“Get your coat, Emmy. Hurry.” Nick was scrambling to find his keys while pulling on his boots.

“You go. I’ll just be in your way,” I said though I was still rushing to the coat rack.

“I don’t want to be worrying about you up here alone, not with Dad’s shit going down. I need to concentrate on the fire and won’t be able to with you here.”

The ten-minute trip to town took three. While Nick sped down the road, he took call after call, giving orders to the men who had beat him to the fire station.

When we hit Main Street, I could see smoke coming from the theater’s front doors. Jess’s bronze truck was parked, blocking the road, with his police lights flashing.

Nick took a sharp right off Main, maneuvering through the side streets to avoid the blockade. When we pulled back onto the highway, two deputy’s cruisers streaked by, heading in the opposite direction.

Sliding to a stop in front of the station, Nick jumped out and sprinted inside. I shut off the truck, grabbed my purse and rushed after him.

Most of the volunteer firefighters had already arrived and the ones dressed in their protective gear were climbing on the truck. The others were by the lockers, pulling on coats, boots, gloves and hats. Nick threw on his gear in seconds.

“Lock the door!” he shouted, running across the concrete floor and hopping onto the truck as it pulled out of the station. The minute the fire engine’s wheels hit the drive, the siren shrieked as it went flying down the road.

I checked my watch.

Seven minutes.

It felt like we had been eating dinner hours ago, not minutes. I just hoped that it was fast enough and the men could save the theater.

The sound of the siren disappeared and was replaced by an eerie silence. The excitement around me was gone but my brain was still whirling.

When the doors were locked, I wrapped my arms around my stomach and made my way to the on-call pit. Sinking into one of the tattered couches, I let myself panic.

What if Nick got hurt? Or worse? The mental image of him running into a burning building consumed my mind.

Nick had a dangerous job but for months nothing had happened. I had fooled myself into believing his work was all volunteer trainings, pancake breakfasts and kindergarten demonstrations.

Now I was faced with the crippling reality. He could be seriously injured in a fire. Firefighters died. What if he didn’t come back?

“Stop freaking out,” I told myself. I had to stop these negative thoughts. I was losing my mind. And the quietness of the room was making me even crazier. I was proud of Nick for fighting fires. It was heroic and brave. But right now, in this moment, the worry was consuming. I needed a distraction. Something to keep my mind occupied while I waited. And I had just the thing.

For the next three hours, I sat at Nick’s computer and researched the cost of starting up a garage. By my calculations, three hundred thousand would buy Slater’s Station.

It was too late on a Sunday evening to transfer any money out of my trust, but tomorrow morning I was calling my financial manager. By the end of the week, that money would be available at Jamison Valley Bank. If Draven did end up coming after my fortune, I wanted Nick’s garage fund in cash.

I was shutting down the computer when the garage door started to creak open.

Prescott’s firefighters slowly piled off the fire engine. They were all covered in dark soot and sweat. I nearly fell to my knees as Nick walked toward me.

“You’re okay,” I sighed, running my hands over his dirty coat. I didn’t care if my hands got messy as long as I could touch him.

“Yeah. We’re all fine,” he said.

I closed my eyes and willed myself not to cry. For hours I had been anxiously imagining the worst possible scenarios.

“I’m okay,” Nick reassured me.

I nodded and inhaled another calming breath. “What can I do?”

“Nothing. We’ve got to unload the truck. Get equipment prepped and put away. I’ll probably catch a shower here, get some of the smell off before we go home.”

“Okay. I’ll stay out of the way,” I said.

Reaching for his bearded cheek, I tipped my chin so Nick could bend down and lightly brush his lips against mine.

He did smell bad. Like burnt popcorn and campfire smoke. The stench would stick to my hair and I’d be catching whiffs of it all night. But I didn’t care.

It was dark when we pulled away from the station.

Nick had taken a quick shower but he was still a mess. His hair needed at least two more rounds with the shampoo, and the soot ground into the rough skin of his hands was likely going to be there all week.

“Is it bad?” I asked as he turned down Main Street. I didn’t know if I could stand seeing the theater in ashes.

“No. It looks the same on the outside. The inside is a fucking mess but the good thing is we got there early. Most of the damage was isolated to the concession area. The owners should be able to get it fixed back up.”

“That’s great. Do you know what caused the fire?”

“Fucking kids. One of the high school kids that works at the theater decided to go in today with his girlfriend.”

“On Easter?” I asked.

“Yeah. Theater was closed. They needed an empty place to go have sex.”

“What makes you think that?”

Nick didn’t answer but instead started chuckling. After a few moments, his chuckles turned into full-blown laughter. His belly was heaving and his hands slapped the steering wheel as he roared.

“Nick!” I shouted. “Tell me!” His smile was contagious.

His laughter died down by the time we passed the theater. One remaining deputy cruiser was still outside but all the spectators and other officials had gone home.

“This kid was stupid enough to stay inside. He comes rushing out of the bathroom, coughing and hacking in the smoke, with two Coke cups filled with water. I grabbed him by the shirt, ready to yank his ass outside, when I looked down to see his tiny pecker hanging out.”

Nick started laughing again.

“Pecker?” I asked.

“Yeah. You know? His junk.”

“I get it. No need for further explanation. I just don’t think I’ve actually ever heard someone say the word ‘pecker.’ ” I laughed.

“I might have to say it more often then.”

“No, thank you.”

Nick did not have a “pecker.” He had a cock. It was big and thick. It brought me immeasurable pleasure, and if he ever called it a pecker, I was taking away Friday-night blow jobs.

“So what did he do that caused the fire?” I asked.

“Turned on the popcorn machine. He must have put in too much oil. Him and his girl went into the theater and forgot the damn machine was on. It burned too hot and caught on fire. It pretty much destroyed the concession area. One of the walls will have to be taken out and replaced.”

I was so relieved that I held Nick’s hand in silence for the rest of the drive. I was exhausted but so happy everything had ended well. As soon as I set the dinner dishes to soak, I was going right upstairs to bed.

Maybe next Sunday we could go the whole day without drama. I would love nothing more than to head into a Monday with a full night’s sleep.

“Emmy?”

“Yes?”

“Next Sunday we’re shutting off all our phones and locking the door.”

He wasn’t going to hear any arguments from me.

Nick

 

“I need to go to my house tonight,” Emmy told me over the phone. “It’s been a month since I cleaned and I’m sure there’s an inch of dust everywhere.”

“Okay. I was thinking of getting my bike out of the garage. It’s pretty warm today. I wanted to take it for a quick ride, find out if there’s anything I need to tune up before summer.”

“You have a motorcycle?” she asked.

“My dad’s the president of a motorcycle club.”

“A club you don’t like.”

“I don’t like the club. I never said I didn’t like the bikes,” I said.

“Right. So you’ll do your riding thing while I clean?”

“No. I’ll help you clean and then we do my riding thing together.”

“Me on the back of a motorcycle? No. No way. It’s not happening.”

I opened my mouth to dare her but stopped short. Emmy had told me that she’d forgiven me for Vegas but she also winced whenever I did something that reminded her of our wedding night.

Maybe in time we could get to the place where she enjoyed the reminders, when she’d like reminiscing about how special that night had been. But not right now.

I was finally getting her to a good place, the place where we acted like husband and wife. All I had left to do was get her permanently living under my roof and get my ring back on her finger.

Fuck, I hoped she still had our rings. That by some miracle she’d kept them for ten years.

Getting them back on our fingers would go a long way toward easing my mind. Toward healing the wounds I had inflicted upon us. If I had to buy us new ones, I’d do it, but I’d hate it.

My second biggest regret from Vegas was leaving my ring behind. I had set it on top of my one-word asshole note and then walked out the door. Five steps down the hallway, I had turned to get it back but the room had been Emmy’s and I hadn’t had a key.

For years, I’d touched the spot where it had rested. I’d only worn it for hours but its weight had always been there. I could still feel the brush of Emmy’s fingertips from when she’d slid it on my finger.

And at times, that spot had hurt like a son of a bitch. Any time I had been with another woman, not that there had been many, the area had burned and itched. But I’d deserved that punishment for betraying my wife.

“Nick?” Emmy called, pulling me away from my thoughts.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Do you need me to let you go?”

“No. Let’s plan to meet at your place around five thirty. I’ll swing home and get my bike. You can pick us up some takeout.”

“Okay. What do you feel like eating?”

“Whatever. And Emmy, you do not go into that house without me. Wait in the Jeep.”

“Right,” she said.

I couldn’t see it but I was fairly certain I got an eye roll.

The second I hung up with Emmy, my dad called. Again. “Fuck, you’re stubborn.”

Mostly I had been ignoring the calls these last ten days, but I was getting sick of them and wanted to reiterate my point. Under no circumstances would I be helping the Tin Gypsies in their war against the Arrowhead Warriors.

“Then you’re a chip off the old block, Son,” Dad rumbled.

“I’m not helping you.”

“Not the reason for my call,” Draven said.

“What is?”

“Just a heads-up. Shit went down last night. Watch your back.”

Before I could ask what had happened, I was listening to dead air.

Fuck.

“That’s your motorcycle?” Emmy asked with wide eyes.

“Yeah.”

My bike was fucking sweet. Last year I had upgraded and bought a new Dyna Low Rider, then tricked it out. Chrome. Matte red paint with matching rims. The color was almost exactly the shade of Emmy’s hair, the color I’d seen in my dreams for nine years and now got to breathe in every night before I fell asleep.

“I like it,” she said breathlessly.

Yeah. She liked it all right. The flush of her cheeks and the way her shoulders shuttered told me that she liked it a fuck of a lot.

My dick jerked in my jeans. Before dinner, I was getting her naked in the living room.

Then after cleaning, I’d take her for a ride. I couldn’t wait to get her on the back of my bike. I wanted to have her thighs pressed against mine. Her chest against my back. Her small hands wrapped around my middle.

“Inside, Emmy,” I said, taking the bags of Chinese takeout from her hands.

Sex. Chinese. Cleaning. Ride. Sex.

Not a bad way to spend my night.

“Where’s your kitchen cleaning stuff?” I shouted to Emmy upstairs.

I had given up searching after opening five cabinets, including the one under the sink, to find only coffee mugs.

“By the fridge!”

“By the fridge,” I muttered. “Because when I’m looking for a glass to get some water, the most logical place to start is under the sink. Certainly not in the eye-level cabinet right here next to the ice and water dispensers.”

I found the cleaning supplies and got to work. Not long after I started, the countertops were dust free and the stainless appliances wiped down.

“Fuck, she gets a lot of junk mail.” For weeks, I had watched Emmy pick up her mail and shove it in a drawer. Now the drawer was overflowing and a huge stack was piled on the wet bar.

“Can I throw out your junk mail?” I shouted.

“Okay!”

Catalogs. Holy shit, my woman got catalogs. Home decorating catalogs. Swimsuit catalogs. Clothing catalogs. More clothing catalogs. I was going to need another recycling bin just to keep her damn catalogs after she moved in.

I worked my way through the pile and decided to start on the drawer. My eyes caught on a large manila envelope stamped URGENT. The postmark was dated the end of January, nearly three months ago.

I grumbled and pried open the seal.

Emmy was so organized normally. I was astounded that she was so bad about going through her mail. I just hoped that whatever was inside wasn’t actually urgent.

The first words that caught my eye were Divorce Decree. The second were my name and Emmy’s, both spelled out in full.

I got so light-headed, I nearly toppled over. Gripping the counter with both hands, I let my head fall between my arms while I tried to pull in some air.

Why did she still have these? Did she want a divorce? After everything we had gone through these last few months?

I racked my brain, trying to figure out where we had been in January. She had gotten back from Italy. We had gone to Gigi and Maisy’s ridiculous kidnapping anniversary party.

Was it before or after she’d promised to give our second chance a real shot?

Before. It had to have been before, so at least that was something.

She hadn’t stopped her attorney from drafting them but maybe that was just because of timing. She wouldn’t want to divorce me now, would she? How could she want to end our marriage when we were finally putting it back together?

This all had to be a misunderstanding.

But that didn’t ease the ache in my chest.

Emmeline

 

“I thought you wanted to go for a ride?”

“Not anymore. Besides, you said there was no way you were getting on the back of my bike. So, no. No ride,” he snapped.

Sometime between sex on my living room couch, Chinese food and cleaning, Nick had gotten pissed at me. I just wasn’t sure why.

I had warmed up to the idea of riding with Nick. His bike was so big and shiny. And when I had pulled up and Nick had been straddling it, I’d flushed at how hot he looked.

“Okay,” I said. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

The drive to Nick’s was tense and stressful. What could I have possibly done to make him mad? Was it the cleaning? He had offered to help, otherwise I would have been happy to do it myself. It didn’t make any sense that he would be mad, but I still got that dreaded sick feeling in my stomach.

He pulled his bike into the garage while I parked and waited for him at the front door. His long strides around the side of the house and up the steps were done without eye contact.

“What’s wrong? Why are you mad at me?” I asked when we were both inside.

He stomped to the living room and reached behind his back and under his coat. From the waistband of his jeans he pulled out a manila envelope and waved it in the air.

Shit.

He had found the divorce papers. Probably when he was going through my mail. Why hadn’t I thought of that?

Shit. Shit. Shit.

It was time for this discussion. Overdue, really. I just wished I hadn’t been a coward and had brought it up myself. I might have stood a chance at keeping Nick from getting enraged but there was little chance of that now. I could practically see the heat radiating off his body and the steam coming from his ears.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about those.”

“Why?” he asked. “Why do you have these? Tell me it’s just because your attorney doesn’t know that we are together.”

“Will you let me explain?” I asked, sitting on the couch. “Sit down. Please.”

He huffed but sat.

I’m sure there were better approaches to this conversation, and had I been the one to bring it up, I would have tried one. But now it was too late so I decided to get straight to the point.

“I think we should get a divorce.”

He shot to his feet. “You’re fucking shitting me!”

“Please sit down so I can explain my reasoning.” I was trying to remain calm but my voice cracked.

“I’m not fucking sitting down. Why? You said you wouldn’t leave me because I didn’t have money. Or because of my family. So, why?”

“I’m not leaving you,” I said. “I just don’t want to be married.”

“That doesn’t make any fucking sense. How can you not be leaving me if you want a divorce?”

“I want to stay together. To keep dating. You’ll be my boyfriend.”

“Your boyfriend? We’re not sixteen years old!”

“We’ll still be together, Nick.”

“And what? We date forever?” he asked.

“No. Maybe. I don’t know. We date like other couples. If we decided to get married again someday, we can. This would just be a fresh start for us. Like hitting the reset button.”

“A fresh start? What and the fuck do you think we’ve been doing since you moved here if it wasn’t starting from scratch?” He raked his hands through his hair and rubbed his face.

“I don’t feel like we’re married,” I admitted.

“What?” His hand rubbed his heart and the look on his face cracked mine.

This was not going at all like I had hoped. Yes, I had expected Nick to be mad. But hurt? I didn’t want to hurt him.

“How can you not feel like we’re married, Emmy?” he asked. “Did that night in Vegas mean nothing to you that you’d throw it all away?”

“That night meant everything to me! Everything! I want to get rid of the nine years after that. That’s what I want to throw away. Nine years of us being apart. Nine years of heartache. Nine years of you fucking other women. For nine years, I pretended that maybe one day I could settle for someone else because the love of my life had crushed me.”

“We’ll never get past it,” Nick said. “You don’t forgive me.”

“I do forgive you and I’m not blaming you or holding Vegas against you. What I’m saying is that I don’t want to look back at our married life together and have a gap. I want a real first anniversary. Not one ten years later.” Tears were now streaming down my face. Nick’s eyes were filled with anguish and pain. “I’m not doing this to hurt you. I’m doing this so we can have a real chance.”

“The night I found you,” he said, “the night we got married, was the best night of my life. I locked every moment in my heart so I’d never forget a single one. Now you’re taking them away from me.”

He was right. I was taking Vegas away. But I was taking the nine years away too. We couldn’t have one without the other.

“I don’t want you to leave me, Emmy.”

“I’m not,” I said. “I told you I wouldn’t. That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Then why does it feel like I just lost you?”

Wow, that hurt.

I sucked in a ragged breath and thought about what I was asking. Was it worth the pain?

No, it wasn’t. If this idea of mine was going to drive us apart, I wasn’t going through with it. I didn’t need a divorce to be happy. I just needed Nick.

But before I could tell him any of that, the front door flew open.

In stormed Dash, followed by another Tin Gypsy I hadn’t met. Dash walked right into Nick’s space and stood nose to nose with his brother. “You’re fucking helping us.”

“Get out of my face,” Nick growled.

Dash stepped back a foot and pulled at his hair with both hands. His friend had an equally frazzled look.

Nick and I had been so consumed with our own drama, neither of us had heard the motorcycles outside approach.

“You ever barge into my house like that again, I’ll put you on your ass, Brother. What are you doing here?”

“Shit went down last night. Warriors attacked. A few of us were drinking at a bar, watching the playoffs. They grabbed Stone and took him outside. Before any of us even knew what the fuck was happening, they shot him. Fucking execution style, man. Just like Mom.”

I gasped and slapped a hand to my mouth to keep from screaming.

“Fuck,” Nick hissed. His hands fisted at his sides and his entire body tensed. “Fuck!” he roared. The noise was so loud and gut-wrenching I flinched.

“Let’s go,” Nick ordered Dash.

“Nick, no,” I gasped. “Don’t do this.” He wouldn’t forgive himself if he crossed that line. Enemy or not, this would torture him.

“I’m going,” he said, following Dash and the other man to the door without looking back.

“You promised you wouldn’t leave if we were fighting. And you promised you wouldn’t help them,” I told his back.

He paused and turned his chin to his shoulder. “I promised my wife. You’re just my girlfriend.”