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DORIAN

“Mr. Moore. Will you be needing her again today?”

“Possibly. Keep her ready.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

The pilot’s an older, fit man with a shock of white tufts past a receding hairline and deep wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. I interviewed him. Spent his career in Naval Aviation. Retired in Colorado because his kids live in the state.

“Thank you, Rex.”

“No problem, sir.”

“I’ll let you know when you can put her away.”

“Yes, sir.”

It’s a long walk to the guardhouse, so I head to one of the golf carts we keep on the property. The key’s in the ignition, as expected, and I twist it and take off as my phone vibrates. It always vibrates.

Jay will access the messages. Flag the important ones. It’s the same with my emails. And around two or three in the morning, when the rest of the world sleeps, I’ll go through it all and respond.

My pressure on the accelerator lessens the closer I get to the guardhouse.

What does she want?

A divorce. Obviously.

But why now?

Has she met someone?

We’ve been separated for years. In all that time, she never filed for divorce.

Of course, neither did I.

She handed me a divorce agreement that she printed from a website.

I told her I’d have my lawyers draft an agreement, but I never did.

I lied to my father about it to get him off my back. My chief legal counsel is aware and understands my marital situation isn’t his concern until I make it his concern.

A feminine shadow captures my attention.

The light reflects on the panes, blocking the details of the silhouette. But certainty resonates through my being. It’s her.

Why now?

Why not years ago?

Why didn’t I deal with this years ago?

My temples pulse, and I twist the top on the Vicodin and pop another one.

Two were never going to get me through this day.

I leave the cart on a patch of grass beside the stone path leading up to the guardhouse.

For December, the day is unseasonably warm. Little to no wind. A cold front is blowing in tomorrow. The grass, in areas not covered by leaves, is a mix of brown and green. Soon enough, it’ll be covered in white.

When I first brought Caroline to our property here, she’d been blown away by the foliage, the mix of golds and reds. It must’ve been October. She thought I’d taken her to a resort.

“This is yours?” she’d asked, amazed. Flabbergasted, even. And my stomach had churned. If only I could’ve hidden my background from her… It’s a pointless mental exercise. Things changed. She left.

A uniformed guard exits the guardhouse. Mid-to-late twenties, clean-cut, amenable, impossibly eager. I read his name tag.

“Lewis. She’s here?”

“In the bunkroom.”

“Why’d you put her there?”

A vision of bunks lined up along walls comes to mind.

Jesus.

“Don’t really have a place to keep visitors, sir.”

The house? He didn’t bring her up to my house?

I grit my teeth so hard my molars ache.

He fidgets.

Ripping into this guy will serve no purpose.

“Take me to her.”

Lewis turns, eager to comply.

The hallway blurs. The ache behind my temples dulls. I force my limbs forward. There’s no point in hiding from the end.

The end is the price we pay for love.

God, I’m such a fucking tool.

A uniformed man stands in front of a closed door. He swings wide to face us.

Did they lock her in the room? What the fuck did I say to these guys on the phone?

“Mr. Moore,” he says, shoulders back, arms straight along his sides.

Christ, you’d think I’m a squadron leader.

My throat tightens, and saliva pools in my mouth. I force myself to swallow and stand tall.

If he speaks, I don’t hear him. A whooshing sound fills my ears. My peripheral vision remains a blur.

I brush his hand away from the knob and twist.

She’s a silhouette, only this time, I’m with her, on the same side of the window.

I fumble on the wall for a light switch.

Golden light fills in the details.

Light blonde hair falls below her shoulders, skimming her breasts. When I met her, it reached the curve of her lower back.

Her elegant black pantsuit and white silk blouse fit her perfectly. Strictly professional. The black, square, no-nonsense pumps round out the outfit.

I expected nothing less. This is a business call, after all. A long-overdue meeting to settle affairs from the past.

My gaze drifts from her short, pale pink nails to the prominent gold decorative band on her right index finger, to her left, ringless hand.

My chest quivers with the hit of the Vicodin.

The solitary diamond pendant hanging demurely above the singular unfastened button catches my attention. I zero in on the diamond for confirmation. It’s the necklace her parents gave her for college graduation.

Red splotches dot her neck and chest, marring her unblemished pale skin.

Is she nervous?

With a deep inhale, I lift my gaze to her pale pink lips, over the nose that she believes is too long, but that is refined and fitting on her heart-shaped face, and I meet her light blue eyes head-on, brushing aside the constriction in my chest.

“Caroline,” I say.

That’s a weak greeting.

The gold ring glimmers in the light when she rests her hand on the extended suitcase handle.

Her thumb strokes the plastic.

She looks behind me, over my shoulder. I follow her gaze.

Lewis and the other employee fill the doorway.

“Thank you,” I say to them. “We’re fine now.”

They take the hint and leave.

I scan the functional, drab room and look past her to the bare aspens and birches.

“Is there somewhere we can talk?”

She sounds determined. Strong.

“Yes, of course. I need some coffee. You?”

“It’s almost eleven.”

“Do you no longer drink coffee?”

She almost smiles.

“I still drink coffee. I was up early for my flight. Let’s get some.”

I reach for her suitcase, and my skin brushes hers.

Heat emanates from the point of contact.

She pulls away like I shocked her.

The heat works its way up the side of my hand and my arm.

“How long are you here for?” I hold an arm out for her to proceed. “There’s a cart parked right outside the door,” I tell her, as much to fill the quiet as to explain where I’m gesturing for her to go.

“Just for the night,” she answers.

“Where are you staying?”

“In Denver.”

“With whom?”

“A hotel. A Hyatt. Nothing fancy.”

She means the comment as a dig. She also skirted my question.

We exit the guardhouse, and I set her suitcase on the back of the golf cart.

Those pale blue eyes sear me. With so much time lapsed, you wouldn’t think that would happen. She shouldn’t still have a hold on me.

She shouldn’t be here. You should’ve mailed her the agreement years ago.

You’re the asshole.

I reach for the golf cart hood to steady myself. My damn inner voice needs to shut the hell up.

“Are you okay?”

She’s concerned. Always has been.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

She’s not here to talk about your health, Dorian.

“I just need coffee.”

She’s dressed professionally. Here to do what you should’ve done. There’s someone else. That’s what’s forced her to finish this. You always knew this day would come. And here it is.