The Wife Gamble: Salinger (Six Men of Alaska Book 3)

by Charlie Hart

  “Dead?” I shake my head. “We don’t know anything yet.” But even as I say it I know my words fall flat.

  What ship on Earth would survive a torpedo? Even if there are survivors, the rescue boats and planes won’t get there before the men freeze in the icy water.

  My throat constricts. It’s not just Emerson we lost today, there are hundreds of men on that ship we’ve known for most of our lives.

  “Be realistic, man,” Huxley says, trying to soften the blow. Then he looks at me the way only a friend can. “So, would you mind being the one to tell her?”

  “Why me?” I ask, looking around, reading the room. “I see, you want me to deliver devastating news so your precious time with her isn’t marred by death.”

  I shake my head. I’m just finally getting Tia to see me as more than a friend, and now I will be the one to rock her world, and not in the way I really want to.

  “It’s not that. It’s just... don’t you get paid to deliver information in a palatable way?” Banks asks.

  “I’m not a fucking puppet,” I tell them, raking my fingers through my hair.

  I swear to God, I see Fallon smirk at this. I know most of the house thinks I’m a joke, a three-piece-suit-wearing man who is on his father’s beck and call. But I am more than that.

  Aren’t I?

  “Fine,” I say, resolutely. If Tia needs to know, it’s better I tell her anyway. I know her burdens, and maybe that can help soften this horrific blow. “But I’m not doing this for you,” I tell them. “I’m doing it for Tia.”

  “Doing what for me?” Tia asks from the top of the stairs, holding a bag.

  Fuck. I’m not doing this here, now.

  She walks down the stairs, and all eyes shift between her and me.

  “Is there more news?” she asks, handing Fallon the bag.

  “I’ll let Sal tell you.” He kisses her cheek. “I hate to leave, but...”

  “I know. Go.” She places a palm on his cheek. “And bring Em home.”

  Fallon’s eye twitches, and he nods before turning and leaving.

  Both Banks and Huxley are quick to follow Fallon out the door, both with only a small explanation of where they’re going, and I’m left helping Tia get Giles situated in his room.

  It’s late, and I can tell the events of today, including the news about Emerson, have drained him despite how hard he tries to do everything himself. I stay while Tia checks his wounds and re-bandages them.

  My stomach rolls when I get a glimpse of the damage that was done to him by my father. The cuts will heal and his nails will grow back, but I wonder what kind of psychological damage was also inflicted.

  It takes both of us, to help him out of his clothes and into pajama bottoms. And by the time we’re done, I can see the frustration on his face.

  “Do you want me to stay with you?” Tia asks Giles, sitting on the edge of his bed beside him. I can hear the conflict in her voice. She wants to stay, but there’s something more - a restlessness.

  Giles glances at me and his look is one that tells me he knows I still need to talk to her. He runs his knuckles across her cheek and gives her a small smile.

  “I think you need to talk to Sal first.”

  “Why?” She looks over her shoulder at me and frowns. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  I wince. She’s smart. She has to know that the chance of Emerson surviving this is minimal at best. But she also doesn’t know how his ship went down.

  “We should let Giles sleep,” I say, seeing his exhaustion; the way his eyes barely stay open.

  Tia looks back at him and must see the same thing because she nods. “I’ll check in on you later.”

  He’s asleep before she walks to the door and flicks the light off.

  I pull her into my arms the second we’re alone, and she doesn’t resist, her body melts into mine, and she presses her forehead against my chest, fingers fisting in my shirt.

  “Tell me,” she whispers.

  I inhale a steadying breath and tighten my arms around her. “The ship didn’t just go down, it was hit.”

  “Hit?” She tilts her head to look up at me.

  “Torpedoed.”

  She swallows hard, understanding flickering in her eyes and she says shakily, “Oh.”

  “It’s...” I press my lips against her forehead. “We need to prepare ourselves. It’s unlikely that there will be any survivors.”

  Her body trembles in my arms and I just hold her. My body her anchor in this storm. And I know she’s still holding onto hope that I’m wrong.

  “Who?” she finally asks. “Who would do this?”

  “We don’t know yet.”

  She gives a small nod and we continue to stand in the hall, arms wrapped around each other.

  “Stay with me tonight?” she asks.

  My heart thuds in my chest. “Of course.”

  I take her hand and lead her to her bedroom. But when I lie beside her, I know she doesn’t need the one thing I’ve been longing to do. What she needs is my strength. So, I give it to her. Pulling her back against my chest, I hold her, stroking her forehead until she drifts off to sleep.

  Chapter 13

  Tia

  When I wake, I’m still wrapped up in Salinger’s arms. His heavy erection is pressed against my back, his fingers entwined with mine, one thigh pinning me to the bed.

  I want to stay here and revel in the intimacy of his touch, the possessiveness of it. But anxiety over what the day would bring wins out over desire.

  Not only do I have to check on Giles and wait for news about Emerson, but I will most likely get the results of my tests today. And then there is my father. He is here. In Alaska. And I need Salinger to figure out what that means.

  And then there is the talk I need to have with my husbands. To finally come clean about who I am.

  Today.

  Everything will happen today.

  Regretfully, I slide out of Salinger’s arms, a small smile tugging at my lips when he mumbles in his sleep for me not to leave.

  I slip on a hoodie over my t-shirt, and a pair of slippers, before checking on Giles. I haven’t had a proper, one-on-one conversation with him since he came home. My heart aches for more time with him.

  “Morning, sleepyhead,” I tell him, cracking open his bedroom door. He rolls over in his bed, reaching out to me. I take his hand, and slip into his bed, missing him so damn much, gratitude rushing over me for his sacrifice.

  “I missed you,” I tell him.

  “I missed you too.” He tucks a slip of my hair behind my ear, our noses touching. His strength hasn’t returned, but somehow, nestled against him, I feel as safe as I’ve ever had.

  “Did Sal tell you then?” he asks in a whisper, and I immediately know he is referring to Emerson.

  I nod. “Yes.” My voice catches and a silent tear rolls down my cheek. Giles wipes it away, pulling me closer. His body heat warms my heart, and I breathe in his valor, his courage. Being with him gives me the strength I will need when I call Emerson’s mother.

  “You haven’t had a moment’s rest since the first week you came home,” he says, his eyes locked on mine.

  “I know. It’s been so much. And I have so much regret,” I confess. “The kind I never understood before.”

  His eyes search mine. “Do you regret being part of the Lottery?”

  I shake my head. “No, not even a little. Not at all. But I wasn’t tortured, Giles. You were. I hate myself for letting it happen.”

  “I’d do it all over again, for you.”

  I close my eyes. “Why?”

  “Because you are my wife. Because you are my home. You are our future.”

  I consider his words, the baby that could be growing within me even now. It could be his son, his daughter.

  “You want a child, even knowing the risks?” I ask, running a finger over his bruised brow.

  He swallows. My question is direct, and I understand the intensity of it. But I need to un
derstand my husbands, the men I am giving my body to - the men I am potentially sacrificing my life for.

  “Yes,” he says finally. And of course, he does. The Lottery means he has a wife, but it also means he has the opportunity for a legacy. I can’t fault him that. “Do you think lesser of me for that?”

  I shake my head. “No. But it doesn’t mean that I’m not scared of…”

  “Dying?”

  I nod.

  He cups my face, his bandaged hand breaking my heart, but his hold on me keeping me steady amid the storm. “There are no guarantees, Tia. Look at us. I could have died out there with the wolves. You could have died out there with the mercenaries. Emerson may die on a ship, serving our state.”

  “I know. I just wish…”

  He sighs. “I wish it too. That we could have lived a hundred years ago. In a world that was simple. But we didn’t. We have this life. Right now, we have one another. Let’s give it all we got.”

  “You say that after everything you’ve been through? Losing Caroline, being mauled in the woods, being tortured by your Director? You still say all that?”

  “Oh, sweetheart,” Giles says, his voice so tender it hurts to hear. “I say all that because of what I’ve been through, not despite it.”

  My eyes fill with tears as I cling to Giles’ neck, overwhelmed with love for him. The man he is. Maybe I’m pregnant, maybe I’m not, but the honor to bring his child into the world overwhelms me.

  I’ve never had these feelings before. But for the first time, I can imagine having a baby. Fighting for the tiny, beating heart. Willing it to live.

  Yes, it is scary, but right now, everything about our world is terrifying. Maybe risking it all for a new life isn’t the worst way to die.

  “I need to go call Emerson’s parents,” I tell Giles and he nods, understanding. “I love you so much,” I tell him, kissing him softly, longing for when he is recovered, and I can lavish my love and devotion upon him.

  “I love you more, Hypatia.”

  The house feels empty as I walk down the stairs and enter the kitchen. I don’t know if Banks came home last night, but there’s a note on the table from Huxley, with Emerson’s parents’ phone number on it.

  With a steadying breath, I make the call.

  “Hello?” The woman’s voice is choked with emotion.

  “Hi, Grace?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Tia, Emerson’s... wife.”

  “Oh, my dear, how are you?” There’s a pause, and I can tell she’s trying to hold back a sob. “How are you holding up?”

  “I just wish I knew more. Have you heard anything?”

  “Nothing more.”

  “I’m so sorry. Em is...” I won’t say was, because no matter what the others might think, I know he could still be alive. He has to be. “He’s strong. I know he’ll do everything he can to survive.”

  But if he was anywhere near where the torpedo hit the ship...I can’t think like that. Fallon will find him, he’ll bring him home.

  I talk with Emerson’s mom for a good twenty minutes, with her telling me stories about Emerson when he was younger, and even though we know nothing more than before, when I hang up, a small smile touches my lips.

  Emerson is the best of all of us. He must survive.

  Even with all the uncertainty in the house, life must go on. I make coffee, pull cereal from the cupboard and milk from the fridge. Fallon is still on duty, but I hear the shower in Banks’ room, and I know he’ll be headed to his laboratory soon. And Huxley enters the kitchen, planting a morning kiss on my lips.

  “Hello there, sunshine,” he says. “You get my note?”

  I nod. “Yeah, I just got off the phone with Grace.”

  “That was good of you,” he says, pouring bran flakes into a bowl. “She sound okay?”

  I twist my lips. “As good as she could possibly be, under the circumstances.”

  Hux nods. “Hey, I know things are intense right now but uh, I wanted to say something about the other night. At the shop?”

  I reach for a mug and pour myself a coffee, curious as to what he might possibly say. “What about it?”

  “Look, I know you got pissed about the whole…”

  “Brothel?” I ask in a tense whisper.

  “Uh, yeah.” Hux runs a hand over the base of his neck. “The thing is, I know you

  think--"

  “You have no idea what I think,” I say cutting him off. Truth is, he’d probably be surprised to hear my thoughts. Not regarding sex with strangers, but on the principle. But I’m going to make him wiggle a bit before I tell him that.

  His face turns red. “Look, I’d never cheat on you. I’m fucking crazy for you, Tia. All that stuff is behind me.”

  “Yet, you still own it.”

  “What? You think I should sell my shop?”

  I purse my lips, cross my arms. “What do you think you should do?”

  He laughs. “I think I want to make my wife happy.”

  “And you’d sell the shop, the saloon, all of it, for me? Your entire life’s work?”

  He lifts his eyebrows, but he doesn’t even consider my words. He knows his answer. “Fuck yeah.”

  I smirk, and he shakes his head.

  “Look at me, Tia.”

  I do as he says and my heart speeds up as I look into his clear blue eyes. He melts me with those eyes and he knows it.

  “I’m all in with you, Tia. Do you understand me?”

  I smile as he pulls me to him, his hands on my ass, squeezing my butt cheeks just to make me laugh.

  “You’re crazy,” I say, my hands on his solid chest. His well-trimmed beard tickling me as he nibbles my ear.

  He nods, our eyes centered on one another. “That’s about right. I’ve done a lot of crazy shit in my life, but marrying you was not one of those things.”

  “I’d never ask you to sell your shop, especially not your brothel. You can’t put those women out of a job.”

  He grins. “I didn’t know I married a feminist.”

  “And I didn’t know I married such a softy.” I pull his face toward mine. “All that nonsense, selling your shop for me.” Then I kiss him, needing to let him know that I’m all in with him, too.

  The day passes quickly, between caring for Giles and tidying the house, before I know it’s time to make dinner. With so many members of the household, there’s always laundry to wash and floors to sweep. And even though simple household tasks are still new to me, they are becoming easier with each passing day.

  All day, I hope to hear from Salinger but after he left for the office this morning, he never called to check in with the test results. By the time dinner is through, Huxley asks if Banks can help him with something. Sal helps Giles to the living room and I find myself alone in the kitchen once more, loading the dishwasher. Emerson isn’t here to help, and I miss him at this moment, his easy smile, and generous compliments on my mediocre meal.

  As I close the dishwasher, Salinger’s angry voice carries from the other room and my thoughts of Em float away as my mind returns to my other pressing issues.

  Drying my hands on a towel, I follow his voice and see him pacing in front of the large front windows of the study. He’s tugging at his dirty blond hair, making it stand on end.

  Dark eyes latch on me, and his jaw twitches. I immediately know it’s his mother.

  He motions me to come to him, then sets his phone on the coffee table and presses the speaker on, so I can hear the person on the line. He closes the heavy doors to the room and I’m grateful for them. I need privacy when I hear this news.

  “Just tell me, Mother,” Sal says, sitting heavily on the couch and drawing me to his side, fingers gripping mine.

  It’s about the test results.

  “Like I said, it’s not that simple.” His mother’s voice crackles through the phone.

  “Is she pregnant or not?” Sal demands.

  Silence.

  I grip my husband’s ha
nd tighter.

  “No. She’s not.”

  Sal lets out a long breath but I’m not as relieved as I thought I’d be. In fact, a sliver of disappointment races through me, which is stupid because I know that having a child could be a death sentence. But still...

  “But we found something odd in her blood work,” his mother says.

  “It was only supposed to be a simple test--”

  She chuckles. “You know nothing is ever simple with me, son. And I think you’ll be glad I took the initiative. This wife of yours is... unique.”

  I open my mouth to tell the woman off, but Sal gives a hard shake of his head to silence me.

  His mother continues, “I’d like to do more--”

  “No.” Salinger stands and picks up his phone. “Tia won’t be part of any of your experiments.”

  “But you see, I think she already has.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Ask your wife.”

  Sal looks at me questioningly, but I have no idea what the woman is talking about. I shake my head and am about to argue that his mother is certifiably insane when a memory hits me.

  Me being poked and prodded in one of my father’s labs. They were just health check-ups, though, weren't they?

  Except for the time when I was thirteen, right after I had my first monthly cycle, I’d become deathly sick. Or at least that’s what it had felt like. I’d been quarantined for almost a full month as the illness worked its way through my system.

  Meningitis.

  That’s what I was told I had.

  They’d stuck needles in me everywhere. Taken vials of blood, even spinal fluid had been extracted. I’d cried for my father, but the only time I’d seen him was through the glass window, talking with one of the doctors.

  “I think whatever Warren Thorne has been working on, he injected it into his daughter.”

  I shiver at the woman’s words. “No.”

  “If I’m right, she could be useful--”

  “I have to go,” Salinger says, hanging up before his mother can say anything else.

  “She’s wrong.” My words sound weak.

  “Okay,” he says, sitting beside me again.

  “I mean, my father wouldn’t...” I shake my head, wondering just how far the man would go to find a cure. “He would have told me...”