His Missing Wife Jaime Hendricks (popular romance novels .txt) 📖

“What’s that?” I ask.

He places the bag down on the table, and it thuds. “Well, I’ve been thinking about what we talked about last month. About your ex. About how you think he’s after you.”

“I don’t know if he’s still looking for me.” I never should’ve cut contact with Maribel as abruptly as I did. “I think it’s better that I just cut ties and move on with my life. Holding on to the past isn’t healthy.”

“Right. I mean, do you still want me to talk to Evan to have him look into rearranging our… stuff? Making the marriage legal and getting your ID straightened out?”

“Yes, of course, you know I want that. But I’m just afraid once we start that, he’ll know where I am. If my name becomes part of public record.”

“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” He taps the bag. “Remember I told you I wouldn’t let your ex hurt you?”

“Yes.”

He places his hand inside the bag and out comes… a gun. A fucking gun. I leap back on my seat, my hands covering my face like I’m watching a ghost jump out from the closet and scare someone in a horror movie.

“Get that away from me!” I scream. Just seeing the barrel of a gun makes my skin crawl. It’s the worst type of post-traumatic stress disorder. You have a gun pointed at you when you’re young, this is what happens.

“It’s okay Tessa. I know how to use it.” His hands are on it, and he picks it up.

“Don’t point that thing at me!”

“I’m not! I would never. It’s not even loaded. Look.” He pops the little spinner thing, whatever it’s called, out and shows that there are no bullets in it. “See?”

My heart is beating so fast I fear an imminent heart attack.

“James, get that thing out of the house. I don’t want that anywhere near me.”

He sighs. “I promised to protect you.”

“Then get an alarm system. Get cameras.” I look at Candy, who is watching our interaction, bewildered, tilting her head back and forth. “Get another dog. A pitbull. I’ll take tae kwon do. Just no guns. How did you even get a permit for that?”

His face tells me everything I need to know. He doesn’t have a permit. It’s an illegal gun. Street shit, scraped off serial number, probably already used for another murder. And it’s in my house.

“How could you?” Tears fall from my eyes, and I don’t want to be around him right now. “I’m going for a walk.” I stand and head to the door.

“Tessa, wait!” he hollers, but I keep going. The door already slammed behind me.

The air outside is stuffy for mid-September. Indian summer. It’s not like I can run away, even though running is the only direction my feet know to go. Instead of walking out of the neighborhood and into town, I turn in the other direction and go to the woods behind the house. The leaves have started to fall and crunch under my foam shoes and between my toes. I whack at twiggy branches as I follow a natural path down to the lake.

I have to step around random kayaks and canoes, leftover from the summer. It’s a safe town (as long as Drew isn’t here), and no one has a fear of their property being stolen. It’s understood between everyone for miles that they can leave their stuff unattended. The lake is a popular fishing spot and there’s a small dock that the city maintains, and people usually launch their small boats from it.

When I get to the dock, I remove my flip-flops and sit, my legs dangling from the side. I’m facing west, and the sun is setting, which is beautiful and turns the sky pink in front of me, which makes the smattering of clouds look like cotton candy. My toes don’t hit the water, although they threaten to with the few inches of space. I look down and see my reflection.

My horrified expression.

Calm down. You’re safe.

It’s quiet, and the only sounds are the bloop-bloops of the fish that come to the surface to investigate for algae or tiny minnows to eat. They’ve likely gotten used to fisherman dropping bread to attract schools of fish to hook for dinner.

James doesn’t know about the times I’ve had guns pulled on me. I’ve tried to shield him from the past horrors of my life, but if he knew about them, he would’ve thought twice about bringing a gun into the house. It’s a scare tactic to assert power over someone, and I don’t want James to be that person in my eyes. Even if he’s doing it for me.

I wait for almost an hour, trying to calm down, as the sun sets behind the trees, now making the sky a fiery orange. I’ve talked myself into not hating James—he really thought he was doing the right thing, and I love him for that—but I still don’t want that thing in the house.

Taco Tuesday is ruined, but I’ve lost my appetite anyway. I think a bath and bed is exactly what I need.

When I walk back into the house, James’s face is forlorn, a child scolded. He doesn’t speak first, giving me the space that I need.

“I’m going to take a bubble bath upstairs. I’m sorry about dinner, I just don’t feel like cooking tonight.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’ll just run out and grab a slice of pizza. Do you want me to bring any back for you? Or I can grab you one of those salads that you like from there?”

“No, thank you.” I’m still polite. “I’m going to bed right after. I’m not hungry. Can you just promise me something? Get rid of it. I don’t want it in the house.”

“I promise, Tessa. I’ll take care of it.”

After a labored sleep, I wake the next morning cranky and unmotivated to work. I rub my crusty eyes and splash