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PROLOGUE

MONA

“You sure you won’t come, babe?” John’s at the front door, helmet in hand, letting out the air conditioning.

My head’s pounding. I’ve been grinding my teeth at night, and the dull ache only gets worse as the day wears on. Aspirin won’t touch it anymore.

“Nah. I’ve got a headache.”

He puts his helmet down on the entry table. I wish he’d shut the door. The afternoon sun is unbearably bright.

He clumps to the bathroom and rummages around in the medicine cabinet, drops something, and curses.

I tuck myself as far as possible into the corner of the sofa and draw an afghan up to my nose.

“What are you looking for?” Now I can hear him pawing underneath the sink.

“Aspirin.”

“On the kitchen counter.” I channel surf, looking for something to put me to sleep. There’s a home improvement show with a man who looks like my father-in-law. He’s talking about chimney pots. Perfect.

John lumbers past the TV, and then he squats by the sofa. He goes to smooth my hair, and I duck. It’s really greasy. I haven’t shampooed it in…a while.

“Here.” He holds out two white pills in his giant palm. My husband’s a big man. Remember that show from the 80s where a sasquatch lived with a family in the suburbs? In any given social situation, John’s that bigfoot. He’s not hairy, though. He’s a good-looking guy. Rugged. The lumberjack type.

I push his palm away. “It won’t help.”

He sighs. “You’re dehydrated.”

“I just need some rest.”

“You got up at eleven.”

“I was up late last night.” I wish he’d stop arguing with me. We both know he’ll have a better time without me. I’m crappy company these days. “You’re gonna be late for the run.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t go. If you’re not feelin’ good.” He eyes the door. Which is still wide open.

“No. You go. I’m just gonna take a nap.”

“I could take a nap with you.” He tries to give me a grin, but worry crinkles the corners of his eyes. He looks tired and worn down, too. He needs a day with the boys. There’s no reason we both need to be miserable.

“Baby, I want you to go.”

He stays beside me for a moment longer, searching my eyes. I make a show of yawning, and I turn my head. He loves riding his bike. He’ll have a great time. Maybe while he’s gone, I can drag my butt into the shower. I could make a roast. I’d need to get up now to defrost it.

Maybe I could make pasta.

John rises to his feet. “Are you sure, baby?”

I wave my hand, rolling over to face the back of the sofa, tugging the afghan tighter around my body. Eventually, he tromps out, thankfully shutting the door behind him.

???

John’s late. I check my phone for the hundredth time. No text. He always texts when he’s gonna be late. He’s a firefighter, so he could’ve been called in. It’s happened before. But he calls or texts when he gets called in.

I pace the living room. It’s four o’clock in the morning. The run should have ended hours ago. Smoke and Steel is a club for firefighters and EMTs. They party, but most of them have babysitters they need to relieve.

I should call again. But if his voicemail picks up immediately one more time, I’m going to tear my hair out.

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