Present day
My first night in the she-shed turned into a sleepover with Cricket, and that was totally fine by me. At least, until she had to leave at the ass crack of dawn to lead a hike up into the mountains, and I couldn’t fall back to sleep.
Being home unsettles me.
With Cricket’s bright chatter around, it’s easy to block out thoughts of Lincoln, but as soon as I’m left with silence, everything about him and our history comes rushing back.
For ten years, I’ve been telling myself my memory made too much of it. That it wasn’t as good as I remember. That’s what I needed to tell myself to get through the days of being Ricky Rango’s wife.
I never should have married him.
But at the time, there was no other choice. I’d only agreed to marry him if he stayed true to his promise to be faithful. And shockingly, he did.
At least until I went in for my annual physical earlier this year, and my doctor delivered the bad news that I had an STD. Antibiotics might have fixed the medical part of it . . . but absolutely nothing could change the fact that my marriage was over.
When I confronted Ricky, he blamed me. Said I must have gotten it from cheating on him. That accusation caught me completely off guard, and I knew it had to be coming from the guilt. Monogamy was the one thing he promised me in return for everything I did for him. The only thing.
I should have known he couldn’t keep that promise.
My world revolved around his career. Going wherever his tour took us. Making sure he never disappointed his fans. Keeping him off drugs and away from damaging publicity.
He’d been careful; I’d give him that. He hadn’t gotten caught by the paparazzi. But that didn’t change a thing.
I refused to be that woman. I wasn’t going to give him another day of my life when he refused to treat me with the most basic level of respect, and had been lying to me for who knows how long.
I’ll still never forget his face when I told him it was over and I was filing for divorce.
Absolutely stunned shock.
Then came the rage. His screams that I would never humiliate him like that.
I stayed stoic. Refused to back down.
That’s when he turned cruel.
I can still hear his words ringing in my head. “I don’t know why you care now. I’ve been fucking around for ten years. I never loved you. I needed you. There’s a difference.”
Then I played my trump card. I told him he’d give me a quick and quiet divorce, or I’d tell the truth and everyone would know what a fraud he’d always been.
His temper detonated and he charged me. I ran for the safe room and locked him out. He pounded on it for an hour, threatening to kill me if I ever told.
When he gave up, he destroyed everything in his path on the way out—furniture, mirrors, art, walls, doors.
Crying, I called Cricket. She wanted to call the police, but I refused. Instead, I waited hours before coming out—until I saw pictures people posted, tagging him at a hotel and saying he was throwing a massive party.
I packed as fast as I could and got the hell out of the house before he could come back. I was holed up in a hotel in San Diego the next day when I got the call from the police. They needed me to identify his body.
I roll over on the futon and close my eyes, picturing the videos of hordes of angry fans screaming outside our front gate as soon as the news broke. Their signs. Their messages. The death threats.
All because they said I’d killed a legend in the making.
No one cared that Ricky’s own hand held the needle that carried the fatal dose of heroin and fentanyl.
No one cared that I wasn’t there when it happened.
No one cared about anything but Ricky Rango and the story he spun for them before he died. The story where I was the evil cheating whore of a wife who was out to destroy him and his music.
My shoulders begin to shake as the memories threaten to break me.
No. Not today. Not ever again.
I throw off the quilt and bolt out of bed. I gave him everything for ten years of my life, and I will not give him a single second more.
I have a new life to get in order, and not one single part of it will have anything to do with Ricky Rango beyond the stack of cash shoved in my purse. That was all I took when I left, besides my clothes, and I was lucky that I had squirreled away some household petty cash in the event of a rainy day. Ricky’s financial manager met with me before the funeral to inform me that there was no money left due to Ricky’s outrageous spending habits.
I reach for my purse and count out the bills.
Four thousand six hundred and nineteen dollars. It’s not going to last me long, even though Gable is cheaper than LA.
I need to find a way to pay my own way. I’m thirty-one, infamously widowed, and have no marketable job skills for a town like Gable besides being a half-decent cleaning lady a decade ago.
Flopping back on the bed, I squeeze my eyes shut and think about what the hell someone here might pay me to do.
Working for the Riscoffs is out of the question. My pride won’t let me . . . at least, not unless I’m starving.
Lead wilderness hikes with Cricket? I’d get lost five minutes into the woods.
I have no idea what Karma does, but there’s no way I can work with her.
Which leaves coffee shops, bars, and other places Ricky’s fans could easily get to me. I touch my cheek where my black eye is probably fading into an awesome purplish green.
No. I can’t make myself an easy target.
While I’m contemplating what the hell I’m going to do with my life, someone bangs on the door. I jump, grabbing the stack of money and shoving it under a pillow, just in case it’s Karma.
“You up, Whit?” It’s Aunt Jackie.
“Yeah, one sec.” I hurry to the door and pull it open. “Sorry, getting a bit of a late start this morning. Cricket and I talked half the night.”
Jackie’s answering smile shines brilliantly enough to light up the dreary morning. “She left a note on the counter telling me that having you home was the best wedding present she could ask for.”
I wrap my arms around my middle and smile. “I’m glad me coming home makes at least a couple people happy.”
“You’ve got two people firmly in that camp, and I’m sure a whole lot more.” She narrows her gaze on me, and I flinch as she reaches a hand toward my face. “Hey, calm down. Just want to see that eye of yours. I thought you did a half-assed job covering it, but you’ve got a doozy of a bruise. Who do I need to kill?”
“He got arrested, and I pressed charges. If they want me to come back to LA to testify, I might have to drop the case.”
Aunt Jackie’s mouth screws tight. “Oh, hell no. We’ll go back together and teach that bastard a lesson.”
“Hopefully it won’t come to that, but I appreciate it.” Her ferocity in my defense makes my eye hurt a little less.
“That’s family. It’s what we do. Speaking of family . . . are you going to your parents’—”
I shake my head. “No. I can’t. Not yet.”
Jackie sighs but there’s not much she can say. She can’t make me deal with things I refuse to deal with.
“Okay. Well, I was coming out here to see if you wanted to sneak into the resort with me today and use up some of my spa credits I get for bonuses. You look like you could use a day of pampering. Maybe they can cover up that bruise a little better for you too. Or even put some fancy stuff on your face to heal it faster. I don’t do facials, but everyone raves about the girls there.”
In my former life, facials were a regular thing, but I don’t expect to continue partaking in them now.
“I don’t need all that. I’m fine. You should use them on yourself. Or save them for Cricket for the wedding.”
“I’ve got tons of credits. If I was gonna use them myself, I would’ve. I already blocked off a chunk for you girls for the wedding too.” She eyes me skeptically. “Don’t tell me you couldn’t use a few hours of relaxation. Maybe a massage to help work out some of that tension you’re holding on to so tightly.”
She’s not wrong, but . . .
“It’s a Riscoff resort.”
Jackie tilts her head to the right. “Put that out of your mind and get dressed. I’m not taking no for an answer. Anyway, I’m guessing you’d rather spend the day on Riscoff property rather than listening to Karma slam doors and blare music while the girls are gone. According to the neighbors, that might as well be her job instead of that online stuff she does.”
Well, that answers one question about what Karma does for work. And no, I don’t want to be around her any more than I have to be, at least until her attitude calms down.
“Fine. You win. I’ll be ready in ten.”