Page 102 of The Clover Chapel (Jamison Valley 2)
We needed the divorce to start over. Right? Besides, even if we ended the first marriage, it didn’t mean we couldn’t try again someday.
If I could just find a way to explain it, Nick would certainly understand my position. That I didn’t feel married.
And even though I loved hearing Nick call me “Wife,” I was willing to give it up.
For a little while. Because when I got it back, nothing would be missing.
“Hello?”
“Put Nick on the phone,” a rough voice ordered. I sat up in bed and forced myself awake.
Shit.
The phone in my hand wasn’t mine. “Nick,” I said, shaking his shoulder.
I was surprised that he hadn’t woken up when his phone had started vibrating on the nightstand. He was normally such a light sleeper but we’d had an incredibly long day and were both exhausted.
Four a.m. alarm. At the station by five. Pancakes. More pancakes. Again, the pancakes. Cleanup. Dinner at the café. Sex. When we’d fallen asleep at eight o’clock, we’d been dead to the world.
“Here,” I said, handing him the phone. “Sorry I answered it. I thought it was mine.”
“It’s okay, Emmy.” He rubbed a hand over his face and sat up against the headboard. “Hello,” he rumbled. Nick came fully awake the second the voice on the other line started speaking.
I reached over and turned on a lamp. Nick’s face had turned to stone and his eyes were trying to burn a hole in the footboard of his bed.
“No,” Nick clipped.
I heard the man’s voice through the phone but was unable to make out his words.
“Don’t call me again,” Nick snapped and hung up.
I stayed quiet, propping myself up next to Nick and staring into the room.
In the far corner of the room was the door leading to the master bedroom and walk-in closet. Across from his bed was a wide dresser. Next to his watch and a few pieces of my jewelry was a picture of him and Dash when they were younger. Nick had his arm around Dash’s shoulders and they were both leaning against the open hood of a car.
Next to that photo was a new addition. A picture the pilot had taken of Nick and me on our hot-air balloon ride. Nick was at my back, leaning down so his chin rested on my shoulder. His arms were banded across my chest. Our noses and cheeks were pink from the cold air but our smiles were warm and bright.
“Are you okay?” I asked Nick after a few minutes.
“Yeah,” he muttered.
“Do you want to talk?”
“No.”
“Okay.” I turned out the light and shifted under the blankets. I trusted Nick would tell me what was going on when he was ready. And I was much too tired to push him tonight. Not long after he tucked me into the curve of his body, I fell asleep.
It didn’t last long.
A pounding at the front door woke us up a few hours later.
Nick bolted out of bed while I rushed to the closet to pull on pajamas and my robe so I could join Nick downstairs in finding out who was at his door at four o’clock on a Monday morning.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Nick said from downstairs.
“Told you on the phone, we needed to talk.”
I didn’t recognize the man’s voice but it had to be the same one that had called a few hours ago. When I hit the main room, three men were standing across from Nick.
