“It was a rough day at work. I might have run into the car door when I was leaving for the airport.”
Abby pulled me against her again, digging her fingers into my back. “I’m so glad you’re home. The kids are in bed, but they refuse to go to sleep until you tuck them in.”
I pulled back and nodded, and then bent at the waist, cupping Abby’s round stomach. “How about you?” I asked my third child. I kissed Abby’s protruding belly button, and then stood up again.
Abby rubbed her middle in a circular motion. “He’s still cooking.”
“Good.” I pulled a small box from my carry-on and held it in front of me. “Eleven years today, we were in Vegas. It’s still the best day of my life.”
Abby took the box, and then tugged on my hand until we were in the entryway. It smelled like a combination of cleaner, candles, and kids. It smelled like home.
“I got you something, too.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” She smiled. She left me for a moment, disappearing into the office, and then came out with a manila envelope. “Open it.”
“You got me mail? Best wife, ever,” I teased.
Abby simply smiled.
I opened the lip, and pulled out the small stack of papers inside. Dates, times, transactions, even emails. To and from Benny, to Abby’s father, Mick. He’d been working for Benny for years. He’d borrowed more money from him, and then had to work off his debt so he wouldn’t get killed when Abby refused to pay it off.
There was only one problem: Abby knew I worked with Thomas . . . but as far as I knew, she thought I worked in advertising.
“What’s this?” I asked, feigning confusion.
Abby still had a flawless poker face. “It’s the connection you need to tie Mick to Benny. This one right here,” she said, pulling the second paper from the pile, “is the nail in the coffin.”
“Okay . . . but what am I supposed to do with it?”
Abby’s expression morphed into a dubious grin. “Whatever you do with these things, honey. I just thought if I did a little digging, you could stay home a little longer this time.”
My mind raced, trying to figure a way out of this. I had somehow blown my cover. “How long have you known?”
“Does it matter?”
“Are you mad?”
Abby shrugged. “I was a little hurt at first. You have quite a few white lies under your belt.”
I hugged her to me, the papers and envelope still in my hand. “I’m so sorry, Pidge. I’m so, so sorry.” I pulled away. “You haven’t told anyone, have you?”
She shook her head.
“Not even America or Shepley? Not even Dad or the kids?”
She shook her head again. “I’m smart enough to figure it out, Travis. You think I’m not smart enough to keep it to myself? Your safety is at stake.”
I cupped her cheeks in my hand. “What does this mean?”
She smiled. “It means you can stop saying you have yet another convention to go to. Some of your cover stories are downright insulting.”
I kissed her again, tenderly touching my lips to hers. “Now what?”
“Kiss the kids, and then you and I can celebrate eleven years of in-your-face-we-made-it. How about that?”
My mouth stretched into a wide grin, and then looked down at the papers. “Are you going to be okay with this? Helping take down your dad?”
Abby frowned. “He’s said it a million times. I was the end of him. At least I can make him proud about being right. And the kids are safer this way.”
I laid the papers on the end of the entryway table. “We’ll talk about this later.”
I walked down the hall, pulling Abby by the hand behind me. Jessica’s room was the closest, so I ducked in and kissed her cheek, careful not to wake her, and then I crossed the hall to James’s room. He was still awake, lying there quietly.
“Hey, buddy,” I whispered.
“Hey, Dad.”
“I hear you had a rough day. You all right?” He nodded. “You sure?”
“Steven Matese is a douche bag.”
I nodded. “You’re right, but you could probably find a more appropriate way to describe him.”
James pulled his mouth to the side.
“So. You beat Mom at poker today, huh?”
James smiled. “Twice.”
“She didn’t tell me that part,” I said, turning to Abby. Her dark, curvy silhouette graced the lit doorway. “You can give me the play-by-play tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I love ya.”
“Love you, too, Dad.”
I kissed my son’s nose and then followed his mom down the hall to our room. The walls were full of family and school portraits, and framed artwork.
Abby stood in the middle of the room, her belly full with our third child, dizzyingly beautiful, and happy to see me, even after she learned what I’d been keeping from her for the better part of our marriage.