Chapter 4
Jackson
Ellary’s devastated face haunts me.
Stuck in downtown traffic moving at a crawl, I drum my fingers against the steering wheel. Her wedding ring is in my pocket, and the constant pressure of it digging into my thigh is a tangible reminder that I didn’t imagine today.
I’ve called her. Over and over and over again.
Nothing.
Twenty to thirty calls have gone unanswered, and my boss barely spared me a glance as I handed over the files I’d finished working on and left to begin my two-week suspension.
I’m less of a man in his eyes because of what I did today, and I deserve nothing less than his disgust and fury.
I imagine Ellary at home, sitting in the kitchen, arms folded, a cup of chamomile tea on the table, waiting to discuss what happened with Rachel. The dropped ring doesn’t bode well. She’s hurt and hurting, but we’ve been together too long to end things now.
What I did was wrong. I know that. But we’ve been together since we were sixteen—too long to throw away our marriage for a mistake. And it was just a mistake. One I won’t repeat.
Whatever it takes, I’ll do it: therapy, marriage counseling four times a week, move to a new town or state if she wants that too. I love my wife, and I can’t lose her. With two weeks off work ahead of me, we can figure a way out of this mess together.
I glance at the time on my car's dashboard.
4:30.
This traffic is fucking killing me. I crane my head in a vain attempt to see what’s causing it. Is there an accident up ahead, or are they working on the road?
I’ve never been happier with anyone than with Ellary.
I remember her walking down the aisle on our wedding day, beautiful in her white dress, chestnut brown hair half up, and a veil so thin I could see straight through it to her gorgeous, big brown eyes.
Her smile when she reached me was so radiant, and I bent my head to whisper in her ear how beautiful she was and how happy she’d made me by agreeing to be my wife.
The cars ahead start moving. Thank fuck. Releasing a sigh of relief, I continue the drive to our quiet house in the suburbs, hovering on the very edge of the speed limit.
I need to get home. To speak to Ellary. To make things right. Once we talk, once I explain, we can move past this.
Our home isn’t fancy. It’s simple; the perfect starter home for our small family. When we viewed it, we envisioned having kids eventually, staying for one kid, reassessing the space we had, and likely moving again before we had a second.
That first child never came, so it remained our starter home.
Our two spare bedrooms, one too small for a bed, became my home gym, and the second, what we hoped would be a nursery, became the dumping ground for exercise equipment I no longer used, seasonal décor we didn’t want to lug out into the garage, and other bits and pieces of our past.
Life hasn’t always been easy. My dreams of going pro floundered, then Ellary failed to get pregnant no matter how hard we tried.
Through it all, Ellie has been my bedrock, turning down an amazing job opportunity with a consulting firm she interned with during the summer in college.
Then she landed her dream job at a boutique consultancy firm in Colorado, but gave it up to follow me home to Melton when an injury destroyed my hockey career.
Being the sales manager of a logistics company wasn’t a job or career I’d have chosen for myself, but I needed something full-time that paid well enough to support our family.
Dennis, my godfather, took a big chance on me, training me up himself when he could have hired someone with experience rather than giving me an opportunity I hadn’t earned.
Ellie has always been supportive, coming to watch all my games in high school and college. Once we graduated, I was drafted by an NHL team in Colorado, and she didn’t hesitate to turn down her job offer and come with me.
We bought a house, putting down a big deposit with our savings. My job pays so well with bonuses, and Melton isn’t an expensive town like Phoenix, Arizona, where I played hockey, or California, where we went to college, so Ellie didn’t need to work.
As I pass my neighbors' homes, a couple of cars sit in their driveways. Most are still at work until six or seven.
My home comes into sight, and I frown.
No silver Honda Civic in the double driveway.
Where the hell is Ellie?
She couldn’t have parked in the garage. We’ve been throwing crap in there since we moved in six years ago. There’s no space to park a car, and it would take much longer than a couple of hours to make room for one. It’s a job so big we’ve been putting it off for years.
Still frowning as I park, I cut the engine and grab my jacket, keys, and cell phone from the passenger seat.
I’m used to walking into a bright, warm, and delicious-smelling home. A home full of sounds and smells. Ellary is usually cooking dinner in the kitchen, sometimes singing along to the radio, or talking to her mom or sister over the loudspeaker.
Whatever she’s doing, she always turns to grin at me when I walk into the kitchen, lifting her face for the lingering kiss I press on her lips as I trap her against the counter and make her giggle by nipping her throat.
But today, the house is quiet. The only smell is the faint scent of my cologne, which Ellie bought me on my birthday, one I love, that I wear every day.
“Ellie?” I call out, closing the front door behind me and switching on the light.
Silence.
I set my keys in the wooden bowl on a side table in the entryway and hang my coat in the coat closet.
My cell phone stays in my pocket. I need it close by today.
Ellie has ignored every call, but soon everyone will know what I did.
My boss is my dad’s best friend. It’s a miracle I haven’t had my parents calling, demanding to know what the hell I was thinking yet.
That call is coming, and I am not looking forward to my parents’ disapproval.
I stick my head in the living room. TV off.
No sign of Ellie in the spotlessly clean room.
Knowing she won’t be in my home office, I still check anyway, and it’s as empty as the living room.
Closing the door and flicking off the light, I continue to the kitchen, where Ellary usually is when I get home from work.
The lights are off here too, and as I switch them on, my gaze lingers on a full glass of water on the dining table with a slight spill on the surface, then on the roast defrosting on a glass dish on the counter.
It isn’t like Ellie to leave a mess, even a small one without cleaning it up, and dinner is usually close to being ready when I get home from work.
As a sick feeling grows in my gut, I hurry out of the kitchen and upstairs.
My cell phone vibrates in my pocket. I nearly fall down the stairs, frantically pulling it free. Disappointment is a bitter taste on my tongue when I see who it is. Not Ellie.
I hit accept. “Dad, I’ll call you back.”
“Dennis just—”
“Not now, Dad. I’ll speak to you later.” Hanging up on my dad isn’t great son behavior, but my priority is to find and speak to Ellie first. I’ll talk to him afterward.
I stuff my phone back into my pocket and call out. “Ellie?”
Every upstairs room is silent when I enter.
The ominous feeling in my belly is growing, and I remember that I never found out why she was calling me at work before she turned up at the office.
On my way downstairs, I try calling Ellie again.
No answer.
Scrolling through my contacts, I find her parents' number. Ellie was upset. Her sister works long hours as a sous chef, second only to the head chef, so she wouldn’t be with her sister, but I see Ellie calling her parents after she left my office.
They always answer my call.
The phone rings out.
Her mom, dad, and sister don’t pick up. I even try the restaurant where Lila, Ellie’s sister, works. The woman who answers tells me Lila is busy in the kitchen and can’t talk. By the time I think to ask her about Ellie, the woman is hanging up.
Frowning, I stand in the entryway as I consider my next steps.
I’ve dated Ellary since we were sixteen.
Her mom and dad are like a second set of parents to me at this point.
I spent so many years in and out of their house that their refusal to pick up my calls stings more than I thought it would.
Because this is deliberate. They know I hurt Ellie and are freezing me out.
Ellie doesn’t want to talk to me, and now neither do they.
I deserve their rejection, but it still fucking hurts.
There’s no point calling Ellie again. She’s made it clear that she doesn’t want to talk to me, and there’s no option to leave her another voicemail. I filled the inbox when I was still at work.
She has to be at her parents' house, about a fifteen-minute drive away.
Maybe I should give her space and time with her parents, but this is important. We have to talk about this.
Snatching up my keys from the side table on my way to the front door, I pull it open. As I step out, Leo, one of our neighbors, is walking out of his garage. It must be his day off today. He’s usually at the veterinarian's office all day.
Smiling, he lifts his hand in a friendly wave. “Hey, Jackson.”
He’s a good guy, and I always make time to speak to him when I see him, but today, I force a smile to my lips, wishing he would go away. I don’t have time for small talk. “Hey.”
I’m closing the front door behind me when he glances over my shoulder. “Everything okay with Ellie?”
I freeze. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I saw her struggling with a suitcase earlier.”
My heart lurches.
“Suitcase?”
He nods. “Figured you were off on a quick trip.” A woman calls out from his house, his wife, most likely, and he flashes me a sympathetic smile as he backs up. “I'd better go see what Bianca wants. I’ll see you later.”
His words chase me back inside the house, chest tight. I sprint up the stairs, taking them two at a time. One word repeats over and over in my head.
Suitcase. Suitcase. Suitcase.
Ellie has left me. That’s why she wasn’t in the house. That’s why she’s not answering her phone and told her parents to ignore my calls.
She wants a divorce.
Please don’t let this be true.
I rush into our bedroom and head straight for our closet.
I wouldn’t have noticed with one glance.
Clothes are missing from the hangers. Not a lot. Just a few.
With my hand over my mouth, I stumble back, breathing hard, my pulse frantic. The sound of my heartbeat is overly loud in my head.
She left me.
Ellie came home, packed up a few of her things, and left me.
Knees weak, I stagger to the bed, dropping heavily onto the edge.
It smells of her, and it’s another anguish that brings tears to my eyes.
My heart pounds against my chest. Panic squeezes my throat.
Where would she have gone?
Could she have left town?
No. Stop panicking and think.
My knees shake as I push myself to my feet. She could only have gone to one place.
Her parents.
I have to find her.
I have to explain that what happened with Rachel was just a mistake.
I have to get my wife back.