by Morgan James
“Where you want this stuff?”
Clay brought in the last box, and I gestured to the counter. “Anywhere over there is fine.”
He slid the box across the cheap tan Formica, then leaned a hip against the counter and rubbed the back of his forearm along his sweaty forehead.
It was hot as fuck outside, and the air-conditioning of the small apartment was welcome. I reached into the fridge and snagged two bottles of beer. Clay tipped his head in gratitude as I passed one to him. “Thanks for your help today, man.”
I glanced around the tiny two-bedroom sublet. I’d been lucky enough to find one already furnished, so I’d only had to bring my things. Still, it’d been easier with Clay’s help. He was another member of QSG, an ex-marine who I’d met on a mission back in Kabul. It was the same time I’d met Con. The different branches of military all intermingled, each focused on their part of the mission, but we’d become fast friends—or as close to friends as any military man could have. We’d bonded during some downtime over a game of poker and The Walking Dead.
Clay Thompson himself had just been discharged and had only been with QSG for about two weeks now. He seemed to be enjoying it so far, which was a good omen for me. Like every other soldier who’d spent several tours overseas, I was worried about returning to civilian life. People didn’t understand how fucking different it was. Every time I came home, it was like culture shock; I didn’t know where I fit in or how to act. I was hoping that this gig with QSG worked out. Almost every member was ex-military, though I knew from what Clay had said that there was an ex-FBI agent there as well. I assumed that had been strategic on Con’s part.
Over the course of the morning, Clay had caught me up on some of the jobs the other guys were working. Though I wasn’t technically scheduled to start for another week, I was ready to hit the ground running. I glanced at the clock. Just after six. Motion from the corner of my eye caught my attention, and I turned back to Clay. He pulled a small stack of mail from his back pocket and tossed it on the table. “Grabbed those off the seat of your truck.”
“Cool. Thanks, man.” I’d been studiously avoiding that particular stack of mail for a week, and I wasn’t any closer to addressing it now. I cleared my throat. “Plans for tonight?”
A grimace broke over his face. “Nothing good.”
I lifted an eyebrow. Clay always had a woman lined up. Saturday night and he had no plans? I wasn’t buying it. More likely, he just didn’t want to share. “Wanna grab a beer?”
Clay shook his head. “Nah. I’m headed over to the Hilton to do some grunt work.”
“What the hell’s going on there?”
He rolled his eyes. “Cheating husband. I have the pleasure of getting proof of his infidelity for his wife so she can screw him in the divorce.”
I winced. “Good for her, I guess.”
Swallowing the last of the beer, Clay glanced over at me. “Sure you’re good here?”
“Yeah.” I walked him to the door. “See ya next Monday.”
Clay gave a mock salute before jogging down the steps, and I shut the door with a sigh. What the fuck was I going to do for the next day and a half? I could wander the city a little, but the idea held little appeal. My gaze fell to the envelopes sitting at the edge of the counter, taunting me, Lydia’s pretty face flashing in my mind’s eye, turning my stomach to knots.
As I did every time I began to feel anxious, I pulled the deck of cards from my back pocket. I’d picked them up in Vegas the day I’d met Lydia. They’d been used at a table in the Bellagio, and they were punched through the middle with a round circle. It was the very same deck I’d used when I first met Con and the guys, and they stayed on my person at all times. I shook them out of the box like a smoker with a pack-a-day habit and began to shuffle. The familiar motion helped to soothe my nerves.
A harsh breath escaped my lungs, and I shoved the cards back into the carton then tucked it away in my pocket. Snagging another beer from the fridge, I snatched up the stack of mail and headed to the living room. No time like the present. If I was going to have to rehash my depressing past, I may as well be drunk for it. Maybe it would dull the pain of regret and failure that had followed me for the past year and a half.
I chugged the remainder of the beer and cracked the top off a new one, tossing the cap on the coffee table. Sinking into the soft cushion of the couch, I settled the beer between my thighs and flicked through the envelopes, trying to stall as long as possible. With a sinking sensation in my gut, I finally ripped open the remaining letter. It was fairly hefty, and the pages curled from being folded in half. I slipped them from the large mailing envelope and skimmed the front page. My entire body stilled, my mind halting as I tried to process the words on the page.
Hands shaking, I flipped several pages to the tabbed documents, and my heart thudded to a stop, the papers fluttering to my lap.
Holy shit.
How was this possible? This had been taken care of nearly a year ago... hadn’t it?
Unable to comprehend the words, I reread the missive twice more. I ran my fingers over the hard creases as I folded it and slipped the papers back into the envelope. Tapping it against my palm, I debated what to do. It seemed Lydia Dawson-McLean and I had some unfinished business. Because, apparently, according to the paper in my hands... we were still married.
Chapter Nine
Lydia
I drummed my nails on the counter, my mouth set in a straight line. “I feel terrible leaving you guys here alone.”
Despite the fact that it was already four o’clock and the salon would close in an hour, I was desperately trying to put off going home to get ready for my date tonight.
“Please.” Brenda waved a hand. “You just don’t want to go.”
No kidding. I rolled my eyes. “Of course I don’t want to go. My mother set this up; it’s inevitably going to go badly.”
The ladies knew of my tense relationship with my mother, and they were always more than supportive of me. At least—they were usually. This time, however, it seemed as though Gwen and Brenda had teamed up against me. “Why do you want me to go on this date so badly?”
“You deserve it,” Brenda said, leaning her elbows on the counter. “It’s been...”
She trailed off, and I stiffened. I knew exactly how long it’d been. I let out a sigh. “I know, but—”
“Come on,” Gwen cut in. “It’s just dinner. How bad could it be?” I shot her a withering glare, and Gwen’s mouth tipped up in a rare smile. “Okay, so it is a blind date your mom set up....” She laughed when I cringed. “But you’ll never know unless you try. Right?”
I pinned her with a stare. “If it’s a disaster, I’m firing you,” I joked.
“Whatever.” She laughed again. “You wouldn’t get rid of me.”
And wasn’t that the truth? She was far too invaluable for me to toss her out.
“Fine.” I tipped my nose up in mock disdain. “Then I’ll hijack your Tinder profile.”
She cracked a smile. “I don’t think my boyfriend would like that.”
Her statement took me by surprise. In the time that I had known her, I didn’t think I’d ever heard her once talk about having a boyfriend or going on a date. She was quiet and reserved, but she was a hard worker, a trait that I most admired in her. “I had no idea you were seeing anyone.”
She gave a jerky nod, her eyes dropping self-consciously to the floor as a fierce blush stole over her cheeks. “About eight months.”
It was so hard to interpret Gwen. She was barely a year younger than me, but she seemed so naïve, almost sheltered sometimes. About a year and a half ago, she’d come into the shop asking about employment. With her quiet demeanor, I knew she wasn’t cut out to be a saleswoman. When I asked if she had any sewing experience, she’d sadly shook her head and said no. There was something about her that pulled at my heartstrings, and I felt compelled to give her a chance.
Although she was self-taught under only my direc
tion, she’d come a long way in her short time here. She started with small jobs, repairing rips and tears and loose beads on the stock gowns. As her confidence and skills grew, she began to help with custom gowns. It was infinitely easier with her help and since then, we’d designed nearly two dozen for various brides. With my designs and Gwen’s attention to detail, everyone loved us. They flocked to us to make their dream gown, and Gwen and I made a great team.
To hear that she was seeing someone was a surprise, but she seemed to hold her cards close to the vest. She was almost painfully shy sometimes, and I wanted to ask a million questions about the guy who’d apparently won her heart. The last thing I wanted to do was embarrass her though, so I clamped down on them and veered back onto the topic at hand. “Really, I can cancel, it’s no big deal.”
Brenda propped her hands on her hips. “Don’t you dare stand that poor man up.”
I rolled my eyes. I was sure, if he kept company like my mother, then he was far from a “poor man.” Still, I let the comment slide. “Fine.” I held my hands up in surrender. “I’m going.”
Brenda clapped her hands like a schoolgirl, and Gwen offered me a smile. “I’m sure you’ll have fun.”
I wasn’t so sure, but I didn’t have much choice. They were right—I couldn’t back out now. “Maybe,” I conceded. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. As Gwen said, it was only dinner. But something about this whole situation just felt... off. I couldn’t explain it, but the nervous butterflies in my stomach had kicked into a flurried frenzy. I took a deep breath and placed my hand over my middle to calm them. Dating sucked. Besides, I didn’t need a man to make me happy. My attention was better spent on my daughter. I hadn’t gone on a single date since Alexia was born, and my last date—if you even wanted to call it that—had been with her father. And look how that had turned out.
Shaking off the thought, I lifted my chin and steeled my spine. “I promise, I’ll try to relax and enjoy myself.”
A soft smile curved Brenda’s face. “You deserve it, dear. You work so hard, and you’re such a good mom. But you deserve to have some time for yourself, too.”
I looked around at my employees—and friends. They were closer to me than my own family, and I appreciated them more than I would ever be able to tell them. I knew what they said was in my best interest, and despite the tingle of unease in my heart, I knew it was the right thing to do.
“You’re right.” I smiled at the two of them. “Thank you.”
Pushing away from the counter, I gave a little wave. “I’ll see you on Monday.”
I headed out in the afternoon, my thoughts clouded and murky as I drove home. I generally tried to avoid talking about my marriage if at all possible, but I’d told friends and family members that Xander and I had eloped during a trip to Vegas. The romanticism seemed to appease people without giving away too many details.
Whenever someone asked, I told them that Alexia’s father had been a soldier in the Army. And it wasn’t a complete lie. He had been in the Army—at least when I knew him. I didn’t know if he had been discharged since, but the night we shared together, he told me he had to complete one more tour. I didn’t know much about the military, but I assumed that was usually a year or two, depending on the situation. I’d told my mother the truth out of necessity when I’d broken the news that I was pregnant. After I’d finally filed the paperwork for the annulment, I’d told Brenda and Gwen, needing to vent and get it off my chest. It made me feel like a failure that Alexia might never know her real father. Now, nearly two years later, part of me wondered what might have happened between Xander and me.
For those first few months, I scoured the newspaper and internet for information on what was happening overseas. Even though things hadn’t worked out between us, I still prayed every day that he was safe. There were times when I regretted walking away from him. The last two years had been incredibly difficult, and on the nights I cried myself to sleep, I wished he was there to hold me. It was crazy and stupid and more than a little selfish of me. I’d been the one to push him away, but part of me was still mad at him for not responding to any of my pleas.
He’d never returned any of the emails, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d given me false information so he wouldn’t have to see or hear from me again. I knew the address that he gave me was correct at least, because he’d signed the papers. But when I checked the White Pages, the phone number was listed under Abel and Emily McLean. The knowledge was like a knife to the heart. I had absolutely no way to contact him.
The packet from our lawyer was in my bedroom at home, tucked away in my underwear drawer. I’d cried myself to sleep the day I received it two months ago, so much so that I hadn’t been able to bring myself to open it. I’d just stashed it away like the dirty little secret it was. I knew it was my fault, but it seemed like one more failure to add to a lifetime of mistakes.
I knew I worked too much, trying to grow the business so that Alexia and I could have a comfortable life together. It was a hard balance, and I regretted not being able to spend as much time with her as I should. I hated to see my little girl grow up without a father. Maybe it was time to do right by her and give her a father figure to look up to. I needed to set aside my own insecurities and focus on what was best for Alexia.
Chapter Ten
Xander
I glanced up at the small shop front on Belleview Avenue. It was cute in a quaint sort of way. Not that I knew shit about bridal salons, but it was blue—just like the name—and it looked homey. In fact, it looked very much like an old house. Situated only a block down from the park, I had a feeling most of these businesses had been homes decades ago before commerce came in and swallowed them up.
Mounting the wide concrete steps two at a time, I threw the door open. The bell above the door jangled crazily, and several sets of eyes turned in my direction. I closed the door much more softly than I’d entered the place so the women wouldn’t think I was a complete madman.
Glancing around, I made for the first saleswoman I saw. Dressed in a suit, she appraised me carefully. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Lydia...” I paused, and the girl tipped her head in silent question. “Um, yeah,” I finished lamely.
Did she still go by her maiden name, or did she use her married name? It was something I probably should have figured out before now. But that letter I’d opened an hour ago had propelled me from the chair without a second thought. I still couldn’t fucking believe it. According to the letter dated just a couple months ago, we hadn’t signed the necessary papers. I’d forgotten a signature on one, while she’d missed signing another. Evidently the documents had then been misplaced internally by a new paralegal, and the lawyer apologized for the delay, saying that he’d returned one copy to me to sign while the other had been sent to Lydia. It was almost completely unheard of, and I marveled once again at the coincidence.
I’d thought of her constantly while overseas. Maybe this had happened for a reason. What were the odds that—despite demanding an annulment—she’d missed signing the document? I didn’t know what my excuse was. In all honestly, I thought it’d been taken care of. I was sure I’d checked and double-checked, but maybe a small part of me had hoped something like this would happen. I couldn’t be sure. All I knew was that Lydia and I were still married. And I needed to know how she felt about that. Had she chosen not to sign? The thought made my heart flip over in my chest.
The salesgirl rolled her lips together in thought. “I believe she left for the day. You can check with Brenda to be certain.” She lifted a hand and gestured toward a counter along the opposite wall. “The woman in blue.”
“Thank you.” I tipped my chin at her and made a beeline across the room. I shifted impatiently as the two women in front of me paid for their purchases, gossiping all the while. Finally, they left in a flurry of colorful fabric, and I stepped forward. Before I could speak, however, a petite young woman with short brown hair rounded the desk. She passe
d a dress to Brenda. “When you get a chance, can you please see if we can still get this in periwinkle?”
“Of course. I’ll let you know in just a moment.”
The young woman turned and caught my gaze, freezing like a deer in headlights. My collar suddenly felt a little too tight. I was as out of place in here as a bull in a china shop, and I was ready to find Lydia and get the hell out of here.
The older woman—Brenda—smiled at me in welcome. “What can I do for you, sir?”
“I’m looking for Lydia.”
Her brows drew together as she peered over the counter at me. “I’m sorry, she’s not available at the moment.”
“Is she at home?” I still had her address somewhere, but I thought for sure she would still be at work.
“I can’t say.”
More like she refused to. Agitation pulled at me. “Where the hell is she?”
The petite woman’s eyes grew wide, and her hand fluttered to her throat. Brenda darted a look at her before returning her gaze to me. “If you’d like to speak with her, you’re more than welcome to come back on Monday when she returns.”
Her tone told me I was welcome to take a flying leap off a bridge, too, but there was no fucking way I was waiting all goddamn weekend to find her. I leaned forward and leveled her with my most imploring stare. “I need to speak with her right away.”
She sniffed, not at all affected by my plea. “Is this an emergency?”
She had no idea. I snorted. “You could call it that.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “I can pass along a message if you’d like.” She picked up a pen, the tip hovering over the pad in front of her. “What’s your name?”
“I,” I bit out, “am her husband.”