I waved my hand. “On the house.”
She bobbed her head and took a seat in a rickety wooden chair propped beside a small table housing her coffee pot. “Well, then. Does your friend have a name you’d care to share with me since I’m not the sheriff?”
“Sophia,” I replied as my friend glanced at me past her mug. At least I left off her last name.
“Sophia.” Nadine grinned between us. “Welcome to Alliston Springs.”
I did as Carver suggested and showed Sophia around the parts of town I felt comfortable in. Turns out, that was few and far between. We ended up at my husband’s bar, and although it was closed, the manager let us in and served us a drink.
Sitting there with my friend at my side and an employee who had no clue about my past—or if they did, they didn’t act like it—I almost felt something more than just safe.
I felt free.
Free to make my own choices. Free to wake up and be happy and just live my life. And to think weeks ago I thought I’d be running from this town once I collected what I needed to.
Once Chet passed, which would hopefully be any day now.
I could see my future in a bright way, for once. The life I’d led before coming back had been enough to get me by, but I still lived in fear. I still lived without the man I loved. I’d gone on crying for years, sometimes without being sure why. I went on not processing any emotions, living like a butterfly clinging to its hollowed chrysalis in a world that terrified me.
I’d lied and cheated my way through just to get by. Done it for so long, I wasn’t sure how to be any different. But being back with Carver made me realize that I was more than that. I didn’t have to lie to him. Didn’t have to find some workaround to get by. He loved me for me, even if I was a bit of a tough pill to swallow.
Grant wasn’t at our house when we got back, and shortly after, Sophia decided it was time to head home. I must’ve laid on thecouch for nearly an hour or more, just staring up at the ceiling, when a knock sounded at the front door.
“Roland?” a postman asked as I peeled the door open.
“Yeah. Mrs.”
“Envelope is for Mr. Roland.” He glanced at my ring. “Can you sign?” He thrust a small device between us, then held out the envelope when I was done signing. “Have a good one.”
I was already busy reading the name at the top before he had a chance to leave the porch. I ripped it open, taking in the typed words on the rather thick packet—skimming it like I’d done with our marriage contract.
I sat back on the couch, reading it over, checking each line, almost sure I’d catch one that was missing. But I didn’t. All lines were filled, all signed by Jamie—signing over his rights to Oak Heart Farms.
47
Carver
The Retribution
When I got home last night, Lyra was wearing a black lacy set, a bottle of champagne in one hand and a stack of papers in the other.
She shouted ‘surprise,’ then gave me the packet.
Two minutes later, the champagne bottle was shattered on the floor and my wife’s cunt was wrapped around my cock as I fucked her against the wall.
After we cooked dinner together, I wiped the plates from the table and laid her down on it, making her scream my name with every orgasm.
I had no idea life could be this good. That I could have everything I’d ever wanted.
The facility was ours.
The house was ours.
We were each other’s.
Everything was perfect.
She fell asleep in my arms as natural as ever, and after some time of taking it all in—her, our room, the distress of shattered things beyond the walls from making love to her—I drifted off into yet another peaceful night of sleep.
