Page 108 of Knotted

With that, he strides out, leaving us in the heavy silence of the office.

I blow out a breath, feeling the tension in my shoulders ease just a hair. But it’s not over—not by a long shot. With Angi, nothing ever is.

Colby shakes his head, the weight of Angi’s latest shitshow pressing heavy between us. “I’m sorry about all this.”

I clap a hand on his shoulder, firm to ease the guilt clouding his eyes. “Don’t be. When your dad first hired me to keep an eye on her, I didn’t think I’d still be chasing after her ten years down the line.”

A tired laugh slips past my lips as I scrub the exhaustion from my face. But then, my fingers find my wedding band, and I give it a slow twirl. “And out of all this, I got Jules.”

I’d run through hell and back again for my girl, no questions asked.

My Peach Pop.

My wife.

CHAPTER 49

Brian

It’s only been a few days since I last saw my Jules, but it feels like forever.

I’m worn down to the bone, dragging with exhaustion, and all I can think about is a hot shower, a decent bed, and holding my wife for a straight week, no interruptions.

The second the wheels touch down in New York, it’s like stepping into a storm. Reporters swarm us like locusts on a summer field. We exit the plane, and they’re already shouting.

“Are you having an affair with Sydney Sun?”

“Is she pregnant?”

“Are you a throuple?”

A what?

“Is the divorcefinal?”

My heart seizes in my chest.Divorce?

What the fuck is going on?

My mind locks on the only thing that matters.Jules.

It takes less than a second to realize she won’t be at the house. Mostly because if she were, the place would be swarming with press, and Jules dodges reporters like a pack of zombies circling the last fresh brain.

Out of pure habit, I check my pockets for my phone. No surprise, it’s not there.

Colby pulls his out, tries to power it up. Dead, of course.

We finally,finally, manage to break free from the crowd, thanks to a friendly face in airport security—one of my former troops. He makes sure we’re left alone and even grabs a brand-new, fully charged cell from the nearest vendor.

For which I’ll happily owe him seats behind home plate for the next season’s Yankees games.

I dial Jules’s number. It rings. No answer.

Then I punch in the number I know by heart. “Tell me you’ve got a track on my wife.”

“I do,” Harrison says, his voice clipped. “She’s at her place. I’ve already got three guards posted to keep the media out. But we got there a bit too late...Trent Mercer from Mercer Media slipped in.”

My stomach drops. Trent Mercer? Of all people, that son of a bitch is with her? “And you didn’t kick his ass out because...?”

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