Dirty Stack (The Devious Games Duet 2)

She’s standing to the side of the booth we’re in. She’s positioned so she can talk to her father. But she’s staying at a distance behind me so that… what? So that she doesn’t have to look at me?

Sharp pain spreads through me at the sight of her.

“You sit down and talk to him, munchkin. This is bull-pucky ‘n you know it.” Her father points at her. “If you love him, at least try n’ fix it.”

He gets up and puts his coat on, dropping a twenty and a ten on the table. “Drinks are on me. Something for you too, Violet. Sit down and talk to your husband. Hope we’ll see you at Christmas, Killian.” He extends his hand. I rise and take it.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Kev. Lose the sir.”

He kisses Violet on the cheek and then leaves, waving to the bartender on his way out the door.

I reach over and catch her by the hand. I squeeze.

Her hand is freezing. Her expression? Wrecked. She looks at me like she knows how I feel inside, because she feels it, too, and I want to fall to my fucking knees and plead for her to come home, to talk to me. To tell me what to do to get her back.

“Sit for a minute. Please? Let’s talk.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she says.

I wrap my arm around her and move her to where her father sat. She doesn’t protest. Instead she sits, leaving her coat on. She’s wearing a red ski jacket and a white knitted hat with little red rosebuds on it. A matching scarf.

The bartender walks over with his eyebrows up.

“Something to drink? A glass of wine?” I suggest.

She shakes her head.

“Something?” I push.

“Sparkling water with lemon,” she relents.

He nods and walks off.

I reach over with both hands and take her hands into mine.

“I miss you,” I say. “I miss you so fucking much.”

She stares at our hands, biting her lip. Her hands are limp, cold in mine.

I don’t like this.

She looks pale, sad. Almost ill. It makes me sick that I’ve done this to her. To us.

A glass of ice with a lemon wedge and bottle of San Pellegrino are deposited. She uses the opportunity to pull back from me and pour herself a glass.

At least she’s still wearing her rings. Seeing this gives me relief.

“I know we can’t talk here, not openly. Do you wanna come home so we can do that there?”

She shakes her head.

“The cameras are out of your office,” I say.

“I know,” she replies.

“I still look up your location twice a day so I know you’re safe,” I admit.

She says nothing, just bites her lip and stares into her water glass.

“Susanna wants us to fix it. Your parents want us to fix it. I want us to fix it. There’s just you.”

“There’s not just me,” she says softly. “There’s another factor and you know it.”

“I know. We can’t talk about that here though. Come home with me and we’ll talk there.”

She shakes her head, still not making eye contact. “That’s not a good idea.”

“Come with me. We’ll talk and then I can either drive you back to your grandfather’s or you can stay, and I’ll sleep in the guest room.”

She shakes her head. “I have to go. Grampa‘s expecting me back.”

“Talk to me in the car. We’ll sit for a minute.”

“I have to be up early for work tomorrow. I have an early meeting.”

There’s no point saying that our condo is closer to her office than her grandfather’s. She’s looking for any reason to not come home with me.

“How is your grandfather?”

“He’s good. He likes having me there.”

“I bet he’s worried about you too. Like your father is. Your mother. Hugh. They had a pow wow about how worried they are about you.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Your family loves you. I love you. I want to fix this. I have some ideas.”

“I have to go. This hurts too much.” She looks toward the door and the crease over her eyebrows as well as the tremble of her chin make me want more than anything to scoop her up in my arms and hold her close.

“Violet, baby…”

“I can’t.” She rises.

“Come see me. Tomorrow for dinner. We need to talk.”

“Killian…” she whines, wanting me to let it go.

But I’m done letting it go. I’ve given her time and it’s solved nothing. It’s made things worse. Space hasn’t made either of us feel better. We can’t resolve anything if we’re apart. She needs to come home.

“Look at me, please?” I request.

Her eyes move slowly to meet with mine, like she’s dreading doing this.

“Come home and we’ll negotiate about that other factor. I need you home. Come home or I’ll make decisions without your input.”

She flinches at the way I’ve said that. Yeah, I’m done fucking around with this. Seeing her like this, seeing her broken and sad like this? Pale, gaunt, not taking care of herself? It’s time for me to kick my own ass into gear and win my wife back.