Page 97 of Merging Wright

“I’ll come with you,” I suggest.

“No.” Jane’s swift rejection is a bit too adamant for my liking. “I’m certain you have things to do for Impact.”

Today is Sunday. Why would I work? Then again, past behavior dictates I have worked on weekends, filling in the loneliness. On rare occasions, I’d take entire weekends off to play hard, travel, or seek random hookups. But I don’t want to return to old habits. I don’t want to work on a Sunday, and I don’t want to do things alone. I want to be with my wife.

However, I accept that she wants time with her sister. With Lindee in tow, Jane leaves the room without another glance in my direction.

Staring after her exit, out of the corner of my eye, I see Myles watching me.

“What are you looking at?” I bark at him like we’re teenagers instead of grown men.

“Machlan,” Ma scolds from the other side of the kitchen.

“A broken heart.”

“I’m not broken,” I argue.

“Not yours. Hers.” Myles tips his head to where my wife had stood.

“Fuck you. You don’t know anything about Jane.”

“Nope. But I know you,” Myles snarks. “And you’re about to make a huge mistake. Again.”

I don’t have time for Myles and his bullshit. He doesn’t know me now, and he doesn’t know Jane. He can take his broken heart shit and shove it up his ass.

“Acushla,” Ma murmurs, tapping a fist over her heart. Her brows pinch in concern.

I shake my head and excuse myself from the kitchen. My family is nuts, and I have Impact work to do . . . on a Sunday.

45

Playlist: “Torn” – Natalie Imbruglia

[Jane]

“Okay, care to explain?” Lindee has her arm linked in mine as we cautiously walk down the hill. The grass is slippery this morning, the day still waking up from a night of heavy dew. The air is crisp. Frost will soon cover everything.

“The story is so long.” I sigh into the quiet morning.

“Try me.” While Mae and I are closer in age, Lindee and I are closer, period. The age difference between us had me playing mother to my younger sister for most of our lives. We’ve butted heads and hurt hearts, but I love her. She’s more like me than our free-spirited sister Mae, which doesn’t mean we love her less. Lindee and I are just different. It’s difficult to explain.

I lead Lindee to On The Curve for her coffee, my tea, and some scones. Next, I guide her to the park. We huddle together on one of the new bench seats, staring out at the river, and I tell her everything from start to finish.

The truck. The proposition. The pretend. The will. The wedding.

“And now you’re redeveloping Wrightwood.”

“I don’t know about redeveloping, but it’s a labor of love. Honestly, I kind of love it here. The town. The people.”

I’ve made so many friends here. I don’t have friends in Chicago; I have business acquaintances. I work too much to nurture friendships, and my focus has been on clients instead of people. I work for people, not with them. Being in Wrightwood has been different.

“It’s a simple rebranding and upgrade, I guess.” I dismiss work that isn’t that easy to brush off. Our latest addition is a set of sisters who want to take over the former bank building. They plan to open a replica mercantile store, offering home goods and housewares in a variety of antiques and reproductions. The Riverbank Mercantile Company will open soon and couldn’t be a more perfect fit for that old building and a great anchor store for the Bridge Alley district.

“This place kind of reminds me of home.” Lindee stares out at the flowing water. River City is hundreds of miles west of here. I haven’t been home in years. Neither has Lindee. The nature of her job takes her everywhere. She’s a wanderer, much like my Willow.

“So tell me more about Mach. How do you feel about him?”

“Being with Mach is . . .” Mach was just too much for me this morning. “Sometimes he looks at me and the intensity is so strong I think he’s going to say those three little words. Then other times, I’m reminded this is all pretend.” Like last night. I didn’t feel great about Mach and me having sex while I wore face paint and reminded him of a comic book character. My head was a jumble from his fantasy and my reaction to our experience, causing my emotions to ping inside me like a wayward pinball.