CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Mr. and Mrs.
ABBY STOOD ON THE CURB, HER HAND HOLDING THE only two fingers I had free. The rest were gripping bags or trying to flag down America.
We had driven the Honda to the airport two days prior, so Shepley had to drop his girlfriend off at her car. America insisted on being the one to pick us up, and everyone knew why. When she pulled up to the curb, she looked straight ahead. She didn’t even get out to help with the bags.
Abby hobbled to the passenger seat and got in, babying the side she’d just inked with my last name.
I tossed the bags in the hatchback, and then pulled on the handle of the backseat. “Uh . . . ,” I said, pulling on it again. “Open the door, Mare.”
“I don’t think I will,” she said, whipping her head around to glare at me.
She pulled forward a bit, and Abby tensed. “Mare, stop.”
America slammed on the brakes, and raised an eyebrow. “You nearly get my best friend killed at one of your stupid fights, then you bring her to Vegas and marry her when I’m out of town, so not only can I not be the maid of honor, but I can’t even witness it?”
I pulled on the handle again. “C’mon, Mare. I wish I could say I’m sorry, but I’m married to the love of my life.”
“The love of your life is a Harley!” America seethed. She pulled forward again.
“Not anymore!” I begged.
“America Mason . . . ,” Abby began. She tried to sound intimidating, but America shot a glare in her direction so severe, it left Abby cowering against the door.
The cars behind us honked, but America was too enraged to pay attention.
“Okay!” I said, holding up one hand. “Okay. What if we uh . . . what if we have another wedding this summer? The dress, the invites, the flowers, everything. You can help her plan it. You can stand next to her, throw her a bachelorette party, whatever you want.”
“It’s not the same!” America growled, but then the tension in her face relaxed a bit. “But it’s a start.” She reached behind her and pulled up the lock.
I yanked on the handle and slid into the seat, careful not to speak again until we reached the apartment.
Shepley was wiping down his Charger when we pulled into the apartment parking lot. “Hey!” He smiled and hugged me first, and then Abby. “Congratulations, you two.”
“Thanks,” Abby said, still feeling uneasy from America’s temper tantrum.
“I guess it’s a good thing America and I were already discussing getting our own place.”
“Oh, you were,” Abby said, cocking her head at her friend. “Looks like we weren’t the only ones making decisions on our own.”
“We were going to talk about it with you,” America said defensively.
“No hurry,” I said. “But I would like some help today getting the rest of Abby’s stuff moved over.”
“Yeah, sure. Brazil just got home. I’ll tell him we need his truck.”
Abby’s eyes darted between the three of us. “Are we going to tell him?”
America couldn’t contain her smug smile. “It’ll be hard to deny with that big-ass rock on your finger.”
I frowned. “You don’t want anyone to know?”
“Well, no, it’s not that. But, we eloped, baby. People are going to freak out.”
“You’re Mrs. Travis Maddox, now. F*ck ’em,” I said without hesitation.
Abby smiled at me, and then looked down at her ring. “That I am. Guess I better represent the family appropriately.”
“Oh, shit,” I said. “We gotta tell Dad.”
Abby’s face turned white. “We do?”
America laughed. “You sure are expecting a lot from her already. Baby steps, Trav, Jesus.”
I sneered at her, still irritated that she wouldn’t let me in the car at the airport.
Abby waited for an answer.
I shrugged. “We don’t have to do it today, but pretty soon, okay? I don’t want him hearing it from anyone else.”
She nodded. “I understand. Let’s just take the weekend and enjoy our first few days as newlyweds without inviting everyone into our marriage just yet.”
I smiled, pulling our luggage from the hatchback of the Honda. “Deal. Except one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Can we spend the first few days looking for a car? I’m pretty sure I promised you a car.”
“Really?” She smiled.
“Pick a color, baby.”
Abby jumped on me again, wrapping her legs and arms around me and covering my face with kisses.
“Oh, stop it, you two,” America said.
Abby dropped to her feet, and America pulled on her wrist. “Let’s go in. I wanna see your tat!”
The girls rushed up the stairs, leaving me and Shepley to the luggage. I helped him with America’s numerous, heavy bags, grabbing mine and Abby’s as well.
We heaved the luggage up the stairs and were grateful that the door had been left open.
Abby was lying on the couch, her jeans unbuttoned and folded over, looking down as America inspected the delicate, black curves along Abby’s skin.
America looked up at Shepley, who was red-faced and sweating. “I’m so glad we’re not crazy, baby.”
“Me, too,” Shepley said. “I hope you wanted these in here, because I’m not taking them back out to the car.”
“I did, thank you.” She smiled sweetly, returning to Abby’s ink.
Shepley puffed as he disappeared into his bedroom, bringing out a bottle of wine in each hand.
“What’s that?” Abby said.
“Your reception,” Shepley said with a wide grin.
ABBY PULLED SLOWLY INTO AN EMPTY PARKING SPACE, carefully checking each side. She had chosen a brand-new, silver Toyota Camry the day before, and the few times I could get her behind the wheel, she drove it as if she were secretly borrowing someone’s Lamborghini.
After two stops, she finally put the gearshift in Park, and turned off the engine.
“We’ll have to get a parking sticker,” she said, checking the space on her side again.
“Yes, Pidge. I’ll take care of it,” I said for the fourth time.
I wondered to myself if I should have waited another week or so before adding the stress of a new car. We both knew by the end of the day that the school’s rumor mill would be spreading the news of our marriage, along with a fictional scandal or two. Abby purposefully wore skinny jeans and a tight-fitting sweater to ward off the inevitable questions about a pregnancy. We might have gotten married on the fly, but kids were a whole new level, and we were both content to wait.
A few drops fell from the gray, spring sky as we started our trek to our classes across campus. I pulled my red ball cap low on my forehead, and Abby opened her umbrella. We both stared at Keaton Hall as we passed, noting the yellow tape and blackened brick above each window. Abby grabbed at my coat, and I held her, trying not to think about what had happened.
Shepley heard that Adam had been arrested. I hadn’t said anything to Abby, afraid that I was next, and that it would cause her needless worry.
Part of me thought that the news about the fire would keep unwanted attention from Abby’s ring finger, but I knew that the news of our marriage would be a welcome distraction from the grim reality of losing classmates in such a horrific way.
Like I expected, when we arrived at the cafeteria, my frat brothers and the football team were congratulating us on our wedding and our impending son.
“I’m not pregnant,” Abby said, shaking her head.
“But . . . you guys are married, right?” Lexi said, dubious.
“Yes,” Abby said simply.
Lexi raised an eyebrow. “I’ll guess we’ll find out the truth soon enough.”
I jerked my head to the side. “Beat it, Lex.”
She ignored me. “I guess you both heard about the fire?”
“A little bit,” Abby said, clearly uncomfortable.
“I heard students were having a party down there. That they’ve been sneaking into basements all year.”
“Is that so?” I asked. From the corner of my eye I could see Abby looking up at me, but I tried not to look too relieved. If that was true, maybe I’d be off the hook.
The rest of the day was spent either being stared at or congratulated. For the first time, I wasn’t stopped between classes by different girls wanting to know my plans for the weekend. They just watched as I walked by, hesitant to approach someone else’s husband. It was actually kinda nice.
My day was going pretty well, and I wondered if Abby could say the same. Even my psych professor offered me a small smile and nod when she overhead my answer to questions about whether the rumor was true.
After our last class, I met Abby at the Camry, and tossed our bags into the backseat. “Was it as bad as you thought?”
“Yes.” She breathed.
“I guess today wouldn’t be a good day to break it to my dad, then, huh?”
“No, but we’d better. You’re right, I don’t want him hearing the news somewhere else.”
Her answer surprised me, but I didn’t question it. Abby tried to get me to drive, but I refused, insisting she get comfortable behind the wheel.
The drive to Dad’s from campus didn’t take long—but longer than if I’d driven. Abby obeyed all traffic laws, mostly because she was nervous about getting pulled over and accidentally handing the cop the fake ID.
Our little town seemed different as it passed by, or maybe it was me that wasn’t the same. I wasn’t sure if it was being a married man that made me feel a little more relaxed—laid-back, even—or if I had finally settled into my own skin. I was now in a situation where I didn’t have to prove myself, because the one person that fully accepted me, my best friend, was now a permanent fixture in my life.
It seemed like I had completed a task, overcome an obstacle. I thought about my mother, and the words she said to me almost a lifetime ago. That’s when it clicked: she had asked me not to settle, to fight for the person I loved, and for the first time, I did what she expected of me. I had finally lived up to who she wanted me to be.
I took a deep, cleansing breath, and reached over to rest my hand on Abby’s knee.
“What is it?” she asked.
“What is what?”
“The look on your face.”
Her eyes shifted between me and the road, extremely curious. I imagined it was a new expression, but I couldn’t begin to explain what it might look like.
“I’m just happy, baby.”
Abby half hummed, half laughed. “Me, too.”
Admittedly I was a little nervous about telling my dad about our eventful getaway to Vegas, but not because he would be mad. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but the butterflies in my stomach swirled faster and harder with every block closer that we came to Dad’s house.
Abby pulled into the gravel driveway, soggy from the rain, and stopped beside the house.
“What do you think he’ll say?” she asked.
“I don’t know. He’ll be happy, I know that.”
“You think so?” Abby asked, reaching for my hand.
I squeezed her fingers between mine. “I know so.”
Before we could make it to the front door, Dad stepped out onto the porch.
“Well, hello there, kids” he said, smiling. His eyes scrunched as his cheeks pushed up the puffy bags under his eyes. “I wasn’t sure who was out here. Did you get a new car, Abby? It’s nice.”
“Hey, Jim.” Abby smiled. “Travis did.”
“It’s ours,” I said, pulling off my ball cap. “We thought we’d stop by.”
“I’m glad you did . . . glad you did. We’re getting some rain, I guess.”
“I guess,” I said, my nerves stifling any ability I had for small talk. What I thought were nerves was really just excitement to share the news with my father.
Dad knew something was amiss. “You had a good spring break?”
“It was . . . interesting,” Abby said, leaning into my side.
“Oh?”
“We took a trip, Dad. We skipped on over to Vegas for a couple of days. We decided to uh . . . we decided to get married.”
Dad paused for a few seconds, and then his eyes quickly searched for Abby’s left hand. When he found the validation he was looking for, he looked to Abby, and then to me.
“Dad?” I said, surprised by the blank expression on his face.
My father’s eyes glossed a bit, and then the corners of his mouth slowly turned up. He outstretched his arms, and enveloped me and Abby at the same time.
Smiling, Abby peeked over at me. I winked back at her.
“I wonder what Mom would say if she were here,” I said.
Dad pulled back, his eyes wet with happy tears. “She’d say you did good, son.” He looked at Abby. “She’d say thank you for giving her boy back something that left him when she did.”
“I don’t know about that,” Abby said, wiping her eyes. She was clearly overwhelmed by Dad’s sentiment.
He hugged us again, laughing and squeezing at the same time. “You wanna bet?”
EPILOGUE
THE WALLS DRIPPED WITH RAINWATER FROM THE streets above. The droplets plopped down into deepening puddles, as if they were crying for him, the bastard lying in the middle of the basement in a pool of his own blood.
I breathed hard, looking down at him, but not for long. Both of my Glocks were pointed in opposite directions, holding Benny’s men in place until the rest of my team arrived.
The earpiece buried deep in my ear buzzed. “ETA ten seconds, Maddox. Good work.” The head of my team, Henry Givens, spoke quietly, knowing as well as I did that with Benny dead, it was all over.
A dozen men with automatic rifles and dressed in black from head to toe rushed in, and I lowered my weapons. “They’re just bag men. Get ’em the hell out of here.”
After holstering my pistols, I pulled the remaining tape from my wrists and trudged up the basement stairs. Thomas waited for me at the top, his khaki coat and hair drenched from the storm.
“You did what you had to do,” he said, following me to the car. “You all right?” he said, reaching for the cut on my eyebrow.
I’d been sitting in that wooden chair for two hours, getting my ass kicked while Benny questioned me. They’d figured me out that morning—all part of the plan, of course—but the end of his interrogation was supposed to result in his arrest, not his death.
My jaws worked violently under the skin. I had come a long way from losing my temper and beating the hell out of anyone that sparked my rage. But in just a few seconds, all of my training had been rendered worthless, and it just took Benny speaking her name for that to happen.
“I’ve gotta get home, Tommy. I’ve been away for weeks, and it’s our anniversary . . . or what’s left of it.”
I yanked open the car door, but Thomas grabbed my wrist. “You need to be debriefed, first. You’ve spent years on this case.”
“Wasted. I’ve wasted years.”
Thomas sighed. “You don’t wanna bring this home with you, do you?”
I sighed. “No, but I have to go. I promised her.”
“I’ll call her. I’ll explain.”
“You’ll lie.”
“It’s what we do.”
The truth was always ugly. Thomas was right. He practically raised me, but I didn’t truly know him until I was recruited by the FBI. When Thomas left for college, I thought he was studying advertising, and later he told us he was an advertising executive in California. He was so far away, it was easy for him to keep his cover.
Looking back, it made sense, now, why Thomas had decided to come home for once without needing a special occasion—the night he met Abby. Back then, when he’d first started investigating Benny and his numerous illegal activities, it was just blind luck that his little brother met and fell in love with the daughter of one of Benny’s borrowers. Even better that we ended up entangled in his business.
The second I graduated with a degree in criminal justice, it just made sense for the FBI to contact me. The honor was lost on me. It never occurred to me or Abby that they had thousands of applications a year, and didn’t make a habit of recruiting. But I was a built-in undercover operative, already having connections to Benny.
Years of training and time away from home had culminated to Benny lying on the floor, his dead eyes staring up at the ceiling of the underground. The entire magazine of my Glock was buried deep in his torso.
I lit a cigarette. “Call Sarah at the office. Tell her to book me the next flight. I want to be home before midnight.”
“He threatened your family, Travis. We all know what Benny is capable of. No one blames you.”
“He knew he was caught, Tommy. He knew he had nowhere to go. He baited me. He baited me, and I fell for it.”
“Maybe. But detailing the torture and death of the wife of his most lethal acquaintance wasn’t exactly good business. He had to know he couldn’t intimidate you.”
“Yeah,” I said through clenched teeth, remembering the vivid picture Benny painted of kidnapping Abby and stripping the flesh away from her bones piece by piece. “I bet he wishes he wasn’t such a good storyteller, now.”
“And there is always Mick. He’s next on the list.”
“I told you, Tommy. I can consult on that one. Not a good idea for me to participate.”
Thomas only smiled, willing to wait another time for that discussion.
I slid into the backseat of the car that was waiting to take me to the airport. Once the door closed behind me, and the driver pulled away from the curb, I dialed Abby’s number.
“Hi, baby,” Abby lilted.
Immediately, I took a deep, cleansing breath. Her voice was all the debriefing I needed.
“Happy anniversary, Pigeon. I’m on my way home.”
“You are?” she asked, her voice rising an octave. “Best present, eve r.”
“How’s everything?”
“We’re over at Dad’s. James just won another hand of poker. I’m starting to worry.”
“He’s your son, Pidge. Does it surprise you that he’s good at cards?”
“He beat me, Trav. He’s good.”
I paused. “He beat you?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you had a rule about that.”
“I know.” She sighed. “I know. I don’t play anymore, but he had a bad day, and it was a good way to get him to talk about it.”
“How’s that?”
“There’s a kid at school. Made a comment about me today.”
“Not the first time a boy made a pass at the hot math teacher.”
“No, but I guess it was particularly crude. Jay told him to shut up. There was a scuffle.”
“Did Jay beat his ass?”
“Travis!”
I laughed. “Just asking!”
“I saw it from my classroom. Jessica got there before I did. She might have . . . humiliated her brother. A little. Not on purpose.”
I closed my eyes. Jessica, with her big honey-brown eyes, long dark hair, and ninety pounds of mean, was my mini-me. She had an equally bad temper and never wasted time with words. Her first fight was in kindergarten, defending her twin brother, James, against a poor, unsuspecting girl who was teasing him. We tried to explain to her that the little girl probably just had a crush, but Jessie wouldn’t have any of it. No matter how many times James begged her to let him fight his own battles, she was fiercely protective, even if he was eight minutes older.
I puffed. “Let me talk to her.”
“Jess! Dad’s on the phone!”
A sweet, small voice came over the line. It was amazing to me that she could be as savage as I ever was, and still sound—and look—like an angel.
“Hi, Daddy.”
“Baby . . . did you find some trouble today?”
“It wasn’t my fault, Daddy.”
“It never is.”
“Jay was bleeding. He was pinned down.”
My blood boiled, but steering my kids in the right direction came first. “What did Papa say?”
“He said, ‘It’s about time someone humbled Steven Matese.’”
I was glad she couldn’t see me smile at her spot-on Jim Maddox impression.
“I don’t blame you for wanting to defend your brother, Jess, but you have to let him fight some battles on his own.”
“I will. Just not when he’s on the ground.”
I choked back another swell of laughter. “Let me talk to Mom. I’ll be home in a few hours. Love you bunches, baby.”
“Love you, too, Daddy!”
The phone scratched a bit as it made the transition from Jessica to Abby, and then my wife’s smooth voice was back on the line.
“You didn’t help at all, did you?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
“Probably not. She had a good argument.”
“She always does.”
“True. Listen, we’re pulling up to the airport. I’ll see you soon. Love you.”
When the driver parked next to the curb in the terminal, I rushed to pull out my bag from the trunk. Sarah, Thomas’s assistant, just sent through an email with my itinerary, and my flight was leaving in half an hour. I rushed through check-in and security, and made it to the gate just as they were calling the first group.
The flight home seemed to last an eternity, as they always did. Even though I used a quarter of it to freshen up and change clothes in the bathroom—which was always a challenge—the time left over still dragged by.
Knowing my family was waiting for me was brutal, but the fact that it was my and Abby’s eleventh anniversary made it even worse. I just wanted to hold my wife. It was all I had ever wanted to do. I was just as in love with her in our eleventh year as I was in the first.
Every anniversary was a victory, a middle finger to everyone who thought we wouldn’t last. Abby tamed me, marriage settled me down, and when I became a father, my entire outlook changed.
I stared down at my wrist and pulled back my cuff. Abby’s nickname was still there, and it still made me feel better knowing it was there.
The plane landed, and I had to keep myself from sprinting through the terminal. Once I got to my car, my patience had expired. For the first time in years, I ran stoplights and weaved in and out of traffic. It was actually kind of fun, reminding me of my college days.
I pulled into the drive and turned off the headlights. The front porch light flipped on as I approached.
Abby opened the door, her caramel hair just barely grazing her shoulders, and her big gray eyes, although a little tired, showed how relieved she was to see me. I pulled her into my arms, trying not to squeeze her too tightly.
“Oh my God,” I sighed, burying my face in her hair. “I missed you so much.”
Abby pulled away, touching the cut on my brow. “Did you take a fall?”
“It was a rough day at work. I might have run into the car door when I was leaving for the airport.”
Abby pulled me against her again, digging her fingers into my back. “I’m so glad you’re home. The kids are in bed, but they refuse to go to sleep until you tuck them in.”
I pulled back and nodded, and then bent at the waist, cupping Abby’s round stomach. “How about you?” I asked my third child. I kissed Abby’s protruding belly button, and then stood up again.
Abby rubbed her middle in a circular motion. “He’s still cooking.”
“Good.” I pulled a small box from my carry-on and held it in front of me. “Eleven years today, we were in Vegas. It’s still the best day of my life.”
Abby took the box, and then tugged on my hand until we were in the entryway. It smelled like a combination of cleaner, candles, and kids. It smelled like home.
“I got you something, too.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” She smiled. She left me for a moment, disappearing into the office, and then came out with a manila envelope. “Open it.”
“You got me mail? Best wife, ever,” I teased.
Abby simply smiled.
I opened the lip, and pulled out the small stack of papers inside. Dates, times, transactions, even emails. To and from Benny, to Abby’s father, Mick. He’d been working for Benny for years. He’d borrowed more money from him, and then had to work off his debt so he wouldn’t get killed when Abby refused to pay it off.
There was only one problem: Abby knew I worked with Thomas . . . but as far as I knew, she thought I worked in advertising.
“What’s this?” I asked, feigning confusion.
Abby still had a flawless poker face. “It’s the connection you need to tie Mick to Benny. This one right here,” she said, pulling the second paper from the pile, “is the nail in the coffin.”
“Okay . . . but what am I supposed to do with it?”
Abby’s expression morphed into a dubious grin. “Whatever you do with these things, honey. I just thought if I did a little digging, you could stay home a little longer this time.”
My mind raced, trying to figure a way out of this. I had somehow blown my cover. “How long have you known?”
“Does it matter?”
“Are you mad?”
Abby shrugged. “I was a little hurt at first. You have quite a few white lies under your belt.”
I hugged her to me, the papers and envelope still in my hand. “I’m so sorry, Pidge. I’m so, so sorry.” I pulled away. “You haven’t told anyone, have you?”
She shook her head.
“Not even America or Shepley? Not even Dad or the kids?”
She shook her head again. “I’m smart enough to figure it out, Travis. You think I’m not smart enough to keep it to myself? Your safety is at stake.”
I cupped her cheeks in my hand. “What does this mean?”
She smiled. “It means you can stop saying you have yet another convention to go to. Some of your cover stories are downright insulting.”
I kissed her again, tenderly touching my lips to hers. “Now what?”
“Kiss the kids, and then you and I can celebrate eleven years of in-your-face-we-made-it. How about that?”
My mouth stretched into a wide grin, and then looked down at the papers. “Are you going to be okay with this? Helping take down your dad?”
Abby frowned. “He’s said it a million times. I was the end of him. At least I can make him proud about being right. And the kids are safer this way.”
I laid the papers on the end of the entryway table. “We’ll talk about this later.”
I walked down the hall, pulling Abby by the hand behind me. Jessica’s room was the closest, so I ducked in and kissed her cheek, careful not to wake her, and then I crossed the hall to James’s room. He was still awake, lying there quietly.
“Hey, buddy,” I whispered.
“Hey, Dad.”
“I hear you had a rough day. You all right?” He nodded. “You sure?”
“Steven Matese is a douche bag.”
I nodded. “You’re right, but you could probably find a more appropriate way to describe him.”
James pulled his mouth to the side.
“So. You beat Mom at poker today, huh?”
James smiled. “Twice.”
“She didn’t tell me that part,” I said, turning to Abby. Her dark, curvy silhouette graced the lit doorway. “You can give me the play-by-play tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I love ya.”
“Love you, too, Dad.”
I kissed my son’s nose and then followed his mom down the hall to our room. The walls were full of family and school portraits, and framed artwork.
Abby stood in the middle of the room, her belly full with our third child, dizzyingly beautiful, and happy to see me, even after she learned what I’d been keeping from her for the better part of our marriage.
I had never been in love before Abby, and no one had even piqued my interest since. My life was the woman standing before me, and the family we’d made together.
Abby opened the box, and looked up at me, tears in her eyes. “You always know just what to get. It’s perfect,” she said, her graceful fingers touching the three birthstones of our children. She slipped it on her right ring finger, holding out her hand to admire her new bauble.
“Not as good as you getting me a promotion. They’re going to know what you did, you know, and it’s going to get complicated.”
“It always seems to with us,” she said, unaffected.
I took a deep breath, and shut the bedroom door behind me. Even though we’d put each other through hell, we’d found heaven. Maybe that was more than a couple of sinners deserved, but I wasn’t going to complain.