Page 215 of Deceit

“We need a plan,” Kyson says. “Come on, let’s go grab something to eat.”

I climb in with Mills in the backseat, and we drive off.

None of us come up with something we can agree on because Emmy isn’t with us.

And, again, this all started with her.

With my family out of the house and on their way down to Florida, I didn’t want to be alone.

Which is insane because normally I was and am until about a year ago.

But now that I know Emmy is out and about, her head all sorts of crazy, I need to be at her side.

I need her to be within an arm’s length of me and nowhere else.

Sneaking into her apartment again was easy. I realized that I don’t have her new cell or burner number, and I gave her fifteen seconds to answer the door when I lightly knocked—respectfully and shit.

I find Emmy sleeping, curled into a defensive ball alone and against everything she’s had to face.

She must miss her kids.

The fact that she can’t wake up with them in the middle of the night and cuddle them back to sleep. To feed and change them and whatever else you do with babies.

So the need to end this quickly weighs heavily on my shoulders. So I can give her the peace of mind she needs and the path to move on.

Crawling into bed at her side, I gently wrap my arm around her waist and pull her into my chest.

My face nestles in the crook of her shoulder and head, and I whisper her name like a prayer. One that I’ve needed answered for years with no response back.

She hums in response, hearing me and this time not fighting the fact that I’m back—in her space, against her body that I just used hours ago to tamper down the anxiety and fear that’s nested in my genetic code.

“Do you have a plan?” I ask, brushing my hand down her clothed torso. She nods sleepily, and I leave it as that for her to tell me in the morning.

We’ll do this how she wants with the exemption that we’re with her.

Cupping her soft cheek, I turn her face so that I can reach her lips. “Emmy.”

“Mhm?”

“I love you.” Her head pulls back, and with my body shadowing most of the light coming from the curtains, I can’t tell if her eyes are open. “I’ve loved you since before we got married. It was no joke for me. I had a lot of liquid courage and an opportunity to blow it off if you said no. But you said yes… and I could never let you go, Emmy. You could slay me open, and I’d still crawl back to you. You fucking scare the shit out of me. I swear I felt like I was slowly dying every day I believed you dead.”

I feel her shake her head against my palm. “But…I have kids.”

I kiss the tip of her nose. “I know, I saw them. That means I can’t love you?”

“They’re babies.”

I kiss her chin. “No shit.”

“Bishop,” she says tiredly. “They’re a lot of work.”

I pull at the straps of Emmy’s tank top and lay my lips to her collar bone. “I like work.”

“We can’t even communicate, let alone raise children together.”

Her breast spring free from her shirt and my tongue dashes across one of her budded nipples. “I just told you I love you, wife.” I suck on the tip then say, “What else do you want to know?”

“Why?” Her greedy little body arches a tad for more. “Why didn’t you just tell me so we could’ve avoided all this.”

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