forget about you before the tape runs out,” she says on a shaky voice just as another tear falls. Climbing up into the bed next to her, I throw my arm around her like my favorite character Terrance does in The Sky’s Limit.
“I won’t forget about you, Maddie. I promise.”
Pushing from my chair, I roll the script in my hand and walk toward my mark.
This one is for you, Maddie.
Mila
Humming to the radio, I drive down the stretch of road leading to our beach house, hopes for the night floating around my head, a bag of supplies in my back seat. It’s only when I’m close to home that I see endless rows of cars parked on either side of the street. “What in the hell?” I mumble after clicking my signal to see our driveway full. I manage to find a spot several houses down. Giving myself a little pep talk, I carry the bags that originally felt light in weight that now weigh heavy in my arms as I’m forced to haul them to the house. The sun beats down on my shoulders and music blares from all corners of our home as I approach. Opening our front door, I feel a thud and peek my head around. A man I’ve never seen greets me. “I think you might have the wrong house, miss. This is Lucas Walker’s place.”
“Is it?” I snap, balancing the bags on my leg and holding up my wedding ring. “Does this gain me entry?”
“That’s Walker’s wife, you idiot,” another guy says, stepping toward me with a grin. “Sorry about him.”
“And you are?”
“Lance, I’m one of the crew.”
“Ah,” I say as I attempt to shove through the warm bodies blocking the doorway, the bags getting heavier by the second. The smell of weed wafts into the living room from the kitchen terrace as I set the grocery bags down. A blonde in a bikini top and barely-there shorts raises my favorite wine glass and a bottle I’d been saving for a special occasion. “Would you like a glass? It’s really good.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” I say, snatching the bottle from her hand and hearing “bitch” muttered behind me. Taking the bag I’d waited weeks to pick up down the hall and into our bedroom, I toss it into our closet as I try to talk myself down from murder one to assault and battery. At least Lucas had made our bedroom off limits, and I was relieved to see there wasn’t a soul in sight. Standing in my closet, I fume as I tip the wine back.
What in the hell, Lucas?
“Just a party. Maybe he has a plan. Don’t freak. Be the cool wife. Don’t kill him. Don’t kill him.” The longer I swig, the easier it is to try to relax. That is until I hear a loud roar come from the living room and glass shatter.
“Come on, really?” Sipping more wine, I count to a thousand before stepping out of our bedroom. Lucas loves this house and is typically highly protective of it rarely ever inviting anyone over, especially when he’s working.
Rule two. Go with it and trust.
Swallowing more wine straight from the bottle, I look around the top floor for any sign of Lucas and come up empty. The music stops suddenly and is replaced by the unmistakable sound of an organ, drums, and a guitar. Don Henley’s “Dirty Laundry” blares from every speaker.
It’s then I hear the unmistakable voice of one of my favorite people in the world. “Stop your whining, if I’m going to tolerate this frat party, I’m the deejay. That’s right, bow down, bow down to the King!”
Unable to stop my grin, I land at the stairs of the gym and see Stella on my elliptical with a bottle of tequila in hand.
“Crowne,” Reid corrects from the porch. “That’s bow down to the Crowne. That’s what you meant to say right, wife?”
Stella’s eyes bulge a little before she nods. “Of course.”
“Thought so,” Reid says, chuckling. He watches her with amusement while she picks up her pace on the machine. “Put that tequila down, babe. I’m not carrying you out of here.”
“You so will carry me out of here, and you’ll love it,” she sasses back. “Besides it’s Cinco De Mayo.”
That’s when Rye steps in. “Uh, Stella, aren’t you the one who says every day you aren’t from Mexico?”
She pauses her exercise and takes a sip from her bottle. “It’s complicated.” They both crack up, and I