Damn Wright (The Wrights 2)

Maizey lifted a hand and started ticking off observations. “You don’t wear your ring. You haven’t set a date. You refuse to start planning a wedding. You avoid looking for dresses. You won’t move in with him. He doesn’t support your dream of working with Doctors Without Borders. He’s moving you away from your family to a place you hate—”

“Stop.” Emma put up both hands. “I know you love me, and I value your opinion. Maybe I’m a little more hesitant to jump in with both feet than Liam is, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want it. I’ve been down this road before, and it ended badly.” Oh so badly. “It’s only natural for me to be more reserved.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll drop it. But I’m here if you want to talk.” She pushed off the wall and smirked. “You’d better get back to the ER and cover those fictitious patients.”

3

Emma pushed through the ER exit doors, relieved she’d have the rest of the night to herself. She was thinking of a hot bubble bath and a bottle of wine as she strolled toward the parking lot, searching for her car key on the key ring.

The fall night air was crisp. People came and went from the ER; others waited for family or friends, milling around benches and cars in the lot.

Something drew her attention to the right. To a man leaning against the grille of a Jeep, ankles crossed. Something about the languid confidence in his stance reminded Emma of Dylan, which meant she’d been thinking about him way too much lately. But she felt like her fears of moving forward with Liam were all about what had happened in her past. A past Liam didn?

??t even know about.

She thought she’d be able to put it all behind her when the divorce finally came through. But that had happened four years ago, and it was obvious by the way she couldn’t bring herself to turn the channel when he came on television that there were still hooks to Dylan lingering in her subconscious.

Tired and hungry, she thought about stopping for something to eat on her way home as she slid her key into the lock.

“Emma.” The male voice instantly sparked fire in her chest. A waterfall of awareness spilled down her spine.

Now men were starting to sound like Dylan. She had to find a way out of this spiral.

She glanced toward the man, now standing twenty feet away, in front of her car. His face was still mostly hidden by the shadow of his ball cap, but his build, his movements, the angle of his jaw…

He swept the hat off his head and ran a hand through his dark hair. “Sorry. It’s me. Dylan.”

The overhead light illuminated his face, and her stomach fell straight to her feet. Her breath stalled in her lungs.

Dylan?

She’d just seen him on the television, a world away. She darted a look around the parking lot, trying to connect with something concrete, to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating. Nope, still at the hospital.

She returned her attention to Dylan. Dylan. She could not believe Dylan Wright stood on American soil, just feet away.

Crazy shit happened inside her. Things she couldn’t begin to understand. Heat exploded in her stomach. Tension coiled in her muscles. Haze filled her head.

The concept of time bent like an image in a funhouse mirror. Emma felt like no time had passed, instantly followed by the sensation of being in a completely different lifetime.

She closed her eyes and gave her head a shake. Her head went light, and she put a hand on her car to steady herself. Then she opened her eyes again, sure he’d be gone.

But Dylan still stood there.

“Are you okay?” He took a step toward her. For a reason she couldn’t explain, she took a step back. He stopped. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“What— What are you doing—” Her mind veered to his family. “Are Gypsy and Miranda okay? The baby?”

A crooked smile tilted his mouth, the one that had endeared him to her over a decade ago. “Yeah, yeah. Everyone’s fine. I’m just visiting.”

She didn’t understand the word. The concept. Not from Dylan. “Visiting.”

“Yeah. I wanted to meet Cooper.”

That struck her like a brick. Just like that, her partially healed scab ripped wide open. “Seriously? You’d fly around the world to meet your nephew, but couldn’t be bothered to pick up a fucking phone for your wife?”

Air leaked through his teeth. His shoulders dipped, and he looked at the ground. “I, uh”—he turned the hat in his hands—“I was hoping we could talk.”

“Talk. Now. Eight years after you said you never wanted to see me again.”