Page 43 of Ripple Effect
“Why do you sound relieved?” I ask suspiciously.
“Get home and you’ll find out,” she teases. “What time will you be done at the office?”
We’re circling in preparation for landing. “I figure a few hours,” I say, praying our debrief doesn’t take long enough to make me a liar. Again.
“Okay. Text me when you’re ready to eat,” she says happily. “I love you.”
“I love you, Libby. Always.” Hearing the phone click in my ear, I hold on to it for a second more before stowing it in my cargo pants. When I glance up, both Sam and Iris are glaring at me. “What?” I ask.
“You need to tell her, Cal,” Iris tells me, not for the first time.
“Why? So she can worry every time I walk out the door?”
“No, because we’re all lying to her!” she cries. “You’re marrying her, for the love of God. She’s not a security risk. We should be able to—”
“No.” I cut her off. My eyes shift to Sam, who’s remained quiet throughout the exchange. “You agree with Iris.”
“You’ve been together for a year, Cal—since Nonna died. If you can’t trust her with this part of who you are, what kind of marriage are you going to have?” His words eerily remind me of what Bruce said to me the day Libby and I went jumping.
“It’s not that easy,” I grate out as our transport touches down. The team stands to gather their gear before making their way down the back of the plane. Nothing more is said until we’re all off the scalding tarmac and back in the outbuilding waiting to load up in the van to head back to Alliance. “I just want to protect her. I remember everything you said to me about her smile dying, Sam. Do either of you want to see it go away again because she’s afraid?” I admit softly.
Sam cringes even as Iris turns her face into his shoulder. I nod. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Turning to the other members of our eight-member team, I call out, “Load up. Debrief in one hour, and let’s make this one short, boys and girls. I want to get home tonight.”
A chorus of “Yes, sir” comes from the men and women I’ve served with since I was recruited for Alliance in college. In a lot of ways, I wish I could openly invite them to my wedding. I gave myself a pat on the back when I suggested to my future wife we hire security due to the press’s renewed interest in her family since our wedding announcement appeared in the papers. Libby had seen more than one member of the press lingering outside of Deja Vu, her brother reporting the same at the estate. With this being the first big family event since Dahlia Akin passed, she agreed.
Now, by paying an exorbitant fee, my team will get to see me bind my life to the woman I love.
I don’t care what it costs. I just want everything perfect that day.
* * *
Seven hours later,I cringe as I insert the key into the lock at our home in West Ashley and know I’m royally fucked. It’s just before midnight, and the house is dark save for the porch light burning.
Libby pissed I can deal with; Libby hurt is not a good thing. Even as I’m trying to figure out how to fix this, I get caught up in a web of something that immediately makes me wish I was armed. “Fuck,” I hiss out.
“Cal?” I hear a sleepy voice from the couch. I flick on the light on the hall table to illuminate the room enough to find my future bride dressed in what might be the sexiest nightie I’ve ever seen her wear. The butter yellow sets off her summer tan and dark hair.
Forget dinner—suddenly after two weeks away, I’m hungry for something different.
“Hey, baby. I’m sorry things went late.” I drop my bags and head in her direction before I realize I’m still twisted in whatever trap was set by the diabolically pissed-off woman now sitting on the couch with her arms crossed under her breasts.
Quickly, I set about untangling myself when one of the strings pulls something down to hit me in the head. It’s a Mylar balloon. Snarling, I whip it away from my face before my anger dies away.
Happy Birthday, Cal!is embossed on it.
“Oh, fuck. Libby…” I don’t care if I drag all the balloons with me, I need to hold her.
But not being hampered by a dozen balloons, she quickly darts away. “I know you don’t make a big deal of it. It was stupid, really. I’ll see you in bed when you come up.” And before I can say another word, she races up the stairs.
But not before I miss the tears in her eyes.
I pry my shoe off with the intent of leaving the guardian-like balloons behind when I freeze in place. Slowly, as if in a trance, I make my way to the dining room table where there are the kind of silver domed plate covers you only see in restaurants. Lifting it as if it’s going to bite, I realize it’s much worse because the thought that went into this is going to leave a hole in my chest like the one I inadvertently caused by not calling to tell Libby I’d be late.
It’s a preview of our wedding dinner: lobster, green beans, and mashed potatoes. And like the night, it’s completely ruined. Libby didn’t just want to give me a birthday surprise—she wanted to give me her excitement over what’s supposed to be the most special day of our lives.
“Fuck,” I whisper to no one in the empty room. All this sweet, beautiful woman has ever wanted was to love me, and I somehow keep fucking it up at every turn.
Not wanting Libby to have to deal with this the next day, I begin to clear the table while trying to figure out how to make it up to her because I never again want to see the light dim in her eyes.
