36. Evan
36
EVAN
R ealizing that your devious, conniving, manipulative wife is absolutely perfect for you is a strange experience.
She tricked me when I thought I was the trickster.
She played me when I assumed I was the game’s master.
She’s my equal and superior in every way, and I just ran away from her like a pathetic child.
She’s pregnant. My baby is growing inside of her, and I only had a handful of moments to celebrate that before she dropped the bombshell that had me running for the door.
I did something really fucked up in the name of love, and I don’t feel bad about it. I don’t feel guilty—even though I probably should. But when she admitted that she did some fucked-up things for love too, I walked away.
With Starling and January and Bunny, they all ran because they were the victim of my brothers’ insanity, but apparently both Sammy and I are equally crazy, but instead of laughing, or fighting, or fucking, I’m sitting on the side of the road with my ass on the hood of my car wondering what the hell to do now.
I should go home. I should do something, but instead, I’m just sitting here, a little lost and feeling for the first time like I truly know how the girls felt when their husbands toyed with their lives, and they had no idea.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting here when I hear the sound of a car approaching. Since I stopped, two good Samaritans have pulled over to see if I need help, but after I assured them I was fine, they both left.
As I glance down the road, I squint my eyes, wondering if I should be expecting to see the cops come to discover if I’m dealing drugs or doing something else nefarious, but instead, as the car approaches, I spot a familiar license plate on a white Mercedes.
Like a vision straight out of one of my dreams, my beautiful wife is behind the wheel, her long hair twisted up into a bun. Large sunglasses cover her face, her full lips are painted red, and an angry scowl is etched across her beautiful features.
I don’t move from my spot on the hood as she drives toward me. Instead, I watch as she slows and pulls her car in ahead of mine. Holding my breath, I wait for her to climb out, but when she does, I’m entirely unprepared for the sight of her in a pretty white dress that in a few months will cling to her growing belly and show off all of her new pregnant curves.
She doesn’t say a word as she turns and strides toward me, closing the distance between us until she stands a foot away from me, her hands resting on her hips, her shades still hiding her eyes from me.
“Come here,” I order.
“No,” she defiantly answers.
I can’t help it. I chuckle. “Come here, wife.”
“No,” she says again.
“You got fake engaged,” I say, struggling to keep the smile from my face.
“You got my fiancé to dump me,” she snaps indignantly.
“You and Starling manipulated me into claiming you,” I growl back.
“You drugged me and tattooed your initials on my skin,” she retorts.
“You lied to me.”
“You removed my birth control and got me pregnant.”
“You’re crazy.” My voice is softer now, less accusation and more endearment.
“So are you.” She matches my tone, her tense body relaxing a little. “Come here.”
My feet move until I’m standing in front of her only inches separating us.
“Close your eyes,” she demands.
Smiling, I close my eyes, feeling her movements as she closes the distance between us. The sound of a metallic snap has me opening my eyes and when I look down, I find her fingers tugging on a familiar silver padlock attached to a chain hanging around my neck. It’s the chain I had made to match the one I put on her.
Scoffing lightly, I lift the lock up and see the letters SM engraved into the metal.
“Mine,” Sammy says, her eyes heated and daring me to disagree.
“Yours,” I agree. “I love you, Sammy Morris.”
“I love you too,” she whispers back.