The Atonement (The Arrangement, #3)(24)

“I can talk as long as you need. He’s still fixing dinner and—”

“I’m fine,” I swore again, forcing my tone to be more convincing. “Honestly. Go, have fun. I need to look at flights before I pass out. It’s been a long day.”

“If you’re sure…”

“Positive.”

“Okay. Love you, babe.”

“Love you. Talk soon.”

I ended the call just as more tears began to fall. My best friend was moving on, as she should. My husband wanted to kill me. My mother thought I should stay with him anyway. My kids hated me.

I was alone.

And with good reason.

I deserved to be alone after all I’d done.

But not until I made Peter pay.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN





PETER





I drove through the town that night without direction. Turning down side streets and taking curves too fast. I needed to move, to act, to do something, but there was nothing to do. Ainsley had slipped through my fingers. She was gone, maybe for good, and she’d ruined me with her departure.

She’d taken away from me the one thing I’d ever been good at.

My knuckles throbbed from where I’d pounded them against the steering wheel while sitting outside of the bar.

What was I becoming? What had I let her turn me into? Why did I even care?

Think…

Think…

Think…

I needed to get inside of her head. It wouldn’t be easy. She’d spent our entire marriage inside of mine, so even if I tried to think like her, she’d probably predict it and still manage to stay a step ahead of me. But there had to be a way. I knew her. I knew what she ate and what perfume she wore; I knew what made her feel better when she was sick and how she looked when she was sleeping.

I knew her.

Maybe better than anyone else, but still. My wife was an impenetrable wall, without gates or scaffolding for anyone. Whatever I knew about her, it was merely what she’d let me know.

Let me believe.

A sudden thought hit me, and I pulled the SUV over to the shoulder in an instant.

I was wrong.

I did know something.

Something important.

Lifting my phone from where it rested in the center console, I opened my call log and clicked on her name, then waited. I was breaking my promise to myself, but I didn’t care. This was more important.

“Hello?”

I was silent, thinking I’d somehow imagined it. I never expected her to actually answer. I’d been preparing to leave her a voicemail, one I knew she’d have to respond to, but this… I didn’t know how to— “Hello?” She sounded impatient.

“Ainsley?”

“Who else would it be?”

“I didn’t think you’d answer.”

“At least one of us can answer the phone. We should meet.”

Now I was convinced I was dreaming. “I couldn’t agree more.”

“When?”

“Now. I’ll come to you. Where are you?”

“That doesn’t work for me.”

There was the woman I knew. “Well, gosh, when can you pencil me in?”

“Tomorrow. Ten a.m.”

“Where?”

“The house.”

“Fine.” I fought against the urge to mention that I knew she’d stolen our money. I needed her to show up, after all. I had to be civilized. “You good?”

She was quiet for a moment, so quiet I thought she was going to hang up, but then she said, “Did you just ask if I’m good?”

“Yeah, I just… I miss you. I miss the kids. Are you all okay?”

“Don’t make this something it isn’t, Peter. I’m meeting you because there are things we need to discuss, that’s it.”

“How am I making this anything? I’m just checking on you.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“Fine. I won’t.”

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

I sucked in a sharp breath, casting a line of hope. “Bring the kids. Please.”

“I won’t be doing that.”

I hadn’t expected any different, but I had to ask. “Fine. Just…tell them I miss them, okay?”

“Goodbye, Peter.”

“Hey, Ains, wait!”

She paused for a beat. “Yeah?”

“Um, thanks for…for answering.”

“You’re welcome.” With that, the line beeped, alerting me that the call had ended and she was gone. My heart raced as if I’d run a marathon; a thin sheen of sweat soaked my skin.

It was happening.

I was finally going to see her.

I was finally going to take care of everything, once and for all.





The next morning, I was standing outside the house, pacing and listening intently for any sign of her. When I finally heard her car pulling down the driveway five minutes after ten, I got into position, hiding in the shadows just inside the frame of the garage’s side door.

My breathing was shallow as the car door slammed shut. Her shoes crunched against the gravel drive. Would she have worn heels that could pierce my skin with a swift kick? Or sensible shoes for running away?