The Lost Fisherman (Fisherman 2)

“Good morning,” Rose said.

“Mor … ning …” I singsonged, wearing a grin that was nearly too big for my face.

“Did you have a fun night?” Rory asked before smirking.

I reached for the door handle. “Fun night. Fun morning. Fun shower. Just so much fun.”

Rose snorted a laugh.

“So help me … if Fisher doesn’t make this all okay in the end, he’s not going to live to see his next birthday.”

“Wow, babes. Prison really toughened you up,” Rose said, grabbing my mom’s hand and dragging her toward the sidewalk.

I didn’t want Fisher to miss his next birthday, but I loved seeing my mom on my team. It meant everything to me.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

For every step we took forward, it felt like we took two backward.

Fisher had to cancel dinner with us because his family (including Angie) were getting together when some of his extended family paid a surprise visit. That visit lasted the rest of the weekend.

Work on Monday and a mom of twins going into labor on Tuesday spilled over into Wednesday. I crashed when I finally got home. And by Thursday morning, Fisher was on his way to the airport with Angie for four days and three nights in Costa Rica.

I kept my chin up and feigned any confidence that tried to slip away when I had time to think about something other than pregnant mamas. On Friday morning, Fisher called me.

“Hey!” I answered my phone on my way to work.

“Good morning. You working?”

“On my way now.”

“Well, I fucking hate that I didn’t get to say goodbye in person.”

“It’s life.” I meant it, but it still didn’t ease my own disappointment. I want to say what a mature adult would’ve or should’ve said in that situation.

“Not the life I want.”

I smiled.

“Yeah, in-person goodbyes should be mandatory. How is Costa Rica?”

“Green.”

I laughed.

“What’s on the agenda for today?”

“Apparently massages and rehearsal dinner.”

“Massages, huh?” I pretended it was news to me. “Sounds relaxing. I could use a massage.”

“I’ll massage you when I get home.”

“Mmm … that would be amazing. How’s your room?”

With the king-sized bed.

“It’s nice.”

Nice. That was what he gave me. And I didn’t have the nerve to ask about the specific sleeping situation. It would have led to the “why don’t you trust me” speech.

“Where are you?”

“Just finished jogging on the beach. I’m in the lobby. I need to go back to the room and shower.”

Was he going to lock the door to the bathroom?

Jealousy, irrational or not, whacked away at my chest, making me hurt everywhere.

“Angie doesn’t jog?”

“She was still asleep.”

“Oh … are you sharing a room?”

Ugh! I hated playing dumb. Fishing. Waiting to catch him in a lie. But I couldn't make myself stop. It was a terrible feeling.

“Uh … yeah. The place is booked.”

“So you tried to get your own room?”

He sighed. “Reese, don’t do this. Nothing good will come of it. I’ll be home Sunday night. It’s just two more nights. I’m not happy about this situation, but we’ve discussed this ad nauseam. One month. It ends in one month. We’ve got this, right?”

I nodded. Of course he couldn’t see my nod or my pouty face.

“I love you today.”

I kept nodding.

“Reese?”

“Yeah.”

“I love you. You. Youuu. Okay? Don’t doubt that for one second. Go to my house. Crawl in my bed. And think of all the things I’m going to do to you when I get home on Sunday.”

“Yeah.”

“Jesus … stop. Give me more than a ‘yeah.’ Tell me you love me. Or be honest and tell me you’re pissed off that I agreed to come here. Give me something more than one emotionless word.”

I pulled into the clinic’s parking lot. “I love you. And I’m pissed off that you agreed to go to Costa Rica with your fiancée.”

“Stop calling her my fiancée,” he said with a defeated tone.

“Is she still wearing the diamond ring you gave her? When she introduces you to everyone at the wedding as her fiancé, are you going to correct her? If not, then she’s your fiancée. And I’m the slutty mistress.”

“Reese Capshaw, knock that shit off.”

I cringed, rubbing my hand over my face. Why couldn’t I stop? Why was I in self-destruction mode? And why couldn’t I get out of it?

The unfairest part for him was he had no way to make it right. Not while he was there with her. Fisher was helpless. And I was hell-bent on making him feel terrible. It wasn’t one of my finer moments, but it was honest. It was human.

“I’m at work now. I have to go.”

“This ends. When I get home this ends. I’m not doing this any longer. Fuck my memory. Fuck family loyalty. I can’t do this another month. I want you. That’s it. You. So go sulk. You have three days for your pity party. Then I’m going to tie you to …”