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September

M y car starts with a wheezing sound that I definitely need to get checked out. I rub the dash and chant, “Thank you, Carol. I can always count on you, sweet thing.”

At this point, I say a little prayer of thanks each time Carol starts. My brother Brody hates that I still drive my beat-up 1998 Honda Civic, which I got in my junior year of high school. He can’t understand why Aaron hasn’t bought me a safer, more reliable vehicle.

What Brody doesn’t understand is that I don’t want to owe Aaron anything other than a manila folder of neatly tabbed and signed divorce papers.

I’m leaving him, though he doesn’t know that yet. No one knows.

But that is why it was imperative that my sweet Carol started today so I could get to my new job that I absolutely adore. It should only be about three more months before I’ll have earned enough money to leave Aaron and file for divorce.

If I asked Brody for the money, I know he would give it to me in a heartbeat. Lord knows they pay him plenty to throw the pigskin in Colorado. But I couldn’t bear to be another person asking for handouts from Brody.

If you would just tell someone about what you’re going through, it wouldn’t be a handout; it could save you.

No. I shake those thoughts from my head. Sure, I want to leave Aaron because I know what we have isn’t love anymore—it may have never been. I think we were just young, and I was mystified by the fact that someone wanted to call me theirs.

But save me? From what? His words? His callousness? I could have it so much worse.

Thankfully, Aaron is just type-A and has control freak tendencies—he’s very particular about a lot of things, like how I dress, how I do my hair, what perfume I wear, what the house looks like, how his suits are pressed, what I’m allowed to read, and what he deems worthy of my time. I used to appreciate his decisiveness; I thought it was a redeeming quality.

If he knew I got this nannying job, he would demand I quit immediately. Of course I had to tell him something to cover my tracks. I told him a former classmate of mine had a baby and needed someone to help watch her daughter until she could find a more permanent solution. He doesn’t know I have a separate bank account where McKenna direct-deposits my paychecks.

Aaron was ecstatic for me to start “practicing” for our future children. When he said that, it was near impossible to hold back the gut-wrenching nausea at the thought of having children with him. That’s another thing I’ve had to hide from him—the IUD I got at the women’s free clinic a couple of months back.

I’ve been slowly coming around to the idea of leaving him for a few months now. Things took a turn when he thought I was “eye-fucking” one of his colleagues at a work dinner this summer. When we got home that evening, he was more cruel than ever. He showed me a side of himself I can’t unsee.

Needing to change my headspace to ease my anxiety, I roll down my windows and blast one of my favorite songs, “Cowboy Take Me Away” by The Chicks, as I finish my drive.

A few minutes later, I put my car in park in front of McKenna’s brother’s house and roll up my windows before turning off the ignition.

Walking in through the front door of the house, I turn to hang up my coat and come face-to-chest with the most divine-smelling specimen.

“Whoa, Austin. Where’s the fire?” he asks in a teasing tone as he catches me by the shoulders. Looking up, I find the most bewitching blue eyes sparkling back at me.

Carson Wilder is trouble with a capital T. It should be sinful the way my new employer’s twin brother fills out a three-piece suit. His beachy blonde tresses are a slightly darker honey, still wet from the shower. The forest green suit he’s wearing is paired with a crisp white dress shirt with one too many buttons undone on top—likely intentional so the gold chain he seems to never take off can peek out. My eyes trail down his expansive chest and catch on his antique gold Rolex adorned on his wrist. He finishes off the look with cognac loafers that match his dress belt. And when did I become so turned on by seeing a man’s bare ankles peek from his tailored suit pants?

He looks as good as sin. I shouldn't be gawking at another man while I'm still technically married—especially a man who is much younger than I am. I mean, for Pete’s sake, I’m two years shy of thirty while he just earned the right to legally drink alcohol.

But I can’t help my attraction toward him. Anyone who says they don’t find this man attractive is a bald-faced liar.

“No fire. I just didn’t see you there.” I take a few steps back. “Good morning, Carson.”

“Good morning. I think I like it better when you call me Mr. Wilder or Golden Boy.”

“Is that so?” I chuckle nervously.

“Mhmm. It makes me feel special,” he muses with a cocky smirk.

“Well, it’s a good thing you’ve got your first game today. I’m sure the thousands of people who will be cheering for you will make you feel extra special.”

“There may be thousands of people screaming my name, but the only spectator I’m interested in playing for today is you. Are you ready to take in your first hockey game?”

I nod my head in response, causing a piece of hair to slip from the claw clip that’s holding my hair up off my face. Ever the gentleman, Carson steps forward and brushes the fallen strands behind my ear. His movements aren’t hesitant; confidence pours out of him at all times. Instead of pulling away, his hand lingers momentarily, his thumb swiping across my cheek. When he pulls away, his fingertips gently trace my jaw, causing my skin to erupt with goosebumps.

His touch is dizzying and dangerous. I take a large step back and he flexes his hand at his side. “I should probably go get Cadence ready for your game. Did McKenna say when she would be back from practice?”

Carson puts his hands in the pockets of his suit pants and rocks back on his heels, making him look relaxed again and effortlessly sexy. “She should be back within half an hour. I think she just had morning conditioning, not a full practice. I appreciate you coming earlier to help out.”

“No need to thank me. It’s part of my job, Carson.”

“Even though it may be part of the job, I’d still like to thank you. I can see some of the weight has lifted off of Mack’s shoulders since you started. She always felt guilty asking my mom for help watching Cadence. I’m not sure why, because my mom adores her granddaughter.”

“I get where your sister is coming from. She told me she felt bad because she wanted your parents to be able to enjoy being empty nesters. If anything, I should thank your sister for giving me this opportunity. I don’t think anyone understands how badly I needed a fresh start.” The words barely leave my lips before I wince at what I’ve just let slip.

Before Carson can ask me anything, I take off toward the playpen in the living room, where I see Cadence playing. She squeals in excitement when she sees me, and a sense of calm washes over me.

“How was your morning, little darlin’?” I ask as I pick her up in a hug.

“What did you mean by needing a fresh start?” Carson asks from behind me.

My shoulders stiffen at the sound of his voice. I close my eyes and scold myself for being so careless with my words. “Oh my, did I say fresh start? I meant to say something to bide my time. You know, until I figure out what I’d like to do with my degree.” I don’t dare turn around, knowing if I do, he will see how bad of a liar I am.

“Austin—” he starts but is cut off by an alarm sounding from his phone.

I start for the stairs and call out, “You better get going. You don’t want to be late for your first game. Good luck today.”

“Thanks,” he reluctantly replies.

The crowd roars to life with electrifying energy after Carson scores a goal. McKenna screams before hugging her mom, the two of them jumping up and down in excitement.

“Scoring his first NHL career goal for your Minnesota Wolverines, number twenty-two, Carsonnnn Wilderrrr!” the announcer’s voice booms through the sound system.

McKenna turns to give me a high five, and I don’t bother to hide my smile as the crowd cheers, and fans chant his name.

Just as I finish giving myself a mental pat on the back for being right about the fans making Carson feel plenty special, my phone rings with an incoming FaceTime request.

I dig it out of my purse and see Aaron’s name light up my phone. Knowing I can’t let him hear the crowd, I reject the FaceTime request. My phone vibrates with an alert for the missed FaceTime, and that’s when I notice the four missed call notifications and seven unopened text messages from him.

Shoot. How on earth did I miss these? Knowing I need to get out of here as quickly as possible, I go up to McKenna.

“Hey, something came up. Are you okay if I head out a few minutes early?” I found out today that there are three twenty-minute periods in professional hockey. There are only five minutes left in the third period now, so hopefully, my leaving now doesn’t upset her. I really need this job.

“Of course, don’t worry about it. Is everything okay?” she asks.

“Yes, I’m sure everything is fine. My husband is likely just worried about me being home in time for our dinner plans tonight,” I assure her.

With the excitement of the game, I completely forgot that my brother is flying into town today for his game tomorrow. I wanted to get dinner with just Brody, hoping Aaron would go into the firm and work late like he does most Saturdays since one of the partners announced his upcoming retirement plans.

Ever since then, he has been working around the clock, practically living out of his office at the firm. I have had no complaints about his new work schedule. It means fewer interactions between us and less tiptoeing around his mood swings.

“Alright, I will see you on Monday. Have fun at your brother’s game tomorrow!” she calls as I grab my purse and head out the door of the suite where we watched the game.

Right as I start my vehicle, my phone rings again. I swipe to answer. “Hey, Aaron.”

“Jesus, Dakota. Where are you? I’ve been calling you for twenty minutes straight.”

“Sorry, I’m just heading home now. I was babysitting. Did you see my note?”

“Do you honestly think a fucking note left on the kitchen counter is the smartest way to communicate with your husband in the twenty-first century?” he shouts his question through the phone.

So, he did get my note.

“I didn’t want to disturb you at work.” Truthfully, I didn’t want him to figure out that I would be gone while he was at work and demand I come home.

“Don’t be stupid, it’s Saturday. We’ve been over this already, you can text me at work on the weekend. I can’t have you just leaving the house without telling me where you’re going. What if something happened to you? You know I’d be a mess without you, Belle.”

I cringe at the name of endearment he coined for me when we started dating. Back then, he claimed he nicknamed me that because of my Southern roots, and it was also fitting because of my love of reading like Belle from Beauty and the Beast .

Lately, our life together has become one of Grimm’s fairy tales instead of the Disney retellings. And instead of thinking it’s cute when my head is stuck in a book, he chastises me for reading fantasies and romance instead of “something more worthwhile like nonfiction.”

What I don’t tell him is that I need the fictitious escapes—another world I can get lost in that will drown out the sorrow I feel from my current reality.

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I’ll be at the house in fifteen minutes,” I tell him.

“You should have been home when your brother arrived twenty minutes ago. I was left looking like a fumbling fool, not knowing where my wife was,” he scolds.

“You’re right. I lost track of time. Tell Brody I will be there as soon as I can.”

“Too late. I sent him back to his hotel. I didn’t know where you were, so I said you must have forgotten.”

I’m barely able to hold back my sigh of frustration. “I’m going to hang up and give him a call.”

“Did I give you the impression our conversation was done? If so, you are mistaken.”

“I’m sorry. I just need to call Brody quickly, and then I can call you right back.”

“Call me back in two minutes. Oh, and Dakota. There must be something wrong with your phone. Your location wasn’t showing up on my app. Did you turn it off?”

Dammit. Yes. I’ve turned it off nearly every day I go to work, not wanting Aaron to know where McKenna lives.

“No, of course not,” I lie, thankful that he can’t see my face. Aaron is like a human lie detector.

“Hmm. We will have to go get a new phone then.”

Panicking, I try to reassure him. “No, that’s not necessary. I’m sure I just need to do an update or something.”

“Don’t be so careless, Dakota. Having your phone up to date and your location services on could be a matter of life or death. What happens if you were to get in a car accident and I didn’t know where to look for you? That car of yours is an impending death trap.”

“You’re right,” I placate. “I’m sorry. I’ll make sure to update my phone right after I get home from dinner.”

“You be sure to do that. Call your brother. I would hate for him to be as worried as I was about you.”

Unease slithers its way down my spine at the switch of his tone. There’s a lilt to his voice I haven’t heard since this summer. I just hope he cools down by the time dinner with my brother is over. If not, I’ll likely be in for a long night.