Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Buzz.
He was calling her. Again. This man who could have had any woman in the world. He was calling her like she really mattered to him.
But she couldn’t let the past happen all over again.
Couldn’t let herself keep pretending they were okay.
And the most painful thing about this whole thing, with her phone ringing nonstop...was that she found herself crying yet again.
TROY CALLED BURTON at nine that evening.
"I need a status," he told him.
“Standard locks,” Burton reported. “Decent neighborhood.”
“Then she’s not safe.”
Burton was used to such commentary. Barrymore had been his client for over a decade. A hockey star like him had to deal with a lot of crazies, and the man had been even more determined to protect his privacy since his marriage.
“The building has a main entrance and a fire exit,” he elaborated. “Super lives on-site. No parking garage. Street parking only—she's in a permit zone.”
“That’s not enough for me.”
“That’s a given,” Burton acknowledged, “you being you.”
Troy scowled. “Are you implying something?”
“Look, son. I’ve known you for a long time, and I was mighty glad for you, when I got to meet your wife. I saw how protective you were with her, and that’s why I understand, where you’re coming from with all this.”
“Just get to your point,” Troy said curtly.
“No place is going to be good enough for you,” Burton said simply. “So if you want your wife safe, find a way to get her back.”
Over an hour later, and Troy still couldn’t get Burton’s words out of his mind.
Find a way to get her back.
His lips tightened. That was easier said than done. Laina might look fragile on the outside, but once she made up her mind about something...
Troy walked back to his study, where a folder waited for him on the desk. Aside from performing a safety assessment of his wife’s new neighborhood, he had also asked his security consultant to take surveillance photos of the whole place.
And Burton...
The man was either thinking of punishing or rewarding Troy by including one photo of Laina, taken with one of Burton’s cameras with a long-distance lens. It was Laina, seen from her living room window, and she was on the floor, with her knees tucked under her chin, and her arms around herself. Beautiful beyond words, but also...with an expression that broke his heart.
Burton’s second call came two hours later, this time reaching Troy while he was still in the kitchen and staring at the cabinet door that his wife had left open...and he somehow couldn’t find it in himself to close.
How the hell had he gotten this sentimental?
“Hope I’m not catching you at a bad time,” Burton said when Troy answered the call.
“You did.” Because without his wife by his side, he would always have a bad time.
“Sorry about that. Should I call you another time?”
“No, it’s fine. What do you have for me?”
“Mrs. Barrymore—” Burton paused. “She’s still that, isn’t she? Divorce papers aren’t finalized?”
“She’s still my wife.” And he wasn’t letting her go without a fight.
“Good to hear that,” Burton said gruffly. “So, going back...your wife attended thirty-one home games over four seasons. Section 308, upper deck. Row 14. She bought her own ticket."
Troy found himself gripping the edge of the counter.
Thirty-one games.
Four seasons.
His wife had been in the building, sitting in the upper deck with a ticket she bought herself, watching him play, and he hadn't known.
He'd played those games. He'd scored in some of them. He'd walked off the ice and through the tunnel and past the press room and into the parking lot and driven home to a house where his wife was already in bed.
But not once, not once, had it occurred to him that she had been there. That she had watched him and driven home separately and gone to bed and said nothing.
I’m sorry, Laina.
She had never been interested in hockey, and so he had never thought she would want to watch him.
But even so...
He knew that was no excuse.
His wife. Thirty-one games. And he never knew.
LAINA CAME HOME FROM work three days later to find a brand-new deadbolt on her apartment door and a note tucked under the mat.
Oh, Troy.
She wanted to be mad. But she just couldn’t find it in herself to be angry.
Instead, she found herself fighting back tears...while telling herself that this didn’t change anything.
She put her bag down, crouched, and picked up the note. She stared at it for a long time...before tearing the piece of paper into pieces without reading it. Tears blurred her gaze, but she somehow managed to send him a text message without any typos.
I appreciate it. Thank you. But I hope you understand if I’d like this to be the last.
Two days later, a doorbell camera arrived. She sent it back.
The next day, it came again. She sent it back again.