Page 103 of Broken Halo
I give his hand a squeeze. “I love our house.”
“I do, too. I’d lose you in this fucker. I’m also surprised we didn’t have to swim through a moat with crocs snapping at our asses to get to the front door.”
“Oh, I bet they know—” but I don’t have a chance to finish what I’m saying because I’m right. They must have security coming out the ying-yang because one of the enormous front doors opens and an older, yet fit and healthy-looking man, stands at the threshold.
No sooner do we have a chance to climb up the grand steps to him, does he greet Trig. “Easton. It’s good to see you.
Trig offers his right hand while still holding mine. “Dr. Toussaint.”
He offers me a small smile before looking back to Trig. “You can call me Aleron. Heck, you can even call me Mr. A. Your mother did.”
“This is Ellie. She’s my,” Trig starts and hesitates, glancing over at me before finishing, “we’ll be married soon.”
I feel my eyes go big. “Is that your proposal? Because if so, it sucked. But I accept.”
Trig narrows his eyes on me.
“Ellie Montgomery,” Aleron drawls. “Faye mentioned you a time or two.”
I pull my hand away from the man I’m going to marry to greet the infamous doctor. “It’s nice to meet you.”
It’s late in the evening and the sun has already disappeared behind the horizon, daylight quickly disintegrating in its wake as we walk through the grand entryway, following Aleron into a room at the front of the house. I thought I grew up in luxury. This is what you would call royalty, Texas-style, but with no cowhides or original horse paintings. This place is straight-up fancy … fancy ass with a capital A.
But I’m not looking for a Van Gogh or Monet. Nope. I’m looking for family pictures—snapshots, formal portraits … at this point, my eager curiosity will accept anything.
But there’s nothing.
Nothing but fancy-ass shit, which makes me really glad Griffin isn’t here because Trig does not exaggerate—he’s always sticky. But he’s a baby. Aren’t all babies sticky? I wonder what it was like for Trig’s sister to grow up in such a palace. I can’t imagine she and Trig could have anything in common.
“How are you doing, Easton? It’s been about a month since your mother passed. She was very much a part of our small family. Tommie and I miss her every day.”
“I’m good. We’re moving into her house,” Trig answers.
He smiles and sits across from us. “I’m sure that would make her very happy.”
Trig clears his throat. “I’m not sure how to start. My mother was with you a very long time. You helped her with her divorce—I’m sure you know of my father.”
Aleron answers quickly but efficiently, studying my future husband like he would a brain tumor he’s trying to decide how to eradicate. “I do.”
Trig must sense it too, because he gets down to business. “He’s out of jail.”
Controlled and steady, I’m sure from years of experience in the operating room, Aleron doesn’t miss a beat. “I see. I appreciate you informing me of this. Please don’t take this the wrong way because it’s good to see Faye’s son, but why did you come here to tell me this?”
“He’s been staking out your street. I have a tracker on his car and have hired a private investigator to follow him.”
Aleron’s jaw goes taut, finally exhibiting a human reaction, something to tell us he’s bothered by this like he should be. “And do you have an idea of why he’d be interested in this street?”
Trig doesn’t have a chance to answer, because from somewhere deep in the manor, we hear voices. All of a sudden, Aleron isn’t calm or steady. He’s alert and tense, standing in a rush and moving to the far end of the room that we didn’t enter from. Aleron’s tone isn’t calm or welcoming when he yells, “Tommie, we have company. Faye’s son is here.”
The voices get closer and louder but it’s hard to make out what they’re saying because they’re arguing. Some moms, whys, stops, and nos rise above the jumbled words that have become an argument.
“Tommie,” Aleron yells again and starts out the door and I grab Trig’s forearm.
“But I want to meet Faye’s son since you wouldn’t let me go to the funeral.”
What?
I gasp.
