****
The roads at midnight in Cottage Grove are all ours. It’s like we’re the only two people on the entire planet and, at this point, I wish we were. I wish I could tell him that but I can’t. Sinking lower in the black leather seat, I stare out the window of Lincoln’s restored Chevelle SS. The throaty muscle car rumbles beneath me and I know enough to know the SS stands for Super Sport. In pristine condition inside and out, Lincoln looks hotter than hell behind the wheel. Classic cars are the one passion he shared with his older brother, Jack. Glistening cherry red with matte black racing stripes running down the hood, the Chevelle transports me back to 1970 – a place I’ve never been but long to go. We could be free there, Lincoln and I. Sighing, houses and shops slide past in an orange blur and I wonder if he has any idea how often I think about him. If he did, I’m sure it would creep him out. Since Jack and I got engaged four years ago, he’s become a treasured friend. Over the last year or two, however, my feelings for him have developed into something more and I need to derail this train of thought on the now plan. It’s not healthy for anyone. It’s weird. Besides, now more than ever, I need to stand on my own two feet. This is my chance to take back my life.
Letting my hair down, I stick my head out the window to clear it. The wind feels amazing running its warm fingers through my tangled brown locks. I haven’t worn my hair up since I was a bridesmaid for Shawna Donavon two years after graduating high school and it is sweet fucking relief to let it down. To not be the center of attention. To be alone with Lincoln and maybe it wouldn’t be so weird if he knew what I’m thinking right now. After all, I see the way, he drops by the house for the littlest thing, or the way his eyes light up when I enter the room.
My muscles tighten with each mile the car gobbles up. The closer we get to my house, the higher my anxiety rises. I don’t want to be there alone. Everything reminds me of Jack, including the nightmares. I haven’t slept well in I don’t know how many nights now and the spare bedroom is like a hotel room. Everything is foreign. Uncomfortable. I wake up not knowing where I am but after what Jack did in our bed, I can never sleep in that room again. I wore rubber gloves just to toss the sheets and if any of the neighbors saw me they probably thought I was cleaning up a bloody crime scene.
“What’re you thinking about?”
Lincoln’s smooth voice pulls me back into the car, tying my tongue into knots. We stare at each other over the console for a moment, tires humming in our ears, seats vibrating. Digging deep, I find my voice buried beneath a pile of shame. “Did you know Jack was gay?”
Lincoln’s eyebrows pull together, a faint smile pushing back into the lines of his mouth. “What?” His halfhearted laugh gives me my answer.
Pulling bangs from my mouth, I let my imagination run wild and it’s a mistake. I can’t help but wonder how many men came before the blond guy, and what was it about me that turned my husband to the dark side? Was it my personality? My laugh? Were my boobs too small? Too big?
“Are you being serious right now?” Lincoln turns back to the road and furrows his brow. “Because this is really kind of a weird time for jokes like that.”
I study his strong profile in the flickering streetlights, paranoia feeding my panic. “You didn’t know,” I whisper, toying with my wedding ring.
“That Jack was gay? Why would you think something like that?”
Silence blooms during the time it takes to get control over my racing emotions, filling the car with an uneasy tension. “Because I caught him,” I reply in a faint voice, discreetly swiping at a tear before it can escape. “In our bed.”
Lincoln turns to face me with horror distorting his handsome features. “With a guy?”
I nod, shaking a stubborn teardrop free. I don’t know why I’m crying. Jack was an asshole so why do I even care?
“When?” Lincoln asks.
“A couple of weeks ago.”
Slack jawed, streetlights reflect against the shock welling in his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
If I wasn’t so tired and cranky, I might’ve laughed but, instead, I stare blankly out the window and relive that day all over again in my mind.
“Sienna?”
“Why would I tell you that?”
“Who was it?”
I shake my head. “Some blond-haired guy I’ve never seen before, but he was young. Young enough to be one of Jack’s students.”
“What! Did you confront them?”
My eyes fall into my lap. “I snuck out and went to The Office.”
“The bar?”
I angrily swipe at my cheeks. “I just wanted to be alone.”
“Jesus Christ,” Lincoln groans, pursing his lips and whipping into my driveway. Throwing it in park, he turns the car off, plunging us into a moment of uncomfortable silence broken only by the ticking engine and a band of crickets playing in the bushes. Running a hand down his face, he pulls a tired sigh from his lips. Something shrieks off in the trees bordering the backyard and I can see he’s hurting. On top of everything else that’s happened over the last six days, I dump this little surprise on him. Cringing, I curse myself under my breath. If I had an ounce of strength left in the tank, I would’ve spared him that mental burden and carried it alone. But the truth is, I’m weak.
“Do you want to come inside?” I hear myself ask in someone else’s voice, praying he doesn’t accept my empty gesture. I’m weak and don’t trust myself. After Jack, I can’t be trusted ever again to make a right decision.
Lincoln scans the dark windows of the neighbors on both sides, drumming his fingers against the leather steering wheel. Exhaling through his nose, he takes my hand in his and squeezes. “I didn’t know he was gay, and I’m sorry you had to see that.”
I stare into his big greens and, somehow, I believe him. I wish to God I’d made the right choice when I met Lincoln five years ago. I remember that night like it was yesterday and why I picked Jack over him, I will never know. No, that’s not true. I know exactly why. Because I’m weak and pathetic, that’s why. Despite my college degree and capable circle of friends, I’m not as smart as I sometimes like to think I am, and in the end, the scoreboard does not lie.
“What’s wrong?”
Turning to the house that suddenly looks so much bigger in the moonlight, I swallow against the lump in my throat, realizing Lincoln’s still holding my hand, which feels good. A little too good. “Nothing,” I reply. “I just…heard something last night.”
He frowns, thumb rubbing soft circles into my flesh, sending prohibited tingles up my arm. “Where? In the house?”
“Something out in the garage,” I answer, withholding the horrid thoughts that whisked through my mind at the time. “I think.”
Lincoln stares at the three-car attached garage, lips pulling down at the corners. “Possum might’ve holed up inside, or maybe a raccoon. It’s been hot during the day but cold at night.”
“Yeah maybe,” I reply, growing quiet.
Twisting in the bucket seat, Lincoln’s black suit squeaks against the leather. “You want to go back to my parents’ place? Mary would love to have you spend the night.”
My eyes draw to the shadows pooling around the trees and bushes, conjuring up dreadful images that aren’t really there. I know I’m just being paranoid, but I can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching me. My frustrated sigh fills the cabin. I’m pissed this is the person I let Jack turn me into. I thought I knew him, but I didn’t. What I knew was a lie. An act. And for the longest time, I couldn’t understand why he married me if he didn’t like me. Now, I know my role in this marriage was nothing more than a cover for his wayward desires. But I was young and dumb and thought I was in love. What I was really in love with, however, was the idea of getting away from my careless mother. From one crappy apartment in the sticks to the next. Jack came from a wealthy family and Cottage Grove made me feel like I was living in some Rachel McAdams movie. That quaint town square, strung with party lights and cute boutiques
from one end to the other, pulled me right in. But there’s a dark underside to this town that gives me the chills. Just like Jack.
Little did I know there was a sexual war waging inside my husband that would end with both of us lying broken on the smoky battlefield. One thing I do know, is that cheating is cheating and once you go down that dark and twisted path, there’s no coming back. Sooner or later, it will catch up with you. That’s the law of averages. Simple arithmetic. Case in point: Jack.
A woman knows when something is amiss with her man. If he doesn’t come sniffing around your panties at least once a week, he’s probably sniffing around somewhere else. Men are no different than dogs. Oh sure, he’d ceremoniously poke me every month or two, like I was his fucking handmaid named Offred, but that was nothing more than a routine task and a woman knows the difference between routine and desire. Jack wanted a child to appease his parents. To add to the illusion of his perfect life. But it was work for him, I could see it in his eyes, so I kept on my pills. I didn’t want a child with somebody who…
“Sienna?” Lincoln’s soft voice draws my eyes. “You want me to take a look?”
Turning to an upstairs window, I see Jack grinning down at me with his arm wrapped around that shirtless blond guy and I don’t want to go back in there ever again. Looking back on it now, I should’ve waltzed right into that master bedroom and confronted both of them on the wet spot. Mid thrust. But it was so much easier to let it go than speak up. For a while, anyway. It took an entire week of stewing to finally confront him. Alone.
“Sienna?”
“You were right,” I barely say, blinking a tear down my cheek. “I should’ve left him a long time ago.”
“Come on,” Lincoln says, squeezing my hand.
“Now, I have to play the grieving widow,” I snap, taking my hand back to dig for my keys. “And the only thing I’m mourning is the last five years of my life I spent with that man. But it’s my fault.” Looking at Lincoln with my hand in my purse, gravity pulls on my face. “I picked wrong.”
Lincoln sighs and turns back to the house, his silence consent. He knows it, I know it, and Jack knew it. “It’s over now.”
Bravely, I try on a smile that doesn’t fit, tears blurring my vision. “I called him out on it. I wasn’t that weak.” I swallow thickly and find my keys, fidgeting because I really don’t want to tell him this next part. This part will hurt. “On the day he died.”
Lincoln stares straight ahead, and at first, I think he didn’t hear me correctly. Maybe he thought I said, ‘On the gay he cried.’ It’s difficult to tell with that expressionless look blanketing his face.
Slowly, he turns his head to me. “Is that what gave him a heart attack?” he finally asks, throwing a wrench into my theory.
I look away from his prying eyes, biting my bottom lip because now he thinks Jack’s death is my fault. That I’m to blame. This is why I didn’t want to tell him that part. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together. Even though the coroner, very clearly, ruled a heart attack is what caused Jack’s fall from the ladder in the backyard, now it’s my fault. I’m responsible. My response comes out in a cold whisper. “It probably didn’t help.”
Lincoln blows out a breath that puffs his cheeks. “Well, what’d he say when you called him out on the affair with the guy?”
“I told him I wanted a divorce.”
His eyebrows jump for it. “You did? What’d he say?”
“He said, no.” I smile a little picturing it in my head. “Then he went back outside to clean the gutters and I went back to cleaning the floors.”
“You’re lucky he didn’t kill you,” Lincoln whispers, looking around as if someone may be listening. But that’s not why he’s whispering. He’s whispering because saying it aloud confirms just how dangerous Jack could be.
“I know.” Opening the door, I let my smile run free beneath the dome light because Lincoln’s fucking right. It could be me buried inside a mahogany box for all of eternity. Any man who punches a woman is capable of so much more. Jack just didn’t know it yet. But I did. “Thank you for the ride.”
Pressing his lips together, Lincoln looks off to the left as if he just heard something. The neighborhood is dark and quiet for a Friday night, like everyone in town is mourning good ole Jack. “Maybe I’ll check the garage real quick,” he announces, giving me a tight smile. “Just to be safe.”
Chapter Three
Proof
Five Years Ago
The lights are forgivingly low and I’m late as hell. I hate coming alone to things like this and almost stayed home to binge on Grey’s Anatomy and Chinese. Everyone else has a date or significant other and all I have is my phone. It’s my only partner in crime. If I get stuck talking to the wrong person, there is no one to bail me out. Paula will be just as busy mingling with guests as her fiancé and she would never forgive me if I missed the soft opening of their new restaurant, Proof. My junior year, we shared a two bedroom just off campus and I feel as if I’ve known her my whole life. A year my senior, that cute apartment launched Paula’s last hurrah of slumber parties and beer pong before graduating on to the real world, where families and careers come first. I live alone in that apartment now and if my being here is important to her, it’s important to me.
But I still don’t want to be here. I feel underdressed in my tight red dress even though I’m not. I feel fat despite working out four days this week. And I feel short, even though I’m wearing three-inch heels. Tucking a curling strand of hair behind an ear, I scan the crowd for a familiar face. Other than Paula and Jase, both of whom I do not see, I don’t know a single soul. I’m a stranger in a strange land and it feels like everyone is staring at me.
Smoothing my dress, I inhale a brave breath and remind myself to keep my chin up. I hate when girls walk around with their heads down like some kowtowed servant. Wading through the crowd, the place is much bigger than it looks from the outside and I feel like I’m in some cheesy Hallmark movie where everything turns out great. Strings of white lights dangle from the exposed ceiling, glowing against the bubbly faces below. Soft, classical music floats down over the blood red walls that set off the snow-white tables and chairs, sucking me into some contemporary fable I will one day tell my children before going to bed.
Casually swinging one black high heel in front of the other, I kill the catwalk with my head held high. But not too high. My smoky eyes sweep the giddy throng and where the fuck is the bar in this place? Three steps further, my gaze snags on someone staring at me from across the room and I can’t help but stare back. I’m caught in some weird gravitational pull and it doesn’t take long to realize I don’t know him. In a million years, I could never forget a face like that. He’s as hot as the day is long, dressed in a black chef’s coat with red trim. He must be the new head chef Paula told me about. The one she said looks like a skinnier Jason Momoa – minus the long mane and tats.
Curling a strand of hair around my finger, I look away and keep moving. There’s still no sign of Paula or Jase and I wish I was taller. Thankfully, the bar appears in the distance. Lit along the base, it’s slate gray and jumps off the red walls, beckoning me closer. My eyes dart back to Happy Chef and, just as expected, he’s still watching me. I smile a little because fate is a fickle beast. Here I was going to stay in tonight, and now…
“Sienna!”
Spinning on my heels, relief spills over me when I see Paula rushing my way. Her long, black dress is gorgeous and goes perfect with the walls. Pulling her into a hug, I’m careful not to smudge our makeup or spill her glass of champagne. “You look beautiful,” I whisper in her ear, smiling at her fiancé over her shoulder. “And you don’t look so bad yourself, handsome.”
Leaning in, Jase kisses my cheek and he’s never done that before. “Thank you for coming. It means a lot to us, Sienna. It really does.”
Drawing apart from Paula, I sigh. “This place is so beautiful. I feel like I’m in some wonderful new w
orld.”
“Thank you,” Jase replies, straightening a pinstriped, gray suitcoat. “I’m nervous as shit. My dad thinks I’m crazy switching to fine dining.”
“His dad lives and dies for barbeque,” Paula explains, fanning a hand through the air like someone just passed gas. “He wanted Jase to take over the family bar and grill and he is pissed.”
Jase nods hard. “Super pissed.”
My eyebrows dip. “Seriously?”
He gives me a loose shrug. “But fine dining is where the money’s at, and ya know what?” He snags a glass of champagne from a passing waitress and hands it to me. “I like rubbing noses with the big wigs in town. I feel like that one guy from The Sopranos.”
“Is your dad here now?” I hear myself ask, tipping the long glass back. I don’t know why I’m being nosey but I am.
“Yeah, he’s here somewhere,” Jase replies, searching the crowd. “Probably turning the center pieces face down.”
“Oh,” Paula says, setting a hand on my arm. “I want you to meet Jase’s sister, Stella. She just moved back to town and loves yoga and kickboxing. You guys will totally hit it off.” Her eyes roam the room. “Where’d she go, Jase?”
“Oh, hey!” Jase reaches out and slaps a hand on someone’s shoulder. “I want you to meet our new head chef, Lincoln McConnel.”
Lincoln turns around and the sight of his face stirs my heart into a gallop. It’s the hot guy I just locked eyes with and I was right. He is the head chef who looks like a tidier Jason Momoa. Only, his eyes are hauntingly green up close. Even under the dim lights, they shine like jewels and I have to remind myself to breathe.
“Lincoln, this is Paula’s friend, Sienna…” Jase trails off and, thanks to Lincoln’s steamy gaze, it takes me a second to realize Jase is waiting for me to bail him out.
“Simpson,” I say, shaking Lincoln’s hand. “Sienna Simpson.”
“Nice to meet you, Sienna Simpson,” he tells me, pulling me closer. “I can’t wait to hear your thoughts on tonight’s meal.”
White Widow Page 2