Page 45 of Savior

I wiped the stray droplets of water from my face before looking at him. His expression was unreadable, leaving me to guess as to whether he was joking or not. “Hardly. It’s probably the office updating my caseload for tomorrow.”

His eyes began to drift closed as he asked, “Is your mom still trying to reach you?”

Here it was.

My chance to ask my husband what really happened the night my father was shot. He’d just given me the perfect segue. All I had to do was open my mouth and ask.

“No,” I lied, the words I needed lodged somewhere deep within my chest.

He hesitated and rubbed at his temple before stating, “Good.”

“The night,” I began. “The night of Dakota’s wedding—”

“C’mon, Katy girl. Let’s get some clothes on. I’m fucking freezing to death in here.” He jumped up and grabbed a couple of towels from the warming rack, wrapping one around his waist and the other around my shoulders.

“Nate,” I tried again.

“Look.” He stopped in the doorway. “I’m exhausted. Can we discuss this in the morning? I just don’t see the point of rehashing the same shit we’ve already talked about when I could be resting, you know?”

I swallowed, the taste of him suddenly bitter against my tongue. “Yeah. Get some rest. There’s chicken on the stove—”

“I’m just gonna crash, babe.” He leaned down and kissed my forehead before going into the bedroom. I followed him, watching in confusion as he stripped the towel off and climbed under the sheets with a sigh. “God, what a fucking long day. You coming to bed?”

“I—” I gnawed on the corner of my lip. “I’ll just clean up the kitchen. Want me to bring you a plate?”

There was no response. His soft snores filled the room, and I realized, with more than a little frustration, that he was already asleep. My concerns had been dismissed as nothing more than the ‘same shit’ while the dinner I’d spent an hour making went to waste on the stove.

I grabbed my bathrobe off the back of the bathroom door and tied the belt around my waist before slipping back out into the kitchen.

It wasn’t the first time it had happened. There were some nights he barely made it through the door before collapsing in exhaustion.

I scraped the chicken into a large plastic container before dropping the skillet into the sink, hoping the noise had been enough to wake him.

My actions were petty, I knew that. Nate had never been one to stay up late when he’d just come off a long shift at the hospital, but tonight of all nights, I’d needed him to do just that.

“He wasn’t too tired for sex,” I noted wryly. I started the dishwasher before glaring down at the sink full of bubbles, deciding to leave the skillet for Nate to take care of in the morning.

“Just too tired for any conversation related to the Quinn family,” I muttered as I retrieved the counter cleaner from under the sink.

I needed to put the rumors to rest, to quiet the chaos of my mind.

Didn’t he understand that?

I jumped when my phone chimed again, alerting me to yet another email. The illuminated screen showed that I’d missed a call and had a voicemail from Dakota.

She usually preferred text messaging to picking up the phone and having an actual conversation. My skin prickled with worry that something might’ve happened with the baby and I dropped the dishtowel on the counter before playing it.

“Hey, Kate. I guess you’re still ignoring all of us because… sweet potato fries, I don’t know why you’re avoiding us. Maybe you think that if you stick your head in the sand then you can pretend that nothing ever happened, but you’re wrong. Dad’s still out there and—what? I am getting to the point… just give me a second. Lauren says hi.”

I shook my head with a smile, suddenly missing her so much that it made my chest ache. I longed for her long-winded rants where even she had no idea what she was talking about by the end of it.

“Anyway, so something happened this afternoon. I was shopping for baby furniture with Mama—before you get all butt hurt, I did invite you, but you never got back to me. So, we were at the boutique and Lauren met us. I don’t think this line is secure. Lauren, do you think it’s okay?”

Secure?

Had my mother somehow convinced her that she was living in a spy novel?

“Lauren thinks it’s fine, but I’m more comfortable using code, okay? So, Lauren showed up and said that she wanted to get the, um, cookies that Dad always wanted to have. Mama tried to tell her that it was dangerous because of… cholesterol. God of thunder, this is hard. Mama wouldn’t let her because—”

---