I sat at my desk going over the appointments for the rest of the afternoon while sipping a cup of coffee. The fresh ink poking out from the bottom of the sundress I borrowed from Sara kept drawing my attention. Since I decided not to go home last night, I was thankful we were basically the same size. But she was a little shorter than me, making her dress reveal a little more skin than I preferred. It wasn’t so short that it was unprofessional, I was just a knee-length type of girl. Part of me knew it was to hide my scar. And it probably wasn’t even noticeable to most people, but it was to me. And that outweighed everything else.
But now, although it stung like hell, my new tattoo caused the scar to disappear completely.
I glanced at the clock and realized Amie still had another fifteen minutes with her client, so I grabbed the lotion I had gotten from Zane, the tattoo artist, out of my purse. I pulled the hem of the dress a little higher and wiped the cold ointment over my tender skin, biting my lip from the sting. Despite the tinge of pain, I couldn’t help but admire it. Sara was right, it wasn’t that bad. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get another one, but I didn’t regret this. It was beautiful.
The door opening startled me, causing me to jump and drop the packet of lotion onto the floor under my desk.
Someone entered the office, but his face was hidden by a large bouquet of flowers. My defenses immediately took front and center as the stranger got closer to me, and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I pulled my car keys from my top drawer and gripped the longest one between my index and middle finger just as my palms began to sweat.
I stood at attention and held my weapon behind my back, waiting for whatever came next. I was on guard to attack when a toothy-grinned kid popped his head around the floral arrangement. I let out a shaky breath, realizing how ridiculous I was acting. As if Duane would disguise himself as a florist and kill me right in the middle of the afternoon at my job.
“Hello,” I managed to squeak out and gave the young man the best smile I could muster, which wasn’t a very good one from the look of concern on his face.
“Hi, I have a delivery. I mean, obviously, right?” He grinned and shrugged, holding the glass vase toward me.
“Oh, okay. Yeah, sure,” I rambled, taking the arrangement from him and placing it on my desk along with my keys. I would wait and carry them to Amie’s office once her appointment left.
“Can you sign here, please, ma’am?” He pulled a small booklet from his back pocket.
“Oh sure.” I gave him a more genuine smile this time and grabbed my favorite blue pen from my desk.
“Okay great. Thanks, have a good day.” He gave me a small wave and headed back out the door, his feet shuffling quickly.
Once he was out of sight and the door closed behind him, I admired the beautiful flowers. They were a mixed variety of roses and foliage. The colors were soft and pretty. I bent down to inhale the sweet fragrance when the card caught my eye. It was addressed to me, not Amie. The idea that the flowers were for me never even crossed my mind. I just assumed they were from Amie’s husband.
I grabbed the small white envelope and ripped it open before I pulled the card from the pouch.
Being surprised at his gesture would be a definite understatement. Jackson had never sent me flowers. He hadn’t bought me any presents in years. His words weren’t really romantic or heartfelt, but I guess it was something. It was more than I expected, and it was enough to make me feel guilty for not going home last night or even answering his text when he asked where I was.
Regardless of how mad he’d made me, he was still my husband. I needed to go home and get past this. But I also needed him to understand my concerns and take this seriously.
Duane wasn’t just coming after me—he was coming after both of us. I was convinced of it, and no one could tell me otherwise.
I’d spent the last two hours staring at my bedroom ceiling. I was a paranoid wreck, and the fact that I was alone in this house was making everything so much worse. I’d sent Jackson a text from the office thanking him for the flowers and letting him know I would be home right after work so we could talk.
And I was. But he wasn’t anywhere around. He called around eight with a slur in his words to let me know he had worked late. But the background music and the sound of glasses clinking indicated he was sitting on a barstool and not on the clock. Anger bubbled up inside me as I tried to keep my voice calm, but I was anything but that. I almost packed a bag and went back to Sara’s, but I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. I was too disappointed.
In myself.
In Jackson.
In my marriage.
In my life.
And now, add to the mix that I was scaring myself with every sound I heard, checking the door and windows numerous times, and pacing the floors before giving up and staring at the ceiling.
Around three in the morning, I heard Jackson’s truck in the driveway. I rolled onto my side to avoid any interaction. I was angry and relieved at the same time. A small part of me had worried he wouldn’t make it home, and that Duane had managed to find him and seek revenge.
But as the aroma of stale cigarette smoke filled the air, along with the sound of unsteady, sluggish footsteps, anger led the charge.
I was sick of living this way.