The Good Widow(78)

Dylan heard honking and looked over her left shoulder. Nick was riding right next to her—too close to her car—motioning wildly for her to pull over. She debated what to do. But then she saw the young faces of the soccer players in her mind and knew she had to stop. She turned on the first street she could and parked. She thought about calling the police, but her phone was in her purse in the backseat. And she didn’t know what she’d say—my ex-boyfriend is following me? She knew now that he wasn’t going to give up until she gave him what he wanted.

But what he wanted, she couldn’t give him. He wanted her back.

She watched as he stopped his bike in back of her car. She felt a scream in the base of her throat, but when she opened her mouth, no sound would come out. Helplessly, she stared at him as he got off his motorcycle and removed his helmet, running his fingers through his hair.

Then he gave a smile, one so sad Dylan returned it reflexively.

“Hey, Dylan, roll your window down, okay?” He stared at her, then tapped on the glass with the engagement ring. “Knock, knock!”

Dylan shook her head; his face changed so quickly she wondered if she’d imagined the somber smile. His lip curled; his cheeks reddened. She started to get really scared. He kept asking her to open the door, and she kept shaking her head. She watched him make fists with his hands and punch them against his sides.

“Dylan, come on!” he yelled, then hit the window with an open palm.

Her body jerked backward, her heart ramming against her chest; she had no idea what to do. She looked around her, but the street was empty. Her stomach dropped as she noticed the “Dead End” sign at the end of the road. Nick rattled the door handle, then turned and flailed his arms in the air in frustration, like she’d seen children do at the restaurant.

Dylan shivered. Could he pry the door open? Was he strong enough to break the glass? Would he take it that far?

“Dylan, you are my soul mate. Don’t you see that?” He flattened both of his palms against the glass, the diamond ring pressed between his right hand and the window. “This is yours. You belong to me.”

He thinks I’m his possession. That he owns me.

After that, it was as if Nick was moving in slow motion: As he put one leg in front of the other, his distressed jeans grazing the ground, the tips of his boots peeking out. As he turned his back to her, his leather jacket catching an air pocket. As he walked toward his bike, his arms out in the air like he was about to take flight. A panicked feeling coursed through her. She felt behind her seat for her purse, then reached around to grab it. She had to get to her phone. She had to try to get help.

Suddenly there was a thud against the roof of the car. Dylan screamed and dropped her purse. She was staring into Nick’s abdomen, his belt buckle pressed up against her window. Then he stepped back and lifted his arm over his head, and she saw it. A tire iron. He yanked it over his shoulder. Dylan ducked and covered her head, bracing herself for the blow against the glass. Tears poured out of her as she lay against the seat, praying for her safety, trying to make sense of what was happening to her. Trying to understand how Nick could turn into this man.

But the window never shattered. Instead, she heard sirens. She hadn’t called the police, but maybe he thought she had, because he ran to his bike and took off so fast she wondered if she could convince herself he’d never been there at all.

Then she saw the tire iron on the pavement.



I’m finally home and in bed, and my heart still won’t settle. Each heavy beat reminding me of what a fool I am—how blind I was to who Nick really is. My skin crawls when I think of the look in his eyes as he pressed the ring against the glass. Like nothing was wrong. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Like me getting back together with him would have been the most natural thing in the world. It makes me think my relationship with James isn’t so unusual. He might be married, but at least he’s sane. And we’re leaving for Maui tomorrow—something that I need now more than ever.





CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE


JACKS—AFTER

Breathe, Jacks. Just breathe.

My gaze falls on Dylan’s driver’s license resting in my cup holder as I pull into Nick’s parking garage, my breaths shallow. I let my car idle and scan the area for Nick’s bike just in case. But it’s not here. A ripple of guilt snakes through me. Sneaking into his place. Going through his things. James had been a liar. Telling me he was in one city when he was in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Was my behavior now only a symptom of being deceived by my husband? I really didn’t have much proof—other than the ID. Was that enough of a justification to lie to Nick and go into his apartment without his consent? I look at Dylan’s face again—her pouty lips. Her rosy cheeks. But the thing is, I need to figure out the truth. If we have any future, I have to know.

My phone dings. It’s Beth.

Where are you? Thought we were meeting here.

I glance around. There’s no time to explain to her what’s going on.

At Nick’s, looking for something. Call you after.

I park and push the button for the elevator, remembering my first time here when I tentatively entered through the lobby, noticing the Peet’s coffee shop, the dry cleaner’s.

I had been a widow, still so raw from everything I’d learned about the husband I thought I knew. I never predicted I’d return here in a very different role—a girlfriend with questions about another man she thought she knew.