* * * * *

Garrett

Tuesday Night

Getting home after work, Garrett sifted through his mail at the kitchen bar, wondering how the fuck he got so many catalogs when he’d never bought a thing from a catalog in his life, and in the same time, he’d never made an online purchase.

Bills. Credit card applications. Life insurance offers.

And there it was.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, staring at the handwriting.

Solely out of curiosity, he opened the envelope.

Upending it, an eight-by-ten color glossy slid out on his bar, face up. Stuck on it was a bright pink Post-it note in the shape of a heart.

It read, I messed this up. I didn’t work for it. I’m going to work for it, baby.

He read the note and looked at the picture.

In it, he was sitting on a barstool in Vegas. Mia was in a clingy dress he’d liked a fuckuva lot, standing next to him, hanging on him. She didn’t have to hang; he had his arm around her, holding her close.

On the bar was a three hundred dollar bottle of champagne. They were both holding filled flutes. They’d splurged because he’d just won seven thousand dollars at the craps table.

They’d taken a few sips before Mia had asked someone passing by to take that picture.

Then they took the champagne to the reception desk and did what they did. Not planning for a future, living in the now, doing it wild to pack in as much as they could, they blew almost all his winnings, got upgraded to a suite, and made short work of moving rooms.

The rest of the time they were in Vegas, three days, they didn’t leave that suite. They got room service if they needed to eat. But if they weren’t eating or sleeping, they were fucking, whispering, or laughing.

He’d never been happier.

And that was when it began. He felt it. He felt it their last night in Vegas when he laid on his back in the bed in that suite with his naked wife curled sleeping at his side.

He’d felt the fear.

They’d been three years in their marriage—three good, strong, solid years—and the minute they stepped foot off that plane onto Indiana soil, he’d started pulling away.

She’d let him. She hadn’t fought it once. She’d been confused. Scared. Hurt. She’d let that show. It had killed him, seeing that, seeing what he was doing to her, but he didn’t quit doing it. He didn’t once cease in his efforts at driving her away.

And in those three years she hadn’t once asked him what was in his head. What was making him drive a wedge between them. What was pushing him to kill their happy.

She hadn’t even begun to put up a fight.

Eight years later, she decided to put up a fight.

Staring at that picture, all they had, all they were, all he’d wanted, all that had fucked with his head, all the harm he’d done to her, all the pain he’d caused surfaced and he gave it a second of his time.

Eight years.

Then Cher’s bravery, smashing through that fortress she had every reason to build around herself to wake up that morning and look at him the way she did, touch him the way she did, brush her lips against his throat, take his mouth, moved all thought of Mia aside.

Cher’d had it tough in a way that even in twenty years on the force he hadn’t seen anyone fucked by life as much as her.

But it hadn’t even taken her a week to break through the walls she’d built to guard her heart to start letting him in. It got fucked up, but she’d still done it.

Not eight years.

Not even a week.

That was all Merry needed.

He picked up the picture, tore it in half, in quarters, in eighths, then toed his trash bin and tossed it inside.

After that, he went to his fridge to get a beer before he went to his couch and turned on the TV.

It was Tuesday.

Tomorrow was Wednesday.

Which meant it had been a week.

Cher’s time was up.

* * * * *

Ethan

Wednesday Morning

His mom’s phone beeped.

He went to it and saw the text from his gramma telling them they needed to figure out a time to have a family dinner.

He opened his mouth to yell at his mom as he engaged her phone, punching in her password, going to her texts.

He closed his mouth when his mom’s texts came up.

There was a line that said Merry.

Merry, a cool guy, a cop, a badass—not an in-your-face badass like Cal, but still a badass who would be able to stop anything bad from ever happening to his mom. A cool guy, cop badass who looked all natural holding his mom’s hand.

He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself.

He touched the line with Merry’s name.

He read the string, scrolling with his finger, his eyes screwing up, not understanding.

Talked to Ryker. He’s been briefed by Tanner. He’s all over the church lady.

That means you broke your promise to me. Right to my face, you promised. You lied.

You know what that means, Merry. You shared my shit. That means we’re over in every way we can be over.

DONE.

They were over?

There was something between his mom and Merry to be over?

She’d told him there wasn’t.

But she hadn’t told him the truth.

She was protecting him.

Again.

Ethan felt his heart beating real hard.

There were words in the message line that hadn’t been sent.

I fucked us up, baby, and I’m so fucking sorry.

She called Merry “baby.” She didn’t call anyone “baby” unless she liked them a whole heckuva lot.

It said I fucked us up.

His mom and Merry were an us!

And they were fighting.

“Kid! You want hash browns for breakfast or what?” his mom called.

She was coming his way.

Ethan bit his lip.

Then he hit send.

Real quick, he typed in, Don’t text. If you forgive me, come see me.

He sent that too.

Then, super quick, he moved to his gramma’s text string just as his mom hit the kitchen.

Screen out, he waved her phone at her. “Gramma wants us to plan a family dinner.”

“I’ll get right on that after we get back from DC for the dinner the president and first lady are putting on in our honor.”

Ethan burst out laughing.

His mom was totally funny.

And because of that and all the other cool that was his mom, Merry would come. Ethan knew it.

No texting. Merry was like Colt. He was a real dude. Ethan was sure he didn’t play games. Ethan knew this because Merry hadn’t messed around when he was worried about that guy who was running around with a gun in their neighborhood. Even if his mom was trying to play things cool for Ethan’s sake, Merry kept close to look out for Ethan and his mom. So Ethan knew Merry wouldn’t mess around with stuff like that. Not stuff that was important.

Stuff like his mom.

They’d talk. They’d make up. His mom could be stubborn, but Merry would break through.

They thought he was a kid. They thought he didn’t see. They thought he didn’t hear.

But he saw. He heard. He watched, because he sensed what he was seeing was how it should be and it felt good, being around the way they were.

That being that sometimes Feb could be stubborn too, and Colt broke through. So could Vi, and Cal always broke through too. Rocky was full of attitude—she was Merry’s sister so he knew all about that—and Tanner always just thought it was funny, and when he laughed at her, Rocky didn’t get ticked. Her face got all soft like she loved him even more because the way she was made him laugh.

Ethan’s mom was super funny. She’d make Merry laugh all the time.

So they’d make up. Merry would see to that. Merry was in no way a stupid dude, and any guy would want a lady who’d make him laugh all the time. Ethan knew that for certain. He knew it because Colt did, so did Cal, Mike, Tanner. And when Ethan found his babe, that was what he would want too.