Unwritten

Unwritten

By

Tressie Lockwood

Unwritten

Copyright © February 2014, Tressie Lockwood

Cover art by For the Muse Designs © February 2014

Formatting by Bob Houston eBook Formatting

ISBN 978-1-939151-50-6

This is a work of fiction. All characters an
d events portrayed in this novel are fictitious or used fictitiously. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

Sugar and Spice Press

North Carolina, USA

www.sugarnspicepress.com

Chapter One

Evie opened her eyes. No sun shined through the window across the room, and as she strained to hear, she thought she picked up the sound of rain pinging against the little pail she’d left outside the last time she’d had the notion to garden. That dream had died a swift death, and Kian had called it.
Death.
She cringed against the word, hating it because it reminded her of the gnawing pain lodged in her chest.

She reached across to the empty spot beside her and felt no warmth. Tears gathered on her lashes, and she blinked them away then wiped her face. She thrust the sheet aside and rose. Now that she’d left the bed, she picked up other sounds in the house, the shower, but not in the master bedroom.

Standing in the adjacent bedroom doorway, she took in the rumpled sheets. Fresh tears gathered in her eyes. They were planning to make this room a nursery. In fact, she’d left swatches for paint color on the nightstand the last time she’d been in there. She peered over and noticed them gone. Kian must have put them away. She stroked her flat belly, one she worked hard to keep that way, but they’d both dreamed of it swelling as she carried their baby. They had even agreed for her to go off the pill, and they were trying hard to get her pregnant. Not last night, though. After several months, she hadn’t conceived, but Kian had told her to be patient. Before long, their little miracle would come.

She breathed in Kian’s unique scent, a cross between Gillette Sport and aftershave. The bathroom door hadn’t been shut all the way, and a desire to look at him overwhelmed her. His blurred figure stepped beneath the spray, she assumed to wash away the gel or shampoo. She remembered the feel of his warm skin, the hard planes and contours.

Look at me, being dramatic. We slept apart one night.
She pleaded in silence it wouldn’t continue. She already missed him, and it hurt to breathe without him. When the shower door opened, she jumped, her heart racing. She debated between darting from the room and staying put.

Her feet wouldn’t move. She met his blank gaze. “I—I wondered if you wanted any coffee?”

“No.” His answer came out abrupt, and he must have realized it because he added as an afterthought, “Thank you.”

Didn’t he realize if things were fine between them, he would have said something corny like, “all I need in the morning is you”? Of course, even if their relationship weren’t at a precarious point, the circumstances of a few days ago would kill the sentiment.
Kill
. There was another one of those words she didn’t want in her head this morning.

“Okay.” She turned and strode back to their room to shower and dress. The black dress clung too tightly and was too provocative for a funeral. She should have bought a new one, but Kian had said it didn’t matter. Didn’t matter how—for a funeral or because it was her?

Once she’d slipped her feet into heels, the same draw that always pulled her to him came over her, and she found herself back in the guest bedroom, standing behind him while he straightened his tie in the mirror. His broad shoulders called her fingers, so she smoothed the jacket across his back and flicked a speck of lint away. She met his gaze.

“Are you still angry with me?” she asked.

“I’m not angry.”

She ran her hands down his back and circled her arms around his waist from behind. Even with three-inch heels on her feet, he extended several inches taller. She pressed her lips to his nape.

“You’re going to get lipstick on my collar, Evie.”

She stiffened. “I’m not wearing lipstick.” He always noticed details. His job mandated it, so if he didn’t notice she’d kept the makeup to a minimum this morning, he wasn’t really looking at her, and it hurt like hell. He claimed not to be angry, but he was, and it mixed with his grief. “Would you like something to eat before we go?”

“I said I’m not hungry,” he snapped.

She stepped back.

“I’m sorry. I…”

“Don’t worry about it.” She moved around him and headed out the door. “I’ll be downstairs waiting when you’re ready.”

“Fine.”

* * * *

The funeral itself seemed hard enough to endure with everyone weeping, people making speeches of how great a man Brad was, an awesome father, a loyal partner and friend. Evie tried to blend in with the sea of black and gray cramped into the sanctuary. She’d told Kian to go ahead to the front with Brad’s widow and their colleagues while she hung back, but he’d turned eyes on her blazing with rage and snatched her elbow in a punishing grip. “So you want me to go up there alone, making it obvious my wife doesn’t support me at this of all times?”

Her mouth had fallen open. “I didn’t mean it like that.” After he’d practically dragged her to the pews reserved for family, and she sat at his side through the entire funeral, she replayed his words in her mind. He’d said if she sat in the back, she would make it obvious to everyone else that she didn’t support him, meaning he already felt she didn’t. Why wouldn’t he feel that way? The whole reason Brad was dead was because of her.

After the funeral came the wake, and Evie wished she could slip away, but Kian held on to her elbow as if he knew her thoughts. They rode in a limo to the graveyard, and gathered around the plot of land where Brad would be buried. The skies, which had held off with the rain for awhile, now released a torrent. Black umbrellas went up everywhere, including Evie’s. She tried extending it over Kian’s head, but he seemed oblivious to the downpour and that his dark suit was now drenched. His raven’s wing hair clung to his forehead, a look she loved, but what caught her attention and stole her strength was the raw emotion in his eyes as he stared at the casket when they lowered it into the ground.

“Kian,” she cried, hurting for him.

“Satisfied?” came a shout to her right. She turned to see Brad’s widow, Deidra, staring at her. The woman with a protective arm around Deidra who cut her eyes at Evie as if she would attack was another agent who worked with Kian. Meghan had always disliked her, but Evie knew it stemmed from wanting him for herself.

Evie ignored the loathing rolling off the widow. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Deidra.”

Deidra broke free of Meghan’s hold and approached Evie. Her blond hair hung in wet clumps around her head, and the makeup she must have put on so painstakingly that morning now made her look like a raccoon. Guilt silenced Evie as the woman accused her. “I know the truth. Kian tried to keep it from me, but I know it was you!”

Evie looked from Deidra to Meghan, and she figured out who told Deidra why Brad died.

“My husband would be alive today if it wasn’t for you and your murdering cousin!”

Evie expected and accepted the abusive words because Deidra said nothing she hadn’t said to herself a million times in the last few days. Brad’s death was her fault, and she had to live with that for the rest of her life.

“Deidra, I’m—”

A
crack
across her cheek silenced Evie, and she winced. Her umbrella went flying, but she didn’t turn around to see which way it went with Deidra almost snarling at her. “Don’t say my name. Don’t you ever say my name or Brad’s. I never want to see you again!”

One of the agents, a redhead named Joey, grabbed Deidra and hauled her away. Evie looked around at all their stares, including her own husband’s. He’d done nothing to stop the attack. Some of the expressions on the others’ faces mirrored Deidra’s, some indifference, and one or two understanding. None of them were close friends, and even if she had formed a bond with them in the last five years of her marriage to Kian, it all disappeared the day she chose her cousin over the law and got Kian’s best friend killed.

Evie pivoted and walked away. She’d done her duty and stood with Kian as he said good-bye. Water seeped into her trench coat and down her back, chilling her to the bone. She kept moving, hoping Kian would call out to her, but he never did. Her tears mixed with the rain, and when she reached the road, she stepped into the limo she had arrived in.

“Take me back home, please.”

Sympathy reflected in the driver’s eyes. “Your husband…”

“Is going to another gathering with his friends. He’ll get a ride with them. Please, let’s go.”

He nodded and raised the divider, which separated them. She sighed and leaned back in her seat. Where would they go from here—she and Kian? How could their marriage survive? Did Kian even want it to? She choked back a sob and pulled her cell phone from her pocket. When Leo’s number appeared in the contact list, she hesitated to press the button. She had no feelings for him, but she knew Leo would jump at the chance to be with her again.

On impulse, she called him. He answered, sounding groggy, and she figured she had awakened him. “Why are you calling at this forsaken time, Evie?”

“It’s after twelve, Leo. The rest of the world has been up for hours.”

She heard shuffling about, and a rattle of empty bottles. He’d drunk himself to sleep the night before—or the morning—what else was new? When he spoke again, the lethargy had disappeared. “This is the day, huh? They’re burying him?”

“Yeah, I just came from the cemetary.”

“You okay?”

She swiped at a tear and cleared her throat. “I’m fine.”

“I’m assuming he’s not there since you’re calling me.”

“It’s not like that, Leo. I’m not cheating.”

“But he hates me. You still keep in touch.”

“Just because we’re not together anymore doesn’t mean we’re not friends. Hell, you’re my only friend.”

“Say the word, cupcake, and we can go back to the way things were.”

She rolled her eyes. “That ship has sailed.”

“I said I was sorry.”

“And I’m sure you are…that you were caught. Leo, it’s not happening. You’re right. I love Kian. He’s got his issues, but he’s faithful, and he’s devoted. For the most part, we’re on the same page, and that’s what I need in my life. We’ll get through this. I know we will, and when we do, we’re going to have kids.”

She could almost see Leo cringe. “Kids? Why would you want to saddle yourself with screaming brats?”

She smiled for the first time since she’d gotten the call saying her cousin Anthony, the man she’d grown up with, had murdered Kian’s best friend and partner, an FBI agent. “It’s what Kian and I both want. You wouldn’t understand.”

“I guess not.”

“I’m sorry, Leo. Maybe I shouldn’t have called you.”

“It’s fine, cupcake. Tell him he’d better take care of you, because if he doesn’t, I will be right there. Call me if you need me.”

Warmth washed over her, and she shut her eyes, soaking it up. Now she knew why she had called. Leo was a friend, and he would be there for her if she needed him.

“Thanks. I’ll talk to you later.”

He hung up without saying good-bye, as usual.

When Evie got home, she thanked the limo driver and dismissed him. Then she changed into dry clothes. She set about handling chores she had put off for the week, anything to keep busy and make sure her mind didn’t dwell on unpleasant thoughts. In the evening, she made a chef’s salad and waited for Kian to come home. He’d already taken longer than she expected, and he hadn’t called or texted.

Ten o’clock rolled around, and she packed up the salad and washed the few dishes she had used. She showered and climbed into bed alone, but sleep refused to come. After an hour of tossing and turning, she drifted off only to be awakened by a sound. Heart pounding, she sat up in bed and then froze. The man in the doorway stood unmoving, broad-shouldered and menacing. When he shifted into the moonlight, she sighed in relief. Exhaustion must have confused her so she didn’t recognize Kian.