Chapter 46 Poppy
POPPY
I ease the heavy wooden front door open, and step inside. The house is dark and quiet, but it smells like him. Like his woodsy cologne, but also the smell of his skin when he’s not wearing anything.
Gingerly, I step inside and set Cordelia down on the floor.
I don’t know why I feel the need to sneak around here, Jett did give me his key.
I guess now it feels like I don’t have the right to be here.
But Cordelia wasn’t going to let up until I brought her over, and as predicted, she’s off like a flash in the direction of Jett’s room.
My phone chimes from the side pocket of my overnight bag and I reach around for it, pulling it out and jumping a bit when I see Jett’s name lighting up my screen. It’s like he can see me somehow, and I glance around for security cameras in the entry way, coming up short.
JETT
FYI, I had silent alarm installed.
Now my heart drops right through me, out my butt, and onto the floor. A silent alarm? You’ve got to be kidding me.
Is there a code? What do I do?
I don’t try to pretend I haven’t just snuck into Jett’s house, because the proverbial cat is already out of the bag, apparently.
Now, I’m frantically looking around for a panel on the wall that looks like it might help me shut off this alarm. I also keep glancing down at my phone screen, waiting for instructions before the police show up to arrest me.
That would be just my luck, and the last thing we need. Another click-bait headline.
JETT LANDRY’S EX-WIFE ARRESTED FOR brEAKING AND ENTERING.
I can just picture my low-resolution, highly unflattering mugshot that will accompany it.
Jett’s three dots indicating he’s typing pop up and then disappear a couple of times.
“Come on…” I mutter, still wandering through the house looking for a control panel. This is so embarrassing.
Finally, my phone chimes again, and I look quickly at the conversation.
Kidding. There’s no alarm. I’ve been meaning to have one installed though, so keep that in mind for future home invasions.
I heave a sigh of relief, but my cheeks heat. I was duped.
I type out a cheeky response.
Well, the house is still technically half mine.
Not for long, though, I think. As soon as I hit send, I regret it. The last thing I want is for Jett to think I bamboozled my way into this marriage to take half his money. Before I have the chance to type out another message, he’s already replied.
Take me for everything I’m worth, wife.
I stare at the words on the screen, and the pet name he gave me when we first got married. At first it seemed like a silly inside joke, only the two of us knowing that my title wasn’t real. But now… I think he likes being able to call me wife. And I’m sure as hell going to miss hearing it.
I’m no gold digger. I never wanted you for your money.
No, you just wanted to get in my pants.
I smile to myself, because although that wasn’t my primary motivation for marrying Jett, it was a nice perk. Pressure builds between my thighs, and it’s difficult to ignore. I think about calling him, because I think I just need to hear his voice.
As if he can read my mind, my phone starts ringing.
“Don’t you need to be sleeping?” I ask when I answer, my smile evident in my tone, even though there’s a twinge of sadness lurking underneath that he’s not here with me.
“Can’t,” he answers plainly, and maybe I’m imagining it but there’s a similar sadness in his voice too. “I’ve been too worried about the intruders in my house.”
“Sorry about that,” I say. “Cordelia just wouldn’t settle at the apartment. She was being such a pest. The only time she seemed happy was when I was wearing your t-shirt.”
“You were wearing my t-shirt?” He asks, his voice perking up.
“I was,” I answer, looking down at my outfit. The worn-in, too-big cotton t-shirt that drapes off my frame. The one that smells like him. “I am.”
“I’ve never let a woman wear my clothes before,” he points out. “Isn’t there a saying, wear the t-shirt, ride the skier?”
I let out a soft puff of air through my nose. “I think you’re thinking about cowboys and their hats.”
“Right. That’s something Beck always says,” Jett laughs. “I think I’m going to steal it.”
I flop down on the couch and pull the faux fur blanket over my legs. “I’ll have to watch my back then, Cordelia will get jealous.”
“How is she? More settled now?”
“She is. She’s getting fur all over your pillow as we speak,” I answer. I expect Jett to complain about it, but he doesn’t.
“What about you?” He asks. “How are things at the café?”
“Good, really good. The town council isn’t going to make me give it up. I guess they didn’t care whether the relationship was real, so long as the documents were legal,” I explain, though my insides twist because the relationship was real, at least for me.
Jett lets out an audible breath on the other end of the line.
“That’s amazing, Pops. You belong there,” he says.
I belong with you, I think, placing a hand over my left breast to ease the painful ache that has been there for the last few days.
“I’m relieved, that’s for sure.” I switch the phone to my other hand and stretch out my wrist by flexing it back and forth.
“But my arthritis has been acting up since I’ve been back to working more.
My wrists have been aching from carrying milk jugs, and my hips aren’t much better from all the standing. ”
“Are you okay?” Jett’s tone has shifted, worry lacing every word and a hint of desperation, almost like he’s debating getting on the next flight back from Switzerland just like he did the last time he went to an out-of-town competition without me.
“I’m okay,” I say, but I can tell by the silence that he isn’t convinced. “I promise. You have more important things to worry about.”
“Pfft. You mean the World Cup? That little old thing?”
“Yes, I mean the most important and biggest milestone of your skiing career to date.”
“Oh, yeah, that. It’s not that big of a deal,” he jokes.
“But hey, listen. If you need anything, there are heating pads in the hall linen closet, some in the guest room and one under the ottoman in the living room. There’s also a full supply of Tylenol and Advil in the ensuite if you need it. It’s like a pharmacy in there now.”
“Now?”
“Yeah, I stocked up when you started staying over. Never was a heating pad guy, Mark always has me icing my injuries.”
My mouth drops open, and I struggle to find words for what I’m feeling. Jett never did any of this because I asked him, he just… did it. Because he noticed me and the things I need. He’s seen what I do for myself when I’m struggling, and he just started doing it too. To make sure I’m taken care of.
“Thank you,” is all I can say, but it’s not enough.
“No problem,” Jett answers casually, as if it wasn’t. “So tell me what you’ve been up to in my house without me.”
I make a long drawn out hmm sound.
“I’ve been snooping through your underwear drawer, your medicine cabinet…” I joke.
“Anything interesting?”
“It’s a virtual treasure trove,” I answer quickly. “Especially the collection of my panties you’ve saved.”
“I have not—” Jett stammers, before realizing I’m playing with him. “Don’t look in my night table drawer then. I’ve been collecting clippings of your hair and toenails.”
“Jett Landry, are you obsessed with me?” I ask, a jokingly accusatory tone in my voice. God, I wish he was.
“Maybe a little,” he says, the words just part of the running joke and playful banter. I try to temper the flicker of hope, the spark that has flickered to life. Someone give me a bucket of water to douse this thing.
“Well,” I say, deciding to change the subject, “the only thing left to snoop through is your streaming history, although I’m a little scared of what I’ll find.”
“Poppy don’t—” Now Jett seems concerned, so I make my way into the living room and search for the remote. I flick on the TV and open the streaming app, the first thing that pops up in ‘recently watched’ is House on the Bloodstained Hill.
“Jett…” I scold. “Have you been watching horror movies without me?” I ask, as I flick through. I know he has, because the other movies we’ve watched together are already further back on the list.
“Perhaps,” he says.
“Well? Have you converted? Do you enjoy it?”
“Absolutely not. I did not enjoy it,” he snaps back. “You’re a sadist, Poppy. A sadist. I watched that the other night and I couldn’t sleep after.”
I chew on my bottom lip, inflicting pain to one part of my body so it distracts me from the painful memory of that night. It’s still too fresh to talk about, so I let a silence fall between us, and I hear Jett yawn softly. It must be really late for him.
“I wish you were here,” he murmurs, his voice groggy, and sleepy. “I don’t want to compete without you here.”
I let out a slow breath, thinking about him racing, him finishing and celebrating, and me not being there to do it with him. My heart cracks a little more.
But just because this hurt—and it does, so much—doesn’t mean he was wrong for ending it.
Because as Jett’s wife, I would have to go to all his events with him, and I can’t help but think about those long flights, hotel beds that aren’t my own, how stiff and sore I would be. Not to mention, being away from the café for so long.
“You should get some sleep,” I say, because I don’t have anything else to offer, and it’s true. Jett needs his rest.
And the longer we sit here talking, the more my heart will break.