“Torturing her with it is more like it.” He leaned in and used his hand to curtain off his mouth, but he never lowered his voice. “But the dogs are getting fat off the scraps she sneaks them when she thinks I’m not looking. So I guess it’s working out for them.”
Katherine giggled and Tim stared down at her, pure awe-struck love painting his face. If I weren’t so damn relieved to know that true love did exist, I would’ve been jealous.
“It was good to see you, Remi. Don’t be a stranger. But if you’ll excuse me, I need to steal my bride away from you for—”
Hyperaware of his wife, his words faded into nothingness as her head snapped up.
“Twenty-seven,” she gasped.
Aaron and I turned, following her gaze to the man walking through the double doors.
My hand came up to cover the safety pin holding up the strap on my dress as Mr. Tall, Dark, and Nice Ass walked into the room. My lips curled into a smile only seconds before my stomach dropped.
The Sky High judgment wasn’t the only case happening in the courthouse that day. When I’d literally slammed into him outside, I hadn’t considered why he was there. It explained his attitude though. Then again, I had elbowed-jacked him in the face. That was enough to dim even the sunniest disposition.
I watched as his long legs carried him through the crowd, but his head stayed down even as people tried to stop him.
I tapped Aaron’s foot with the toe of my high heel and whispered, “That’s the guy who gave me the safety pin.”
“You met Bowen?” Katherine asked, clearly not giving the first damn that she had eavesdropped.
“Briefly out front. Why do you sound so surprised?” I kept my gaze locked on the navy suit stretched across his muscular frame as he backed into the corner on the far side of the room. He retrieved his phone from his back pocket, but his thumbs never touched the screen. It appeared that he was using it as more of a Do Not Disturb sign than anything else.
Katherine rolled forward to share my view of him. “Bowen Michaels is something of a mystery. Word is that when Sean Meyers reached out to him to say thank you, he didn’t get much more than a chin nod before Bowen slammed the door in his face.”
“Wait. Why was Sean thanking him?”
Shaking her head, she shot me a bored glare. “You’d know if you read more than the subject line of my emails.”
“Hey, I…skim.”
She cut me a side-eye. “Bowen saved Sean’s family after the crash. They were pinned under a big piece of debris, still trapped in their seats. Bowen somehow flipped it off them. Mom, dad, two young boys. An entire generation survived because of him.”
“Wow,” I breathed. “That’s…incredible.”
“Yeah, but Bowen didn’t want any part of the recognition. I’m shocked he showed up today.”
I slanted my head and stared at his thankfully still-flawless profile, his jaw hard and his lips tight. Intrigued even more now than during our brief interaction. “Is he local?”
Katherine didn’t have a chance to reply before Aaron gave my arm a warning yank.
“Good Lord,” he said, “can we sit down already. I’m about to peel out of my skin here.”
Immediately, I spun to face him. Sweat beaded his forehead.
Okay, fine. Beading was generous. Sweat dripped down his temples.
“Okay, okay,” I soothed. “Sorry. I got distracted.”
“Thank you,” he rushed out, his shoulders falling with relief.
But still, even as I walked toward a thankfully open spot in the back row, I couldn’t help putting my chin to my shoulder to steal one last glance at Bowen.
Less than an hour later, Sky High Airways settled to the tune of fifty-six million dollars.
It still wasn’t enough.
Bowen
One month before the plane crash…
I smiled to myself, setting my briefcase beside the table next to the front door. As expected, my small three-bedroom ranch was a disaster, but that was a big part of why I was smiling. It had been too long since she’d stayed with me. I understood why—fucking hated it—but understood nonetheless. Though having her there was the only time my place ever truly felt like home.
Prominently on the coffee table, standing tall in the center of chaos, was a card with a watercolor heart painted on the front.
My chest swelled with hope that it was her reluctant agreement to go to the rehabilitation facility her doctor had suggested. The same place I’d taken out a second mortgage on my home to be able to pay for. The same place we’d fought about for hours the night before—me yelling, then apologizing. Her yelling, then crying. It was a vicious cycle for us. I’d let it go when she’d finally agreed to stay the night—small victories and all—but the conversation was far from over.
Maybe at some point during the day, she’d come around to the idea of going. Ninety days wasn’t that long. I mean, it would feel like an eternity without her, but time wasn’t a factor as long as she got the help she needed.
Secretly, I knew I was fooling myself, but hope had become my drug of choice.
Plucking the thick card stock off the table, I drew in a deep breath. The smell of freshly baked brownies—or cookies, or whatever-the-hell concoction of deliciousness she had been baking all day—filled my nose. For a woman who had burned grilled cheese the first time she’d cooked me dinner, she had developed a real flair for baking.
It was one of the few things she enjoyed. And let’s be honest, during the ultimate battle of trying to claw our way up from rock bottom, a marshmallow-graham-cracker brownie was a nice reprieve every once in a while.
“Baby, I’m home,” I called down the hall.
Like the worst guard dogs in history, Clyde and Sugar finally realized that someone else was in the house and went nuts, barking and slipping on the wood floor as they raced down the hallway. Clyde was a brindle purebred mutt while Sugar was a black teacup poodle with the temperament of a Doberman. If either of them were ever going to put up a fight, you could bet your ass it would have been Sugar. Though Clyde appeared to have some Great Dane at the deep end of his gene pool, so he’d at least look intimidating while he invited a serial killer in to play ball.
Tucking the card under my arm, I squatted down to pet them. “Hey, guys.”
Oh, and yes, Sugar was a boy. Sugarbear Thadius Michaels to be exact. Sally had had quite a few drinks that night. I had just been so damn happy to see her laughing that she could have named him Princess Pineapple and I wouldn’t have argued.
As I gave Clyde a scratch behind his ears, Sugar bounced off my legs, his paws leaving mud on my khaki slacks. I shouldn’t have gotten frustrated, but they were new pants and I’d slept exactly three hours the night before. When it came to Sally, I was past the point of what was considered creepy anymore. Staying up and watching her sleep was my favorite pastime—my only pastime.
At least she was sleeping.
Breathing.
Not in pain.
Her mind was still for the first time in weeks.
“Oh, come on, Sug,” I grumbled, pushing him away as I tried to brush the dirt off my pants. While I loved the hell out of that crazy dog, he was still a puppy and I shuddered to think where he had found mud in the house.