Damn Wright (The Wrights 2)

“Your what?”

It was all crystalizing in the moment. And it made so much damn sense. “My attorney. He got ahold of you and told you about the house.”

“What house?”

Anger hardened her walls to stone. “I’m surprised money would motivate you to fly halfway around the world when nothing else would. But the more I think about it, the more I realize I never really knew you.”

He straightened and pinned her with a look she only recognized from television. The man she’d married had never looked at her so grimly. “You’re the only person who’s ever really known me.”

His words hit her barriers and dropped. They didn’t have the slightest effect on her. Emma found that both encouraging and heartbreaking.

“As soon as I can sell Aunt Shelly’s house, I’ll send you your half of the money. Nashville property may have taken a spike in value over the last few years, but you’ll be disappointed by what her house is worth. You won’t be getting as much as you may think.”

“Emma, I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I don’t want your money.”

She didn’t believe any of that. And she couldn’t take this anymore.

Emma dropped her feet to the ground and stood, grabbing her bag on the way. “You didn’t have to fly across the globe for this. You could have just called or emailed or sent a fucking letter. Unlike you, I would have responded.”

She took a deep breath, blinked back the tears stinging her eyes, and finally said what she’d never had a chance to say all those years ago. “Goodbye, Dylan.”

4

The next morning, Dylan slowed in front of Emma’s apartment in the beater truck Marty had loaned him and parked at the curb.

The building was a two-story, townhome-type setup. The ancient Honda Civic she’d gotten into at the hospital was parked on the street.

He shut down the engine and stared at the apartment. He was about to take one major leap of faith. He’d never imagined doing something like this, but he hadn’t anticipated how deeply seeing Emma again would touch him either.

They might have been apart for eight long years, might have even grown into different people, but the sight of her still made his heart float. The sound of her voice still made tingles race across his skin. Her eyes still sparked with passion when she was angry, reminding him of the soul-rocking sex they had after a fight. It made him remember how they’d sometimes fought just so they could make up.

He hadn’t gotten any sleep last night. Seeing Emma vividly reminded him of everything he’d lost and showed him exactly what he wouldn’t get to experience in the future. The anguish over all they’d lost coalesced at the center of his chest beneath his ribs, throbbing like a bruise.

But it was the sight of her bare left ring finger that had tripped a switch somewhere inside him and sent him into a researching frenzy that had lasted most of the night. By the time morning came, Dylan had a fresh perspective and a new lease on life. And now, he looked at her apartment with determination burning in his belly.

He took out his cell and texted the number he’d found for her.

Hey, Emma, it’s Dylan. I’m sorry about blindsiding you last night.

He paused, searching for the best words. Words that wouldn’t set off her temper.

If you want to give me your attorney’s information, I can save him the trouble of searching for me. I’ll just go to his office and sign whatever paperwork is needed regarding your aunt’s house. Can we find a time to talk? You name the time and place.

He chewed on his lip for a long second. Since he’d set eyes on her again, his stomach felt like it was in a constant state of suspension, trapped somewhere between flying and plummeting. He pressed Send.

Dylan stared at the phone. “Come on, Em,” he murmured. “Work with me.”

His phone dinged. How’d you get my number?

Based on her reaction to his appearance last night, he’d known this wouldn’t go over big with her.

Before he could respond, another text came in. Never mind. Stupid question. Freaking journalists.

Ellipses appeared beneath the message, signaling Emma was typing, so he waited to see what she’d say.

Her next message surprised him. I’m heading out now. We can meet at a Starbucks or something.

“Progress.” He started to type back when movement drew his gaze up. Emma stepped out of a second-floor apartment, phone in one hand, purse over her shoulder.