, walk away, and never come back . . . but . . . $2,000 would go a long
way.
“What do you say?” Jay rubbed the back of his hand under his neck. “Feeling lucky tonight?”
He’d be a fool not to. Besides, he’d only play a couple of hands. Just enough to get a little green. “Yeah, I think I am.”
He moved to the table and sat between Henry and an older man he’d never met before. The guy, who looked to be in his late sixties, shot Trent a nervous glance then stared at the table. He twitched like a jackrabbit.
Jay lowered himself into an empty seat across from Trent, grabbed a filled glass, and took a loud slurp.
Bruce handed him a deck of cards, and Jay shuffled.
Trent wiped clammy palms on his pants. What was he doing here? Walk away, now, before you bury yourself.
“Ante up. We’re betting $500.”
The kid next to Trent pushed his seat back. “This one’s too rich for my blood.”
Jay eyed the guys. Two stayed in the game, two bailed. Trent rubbed the back of his neck. Five hundred was a lot of cash, but $2,000 was more.
He tossed a chip on the pile. “I’m in.”
Jay dealt everyone five cards, face down, then set the remainder of the deck on the table.
Trent surveyed his hand. No pair. King high and a Jack. Could be better. He studied Jay. His dark eyes, shadowed by heavy brows, were unreadable.
Jay tossed another chip on the pile. Trent licked his dry lips. Was he willing to risk a thousand on a King and Jack?
The kid to his left dropped his cards. “I’m out.”
A bead of sweat snaked down Trent’s temple. It was down to him, Jay, and a punk with peach fuzz on his face. Which meant he had a one in three chance of winning.
“We’re growing webs, man.” The kid leaned back and drummed his fingers on the table. “Pay it, or eat it.”
Trent straightened and squared his shoulders in an attempt to look confident. The kid acted cocky, like he held a royal flush. Cocky usually meant loser. But then there was Jay, and Jay was a slab of ice.
He glanced at the clock. 7:15. He didn’t have time to waste on a losing hand. “I fold.” He’d catch ’em on the next one. And then he’d get out of here.
Breaking Free Page 4