Melody
Chapter forty
He’s late.
Again.
I sigh over my glass of wine, taking a big gulp as the bitter red washes down my throat. The food set out, pasta and a vodka sauce, grew cold an hour ago. I prepped it for our anniversary, knowing Dylan would be coming home today from his business trip to his office in California.
Before he hung up, he was arguing with a TSA agent about his cologne bottle being too big, completely ignoring my request to just toss it and get on the damn flight to make it home in time.
Now here I am, alone with a candlelit dinner as I stare out at the dark city skyline from our penthouse’s window.
New York is still alive below, cars honking and life continuing.
It’s all the same.
Every time.
Dylan leaves for a few days a week to handle one of his offices in another state, and I’m left alone, running my flower shop that’s grown since the first store I opened a year ago. My work keeps me busy, but the constant traveling has put a strain on our relationship.
At least to me it has.
Dylan acts as if missing half the month is nothing. It’s just work.
The lock of the front door slides open, and I don’t bother looking at him as he rushes inside. I can hear him kick his shoes off before his duffel bag hits the ground and he pads over to me. He leans around my shoulder, kissing my cheek quickly as he takes his blue tie off.
“Sorry, I had to catch another flight,” he apologizes before taking the chair across from mine and spreading his hands wide over the cold food. “Wow, Mel. This looks amazing.”
“Mhm,” I hum, taking another sip of my wine as my eyes follow a yellow taxi that’s bustling down the business district. I already know he’s forgotten what today is.
He slaps some noodles onto his plate, dolloping a hefty spoon of sauce on top. “What’s the occasion?”
I spin my engagement ring, which has been replaced with a bigger diamond after a bigger diamond. We’ve been engaged for four years, and I have more rings than I know what to do with. “Take a wild guess.”
He shoves a forkful into his mouth, chewing. “Hmm, this is cold.”
“It wasn’t an hour ago,” I whisper.
He sighs, putting his fork down as he leans across the table and takes my hand in his. “I said I was sorry, baby. Things happen.”
Curse my soft heart. No matter how many weak apologies he feeds me, I always give in eventually. I don’t know when I stopped caring long enough not to question him, but he knows he can breeze right through my forgiving nature.
“It’s okay,” I mutter half-heartedly. “Do you really not remember what today is?”
He tilts his head. “I’ve been in meetings for the past three days, babe. Forgive me if I can’t remember—”
“It’s our anniversary.”
His face falls. Regret flickers in his eyes as he stands and walks over to me. His arms wrap around me as he squishes me to him, but I don’t acknowledge his presence. “Fuck, Mel. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I swallow past the building emotion in my throat. “You’re here now.”
“Look at me,” he says softly, taking my chin between his fingers before dragging my eyes to him. “There’s my girl. I’m going to make this up to you, okay?”
My sight bounces around his features, taking in the years I’ve watched him grow into the businessman before me.
He’s clean-shaven, choosing to keep his face smooth and free of blemishes.
His hair is still a little shaggy, but he now slicks it back and keeps it tamed.
He still looks at me like he’s irrevocably in love, but there’s an emptiness to his eyes that wasn’t there before.
Sometimes I think I’m imagining it, but I catch it more than he’ll ever know. Because I don’t say anything. I grin and bear it to keep the peace between us.
It’s the safest route.
Smile when he walks into a room, kiss his cheek affectionately at events while he shakes hands with investors, and stand at his side while cameras flash in my face.
My eyes drift over him again, catching on the fine-fitted suit that costs more than the first apartment we ever shared. The confidence rolls off him in controlled and deliberate waves now. He’s built himself into something untouchable.
The whole room leans in to listen when he speaks, yet I couldn’t feel further from him. While he laughs and networks, I feel like a bystander—an intruder—of his happiness.
“You okay?” He murmurs softly.
I battle past my tears, nodding robotically. “Yeah.”
He presses forward, catching my lips in a slow kiss, and I have to stop myself from pulling back.
He doesn’t taste the same as he used to, like mint and coffee.
He now tastes of something citrusy that I can’t quite place.
The change started over a year ago, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask about it because it felt wrong to question him when I knew he was doing what he had to.
I’ve been the center of his world since college. He wouldn’t hurt me.
Not like someone else I know of…
When Dylan pulls back, he brushes my hair out of my face. “Let’s eat and get some sleep. We have a drive tomorrow.”
Christmas is a few days away, and we’ve been planning to visit my parents for a week.
It’ll be the longest he’s been away from work since he started his company, and it’s meant to help us reconnect.
Exchanging gifts and spending our afternoons cuddled up on the sofa as we watch Christmas movies and drink hot chocolate while a snowstorm blows in.
I finally lift my hand to his face, trying to let go of all the negativity of the evening. “Our bags are already packed.”
He smiles. “Good. Which means I get you all to myself tonight.”
Yeah.
All to himself.
We arrived earlier than planned at Mom and Dad’s house. Mostly because an argument started this morning when Dylan found that I had left his work planner out of his bag. That led to a screaming match about taking this time away from his job.
He apologized.
I forced us into the car without a second thought.
Anything to be away from our own home.
As he rolls up the stone path of the mansion, a light snowfall begins, signaling that the storm is on track. I smile softly at the snowflakes dusting over my window, finding a comfort I didn’t realize I needed in this weather.
Dylan’s phone rings, cutting through my dream as he curses and turns it off.
Always working.
Even when he isn’t at the office.
“Is it Mark?” I ask.
Dylan pulls up to the garage, cutting the engine. “Yeah, but I sent him to voicemail.” He rolls his head across the rest, taking my hand in his before lifting it to kiss my knuckles. “This week is about us.”
I huff a chuckle. “And my parents.”
“Right,” he nods before peering into the backseat piled high with brightly wrapped gifts. “Do you think we got them enough?”
A real laugh escapes me. “I think you’re spoiling them.”
He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear, his expression warming. “I love your laugh. I’ve missed it this week.”
I hum as we share a kiss, our chaotic morning long forgotten. “Let’s go before they come searching for us.”
“Can’t have Mom walking in on us making out again,” he jokes, bringing a chuckle from me at the memory.
We load our arms down with presents, the cold biting past our thick coats as we hobble up the iced-over stairs. Dylan observes the driveway with keen eyes. “I’m going to have to shovel and salt that for them.”
The front door opens, revealing Mom with her new streaks of grey in her hair. It’s pulled back tightly into a bun, her eyes lighting up the moment she spots us. “Oh! Come on inside before the wind sweeps you away!”
Dad takes the presents from me and kisses my cheek. “Welcome home, honey.”
“It’s good to be back,” I smile as I shed my coat and hang it up by the door.
Fresh cinnamon and cream waft through the air, the smell of homemade eggnog and candy canes taking me back to nostalgic days.
There are Christmas decorations everywhere, tinsel and ornaments hanging off the massive tree in the living room.
There’s garland along the kitchen island and over the roaring fireplace, lighting up the whole house as warmth wiggles into my skin.
“I’ve missed you!” Mom gushes as she squeezes me into a tight hug.
Dad and Dylan do that weird, man-clap thing where they shake hands and pat each other’s backs. Mom kisses my fiancé‘s cheek before gliding back into the kitchen and shoving her red oven mitts on her hands.
“I’ve got fresh snickerdoodle cookies coming out now,” she sings.
Dylan places a hand over his heart, resting his head back as he rocks on his heels. “You know my only weakness, Mom.”
We fall into easy conversation, discussing our plans for dinner as I offer to make glazed chicken and yams. Dad agrees before anyone can protest, putting me in charge of the kitchen for the night.
“It’s hot,” I warn Dylan as he lifts a fresh cookie to his mouth.
He stops mid-bite, pulling back as he blows on the dessert. “Good save, baby.”
My face falls as a memory strikes me like a punch to the gut.
“I said it was hot!”
“Fuck, I think I like it when you’re mad at me.”
I clear my throat, banishing the moment to the deepest recesses of my mind where anything Kaden-related has been left to rot. After all these years, that pain is still fresh sometimes.
Distraction.
I need a distraction.
“I bought us a rosé,” I say as I retrieve my bag and pull out the pink bottle.
Mom grabs two glasses from the cabinet above the stove and slides them towards me. “A few glasses and I’ll definitely be feeling the Christmas spirit.”
“Do you want a beer, Dyl?” Dad asks as he opens the fridge.
“You know it, Dad,” my fiancée smirks.
Mom takes a long sip of her wine, playfully observing the two men. “If you get as drunk as you did last year, I’m leaving your asses on the terrace this time.”
“Oh, come on!” Dylan protests loudly.
“We weren’t even that drunk,“ Dad backs him up.
I take a sip from my glass, humming. “Mhm. And that’s not the reason Dylan almost got frostbite on his toes. Not at all.”
My fiancé shakes his head with amusement. “What happened to in sickness and in health?”
“Once we actually get married, I’ll take those vows seriously,” I lift my brows over the rim of my glass.
He gives me a secretive wink. “Then be prepared for long nights of stomach bugs and food poisoning, Mrs. Callahan.”
Mom chokes on her drink, holding a hand up to her mouth as her eyes widen. “Have you picked a date?”
“Four months from now,” Dylan tips his beer. “April eighteenth.”
“That’s wonderful!” Dad says, slapping a hand between Dylan’s shoulders and shaking him. “Can’t wait to have you as part of the Wilder family, my boy.”
“Dress shopping,” Mom spreads her hands, making me giggle. “Does Kodi know yet? Oh, you have to invite her. This weekend. There’s a bridal boutique near my Queens store that has the best dresses.”
Everything is perfect this evening. Not a single thing could ruin this moment as my parents’ joy spills over and infects me.
I’m so caught up in being whisked away by my mother’s rambling that I don’t even notice the deep rumble and purr of a motorcycle outside until it’s too late. Dad reacts first, his words dying a quick death as he listens to whoever is driving down the stone path.
“We aren’t expecting anyone else…” he trails.
The air becomes too thick as everyone falls into a still silence. My pulse rushes past my ears, muting the sound of the bike.
I’m imagining it.
I have to be…
“Are you okay, baby?” Dylan asks low to me as Dad stalks toward the foyer.
I blink at the island’s marble, the overhead lights becoming too bright. It feels like pins in my eyes, jabbing at me. Both of my parents have jogged to the door, waiting to see who could be interrupting our evening, but I’m trapped.
I’m not in my body. Something isn’t right. There’s a tug deep in my gut, a feeling I haven’t experienced in years. It’s making this all seem too real.
The door opens, and Mom gasps. A beat of silence passes. No one moves. I can’t turn around to see who they’re looking at. I can’t.
“Kaden…” Dad whispers in disbelief.
For the first time in six years, a voice I haven’t heard touches my ears. It’s deep and masculine, edged with gravel and making my whole body shake. “Hey, Dad. I’m home.”
My glass falls to the ground, shattering sharply against the marble.