Chapter Thirty-Nine
Perpetual Pain
Ryan, May 21, 2012, Dallas, TX
Ryan never intendedto proclaim her an unfit mother. Regardless of what happened between them, she was a spectacular mother, the best one. But he couldn’t stop the words from leaving his stupid mouth. He was in the state of perpetual pain and wanted to—needed to—hurt her. He had. Scared her pretty good, too. Her eyes, wide and frantic. Her tearful, desperate plea. He’d gone way, way overboard.
God help me. Ryan undressed and fell face down on his miserable hotel bed. Did he really use their infant son to get back at her? Disgusting. And leading on that married woman just to spite her. Petty. That wasn’t who he was—a bitter, spiteful, spurned husband.
What have you done to me, my love?
He could feel her suddenly. Not in a physical way, but like her essence, almost warm—her head on his shoulder, his leg wedged between hers. The way they used to fall asleep. Unthinking, he tucked her into his chest, then shook himself, and turned on his side. She was a two-timing bitch who broke his heart and ruined his life.
But she was still there. She ran her hand through his hair, buried her face in his chest. “You’d never take him from me. That’s not who you are.”
“No,” he said into the evening, into her thick, silky hair. “Of course, I wouldn’t.”
Ryan released a long breath, unable to stop himself from rousing. And so what? He could think of her before that flash drive, before her Virginia commission. What would be the harm in that? No one needed to know. He pulled her close—her beautiful body and delicate scent of honey, peaches, and her. Her tears were a warm stain, spreading on his chest. “Even if you hate me,” she whispered, “you still love me, don’t you?”
He shot to his feet, headed to the bathroom, and pressed his head to the cool mirror. His eyes were dull and bloodshot, breath reeking of whiskey. An ugly mess inside and out.
Those whom God has joined together, let no man separate. What a cruel thing to say, and in Irish, of all things.
Enough. He splashed cold water on his face and grabbed a fresh hotel towel. If God had joined them together, what did that make her? He’d get this divorce business out of the way, find a decent place to live, clean up, and meet someone who wouldn’t be his demise.
He took several large gulps straight from the bottle, tapped his phone, and moved his tracking app to the center of his home screen. Running into her was a mistake he would only make once. And no, he wouldn’t pleasure himself to the fantasy of her. Anyone but her.
Ryan paused on his way to bed, eyeing the small plastic rectangle sitting beside his laptop. Two days ago, this new flash drive was delivered to his work in an unmarked envelope—no note, no scent, no trace of the sender. Logically, he understood it contained all the dirt on Longworth and not the other thing. But he couldn’t bring himself to open it no matter how many times he tried.
He had to, however.
Why not now?
Blowing out a shuddering breath, he approached the low hotel desk and sat on the too-small chair in front of it. His hands shook as he picked up the thing. Heart racing like he’d run a marathon, he pressed the lever to release the USB port. The whiskey rose to his throat. He grabbed the trash basket at his feet.
I’ll puke if it’s a video. But it wouldn’t be a video, right? Or an audio. This was the flash drive he’d pulled every string to get, and now she stood between him and his job.
Fuck it.He inserted the drive into his laptop—sweaty fingers digging into the basket—and clicked open.
Unblinking, he rocked in his chair, staring at the treasure trove of damning evidence for his soon-to-be successful Sham case. The oath another man had made would be fulfilled—he’d avenge the woman who would become his undoing.
The irony was too much as he collapsed onto the bed and buried his crumbling face in the pillow.