Second Chances: A Romance Writers of America Collection (Stark World 2.50)

Taking a moment, she replied. "Yeah, Rye, it's me."

Silence stretched. She could hear him breathing. Hear her pulse pounding in her ears. After what felt like forever, she heard him clear his throat.

"I wasn't sure if this was still your number."

"I was in the shower."

Her husband remained silent as heat burned on her cheeks, realizing she'd just told him something as intimate as being completely naked. Her nipples beaded up tight, but Mika rolled her eyes at herself and pulled the towel more firmly around her chest. Must have been the air conditioner on full blast. Nothing else. Definitely not hearing Rye's voice reverberate through her.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she continued, "You said we needed to talk. It's been a long time, Rye. A long time ... I figured I owed you at least a return call."

"Baby, you owe me a hell of a lot more than that." His tone was thick with emotion. There was pain, but it was the anger that sent a shiver along her spine. He sounded filled with rage, and yet he called her baby as tenderly he always had.

But he was right. She owed him his son. Guilt resurfaced with a vengeance. Mika used a corner of the towel to catch a stray tear. As much as she loved her husband--had always loved him--their future had died the same night as their son had.

"You're right," she whispered. If she spoke any louder, he'd hear her voice crack on a sob.

"Damn, baby." He mumbled some curse words. They were muffled, hardly audible, but she knew him well enough to know. "Mika, I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

She gulped. "Okay." She wanted to feel the anger she heard in his tone. Wanted to feel anything but loss. Instead, it was as if the three years had melted away and she was as raw as if she'd left him yesterday. "You said we need to talk?"

"Yeah. We do. But it should be in person. Can you meet me?"

She didn't want to. But it was time. Past time. She nodded, then rolled her eyes again knowing he couldn't see her. "I guess so. What did you have in mind?"

"That spot you liked on the corner of Truxel and Bell?"

"Fireside Cafe? All right. When?"

"An hour?"

Mika scoffed. "I'll need longer. My hair air dried." It'd take her a while to work out all the tangles and knots.

He chuckled, deep and husky. His low laughter was a soothing balm; it warmed and caressed little bits of her soul she'd forgotten existed.

"Leave it," he said, "I always loved your natural curls."

Mika closed her eyes as she inhaled and leaned her head against the wall, allowing the tension to ease from her shoulders. She smiled at his words. She'd heard them so many times, especially before bed, when he'd wind his fingers into her wild, tangled hair, and hold her in place while he kissed her. Made love to her. Fucked her. Heat churned low in her belly. It'd been a long time since her husband had made her smile.

"So an hour?"

His question shook her from her memories. She dreaded the inevitable conversation. She dreaded seeing him. But she couldn't wait to be near him either. She nodded as she spoke. "All right. Fireside Cafe in an hour."

"See you soon, baby."

See you soon, baby. Her hands were shaking again, his voice wrecking her. She took a few deep breaths and pushed herself from the floor. She was going to see her husband in an hour. Three years had been long enough.

LEANING BACK IN THE too small metal patio chair, Rye tilted his face toward the afternoon sun. He tried to relax. Tried to slow the pulse drumming behind his temples. Taking a breath, he rolled his shoulders to ease the building tension, then scrubbed a hand up over his face and around his head. He had to get a grip. To find a way to contain his emotion. To settle his anger before it boiled over.

He'd been headed to the Fireside Cafe when he'd called his wife in the first place, knowing it'd been her favorite joint for a quick bite. Hoping, just as he'd done so many other times over the past few years, he'd catch her there. Force her into a conversation. He hadn't expected her to answer the call today and sure as fuck didn't expect her return call.

His heart raced. Every muscle in his body quivered with restraint and anticipation. "Shit," he muttered, glancing at his watch. She was already fifteen minutes late, and chances were she wouldn't show up at all. She'd been a ghost for nearly three years. She'd walked out the door and disappeared from his life as if she'd been a figment of his imagination. A combination of his sweetest dreams and most horrifying nightmares.

He growled, his frustration taking over. He'd been tortured for years not knowing if she was alive even, calling time and time again and getting nothing. No replies. No acknowledgments. Nothing. Poof, she'd been gone. Eventually, he'd given up hope and convinced himself he was over her.

But then today--today--she'd spoken to him, and all the old feelings rushed in. She'd said his name on the phone in her sweet, silken tone, and he was taken back to a decade ago when they'd first started dating, when everything was pure and real and filled with burning passion. Now the passion was contaminated with hurt and rage. But the love remained even though he'd convinced himself otherwise. Her voice, the crack of pain when she spoke, reminded him how deep the love had run.

Thirty-two minutes late. "Fuck this," he muttered, shoving the chair from the table. He'd waited too long to be stood up after she'd finally answered. As he was about to stand, he saw her. She stood on the sidewalk outside the small patio area of the cafe. Watching him.