Page 8 of Reckless Love

Then my mind latches onto something that’ll make this conversation even easier. On the counter, the scotch still hasn’t been put away, and I take down a glass, splash a mouthful into the bottom, and throw it back.

“Still day drinking, I see,” Stephen says, making another note on his paper.

“Fuck you,” I mutter. “Fuck you so hard. You disappear for six years and then you show up here like it’s no big deal?”

“Six years ago, we both made ourselves very clear,” he says, his tone measured. “I didn’t think organizing your protection detail would be a problem.” He peers around the house, an assessment, a challenge. “Looks like you got exactly what you wanted.”

And I’m fucking miserable.

The thought comes so quickly that I don’t have time to hold it back, keep it at bay. Instead, I pour myself another shot and lift it toward my lips, hovering.

“And you?” I ask before tipping back the drink again.

“I got what I needed, which is better, I suppose.” His gaze is shuttered and impossible to read.

I got what I wanted, but it turns out it was nothing like what I needed. Must be nice to have gotten life right. Seems I’m always fucking it up, even when I try to play by the rules.

“Since you don’t have your schedule handy to go through,” Stephen says, rising from his seat, “and appear unwilling to be helpful, I’ll leave.” He comes to the kitchen island and slides a card onto it. “My number for you to text me your routine and your son’s. I’ll have two agents stationed here, at the house, at all times starting today. Another two will oversee your person and your son when you leave the property. We’ll need to know where you’ll be throughout each day to make sure we have proper emergency plans in place.”

“You don’t really think one of Raul’s workers would come after us?”

“People do all kinds of things when you threaten their way of life. Money is a powerful motivator.”

“The only person who’s out of money if they unionize is my husband,” I say with a huff.

Stephen releases a deep sigh, clearly frustrated, and starts to walk toward the front entrance.

“Just say it,” I call after him.

He turns on his heel and seems to be assessing me. “Why do you think they want to unionize, Av—Mrs. Santos?”

“Because they like creating problems.” It’s a disingenuous response, but I’m still mad that he’s just turned up here as though he didn’t disappear on me six years ago. That he’s acting like we don’t know each other intimately. That I couldn’t draw every ripple and indent of his skin from memory. That I can’t circle each physical change in him as though I’m circling them on my own body.

Stephen shakes his head and turns back around, unwilling to engage.

My response let him down, and rather than feeling gratified, I say, “Okay, fine. Unions usually form because something seems unfair or that they aren’t being listened to.”

“Which of those do you think applies to The Nile?”

Both. Of course it’s both. Raul doesn’t have a lot of time or empathy for anyone, which suited me fine when we first got together. I was wrung out, and I didn’t need a partner who wanted to know me. Those “me first” qualities probably don’t make him a very good boss, just like they make him a terrible lover and husband and father.

Instead of telling him all this, I stare at Stephen. Regret hits me, punch after punch, and I grip the edge of the island in an effort to stay away from him. There’s always been something inside me that wanted Stephen more than was rational or practical. Any time I strayed from him or he strayed from me, I’d end up lighting my life on fire or throwing a grenade into his to get us back in the same bed.

I’ve never had to, never wanted to fight our connection. From the minute he sidled up to the driver’s door to scold me for speeding, I’ve been certain he was meant to be mine. No matter what happened between us, that certainty never wavered.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” I say.

He purses his full lips and turns toward the front foyer again, each step hitched with the tiniest hesitation.

And I wonder if it’s as painful for him to walk away as it is for me to watch.

Chapter Four

Ava

The next day, Stephen is in my circular driveway, talking to one of the other guards, while I’m soaking up the scene from the second-floor window of Landon’s suite. His new uniform—a tailored suit like a secret service agent’s—is no less appealing than his police clothes used to be.

Everything about him is so familiar, from his height to the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes to the way his biceps flex when he gestures across the lawn. He hasn’t let himself go—so strong and muscular. Hollyn, my brother’s wife, once described Stephen as a “tree of a man,” and when I told him, I compared him to a giant sequoia. He laughed, and my chest warmed. The rarest sound of joy that made me feel like I’d won a prize at a carnival.