CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT RIGGS

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

RIGGS

The Sri Lankan job came and went. I’d spent most of it wondering why the fuck it felt like I was missing an entire limb from my body while taking pictures of mass protests, temples, and ancient ruins. I was preoccupied pretty much the entire time and managed to produce work only by chance. Surprisingly enough, Emmett wasn’t on my ass. Maybe he’d finally found interest in his own miserable existence.

I thought about Charlie often, but rarely with sadness. I preferred to remember him playing in Harlem with kids like he didn’t have a care in the world, even if he knew back then that his days were numbered.

I spent the flight from Bandaranaike Airport to JFK mentally counting all the reasons not to reach out to my wife:

She hasn’t reached out to me

She is busy with her new job (yes, I found her employee page online)

I’m not looking for a serious relationship

She hasn’t reached out to me

Just because she hasn’t touched my money doesn’t mean that she won’t once we get a divorce

She might be back with Cocksucker. In fact, he might be fucking my wife this very minute

SHE HASN’T REACHED OUT TO ME, WHY THE FUCK NOT?

All great, valid reasons. And still, halfway through my journey, I decided to text her.

Riggs: Gonna be in your neck of the woods soon. Drink?

It sounded noncommittal enough. Plus, it was my obligation to check in on her and make sure she was well. I stared at my phone for three minutes straight and, when she didn’t answer, flipped it so I couldn’t see the screen. I browsed the movie channels, looking for a distraction. There was a limit to how pussywhipped I could be. Sitting here pining for her when she could be sitting on Cocksucker’s face was bad form.

An hour after I’d sent the message, I glanced at my phone. No answer. Two hours. Three hours. Four hours. By the time I landed at JFK, I wasn’t worried—I was pissed. I’d set her up with a whole-ass green card, committed federal fraud for her, and pretty much handed her half my fortune, and she couldn’t even reply with No thanks, I’m busy?

Fuck. That.

The cabbie waiting for me at the airport must’ve picked up on my mood, because he grabbed my small suitcase without a word and only spoke when we were out of the elaborate hell that was John F. Kennedy International Airport.

“Where to?” he asked curtly.

I gave him Christian’s address. No way was I in a mood to tolerate Arsène’s smart ass in my current condition. When the driver rounded the curve to Christian’s street, I had a change of heart.

“You know what? I need you to drive me somewhere else.”

I gave him Duffy’s address. The little English rose was going to learn some manners from this American hooligan. I didn’t even consider that she hadn’t seen the text. Duffy was fused to her phone. She’d never taken more than fifty seconds to answer a text, even in the middle of the night.

Still, when I was about five minutes away from her apartment, I began to sweat. What if she was with somebody? What if she was with Cocksucker? I didn’t like the prospect of going to jail, but there was no chance on earth I’d be able to hold myself off from at least breaking his jaw.

“This is you,” the driver announced moments later.

I grabbed my shit, tipped him, and trudged up the stairway to her apartment, refusing to flinch when I passed by Charlie’s door. When I got to her place, I rang twice. When she didn’t answer, I banged on the door. Since it was the weekend, I knew she wasn’t at work. And since it was Duffy, I knew she wasn’t up to much, which made me wonder for the first time—had something happened to her?

The whole Charlie thing had made me a little raw when it came to people passing out in their own homes. Without thinking much of it, I pulled out the key she had given me months ago and had never asked for again.

I shoved it into the keyhole.

It didn’t fit.

Gritting my teeth, I pressed my forehead against the door and took a ragged breath. She didn’t answer my text and locked me out of her apartment? Good luck with her getting a divorce, because I was going to drag her to the depths of the legal inferno just to spite her so she could never marry her precious boyfriend.

Actually, that wasn’t true, and I knew it. I was going to give her whatever she wanted, because watching her happy trumped whatever trivial notion I had. But fuck, that hurt.

I pulled my phone out and called Christian.

“Hey,” he said, sounding sleepy. “What’s up?”

“How much time will I get for breaking and entering?” I snapped, skipping the hello part.

“Time?” He let out a chuckle. “They’re sending rapists to house arrest. Prisons in this state are overcrowded as it is. Ain’t nothing going to land you in jail unless you plan on going on a prolific killing spree.”

“A whole spree?” A mental vision of Cocksucker assaulted my brain. “Nah. Just one person. A crime of passion.”

“Passion, you say?” He sounded thoughtful. “Might get early parole for that. People love a good romance.”

I started for the stairway, having had enough of standing by Duffy’s door like an idiot.

“So, are you gonna tell me why we’re having this weird conversation?” Christian probed.

“Duffy isn’t answering her door or taking my calls.” I didn’t feel humiliated saying that. Not after this motherfucker jumped through hoops to win his wife after what he’d done to her back when they were dating.

“Oh, yeah, about that. You should probably come here.”

“Come where?” I took the stairs down.

“To my place.”

“Why?” I slapped the door open, already looking for a cab to hail. “You know something about that?”

“She left you a letter.”

“A letter?” My mind was reeling. She left me a fucking letter, and Christian didn’t see fit to fill me in on that?

“Yeah. Said she didn’t want to bother you while you were on an assignment.”

“Forget her, why didn’t you bother me?” I raged. “You sure as shit don’t mind bothering me about anything else that’s going on in your life. You called to tell me Louie started counting backward, for fuck’s sake.”

“Hmm. I’m picking up some high-stressed vibes here,” Christian said flatly. “To answer your question, according to you, there was never anything between you and Duffy, nor have you ever felt something more than friendship for her. I thought it could wait.”

Of course he knew Duffy and I were messing around and didn’t tell me about the letter just to win an unspoken argument about the importance of settling down and blah-blah-conservative-fucking blah. Classic goddamn Christian.

“I’m going to kill you.” I was now screaming in the middle of the street—definitely not a good look. In an unbelievably cunty move, I bypassed a Nordic-looking tourist who tried to hail a cab, entering before him and giving the driver Christian’s address.

“Wow. You really go ham for your platonic friends,” Christian said in a deadpan. “So when should we be expecting you?”

“Five to eight minutes.”

“I’ll cock the gun for you,” Christian said. “You know, for when you murder me.”

“Thank you.”

It wasn’t a letter.

It was a giant-ass pile of documents crammed into a manila envelope. The envelope was sealed securely, so at least I knew Christian and Arya hadn’t peeked. This wasn’t a given, since they were ogling me eagerly, little Louie sitting in Arya’s lap.

“Do I look like Netflix?” I carefully removed the handwritten letter from the envelope.

“Not at all.” Arya shook her head, mesmerized. “If you were, I could skip the intro. Unfortunately, I’ll have to sit here and watch in slo-mo until it finally hits you that you’ve just lost the love of your life because you’re a chicken.”

Know all the inspiring sayings about good friends? They did not apply to the assholes I surrounded myself with.

I’d have gone to another room for privacy purposes, but there was poetic justice in being served humble pie by my friends after all I’d done.

Dear Riggs,

If you’re reading this, that means you’re back from Sri Lanka. I hope you had a splendid time there, and that you were able to do what you love more than anything—explore and find new adventures.

Actually, as it turned out, there was something I loved more than that. Namely—Duffy.

Let me preface this by saying I don’t wish to appear ungrateful. On the contrary. In our short time together, I have managed to grow more than I have in my entire lifetime. I cannot thank you enough for the sacrifice, devotion, and commitment you’ve shown for me. I am truly grateful and beyond indebted to you.

Blah, blah, fucking blah. It reminded me of all the nice things people said to their partners before they dumped them for someone else. This reeked of “It’s not you, it’s me.”

As you know, I’ve recently come to find employment.

Only Duffy would sound like an eighteenth-century noblewoman when telling someone she got a job.

As it turns out, the position wasn’t what I’d been hoping for. I am not quite sure what I’m looking for, to be honest, which was why I thought it best to go back to London and stay with my family as I explore my passions and talents, and how to contribute to this world.

She moved? To London? I didn’t know how I felt about it. On one hand, I was greatly relieved she wasn’t with Cocksucker anymore. On the other, I felt weirdly naked, now that I knew she wasn’t in the same city as me. The one comfort I had in Sri Lanka was knowing where Duffy was. It gave me a false sense of control over the situation.

Since I don’t think I’ll be coming back to New York City, and the last thing I want is to hold you back, I am granting you this divorce with no further ado. There is no need for us to wait for a green card, since I do not intend to seek employment in the States. I now realize that deceiving the authorities, atop committing a crime, all while dragging you into this, was wrong. I would also like to take this opportunity to apologize for trying to blackmail you.

No. No, no, no, no, no. Just no multiplied by a hundred thousand. This wasn’t happening.

Finally, as a token of my regret for all the inconvenience I’ve caused you, I have purchased you a ticket to Alaska. Not because you cannot afford it, but because you need the push to go there.

I know it’s none of my business, Riggs, and I do respect that, but in all the short but intense time I have known you, you’ve never shied away from a challenge. You can do this. You can conquer Denali.

Besides, that’s what Charlie would have wanted.

With love and affection,

Poppins.

Along with the letter were a ticket to Alaska and reservations for a hotel, as well as divorce papers. The tickets alone had probably drained her bank account.

She blew all her savings so I could go to Alaska and fight my demons. Somehow, I wasn’t even slightly surprised.

Daphne Markham was never a gold digger. She aspired to be one, sure. But she also had those pesky things called morals. She was caring, good, and so far out of my league we weren’t even playing the same fucking game.

And still, I wanted her. Every inch and cell in her body. Every snarky remark and innocent smile.

“Well?” Arya prompted. “Fill us in, lover boy.”

I looked up from the letter, my jaw clenching so hard my teeth nearly crushed to dust. “Short story? She moved back to England, granted me a divorce, not gonna take a penny from me even though she knows I’m a billionaire, and bought me a ticket to Alaska.”

“But you hate Alaska.” Christian frowned.

“Exactly.”

“She’s making you do something you don’t want to do just to prove a point?” Christian stroked his chin. “You sure the marriage isn’t legit?”

“She’s trying to help him overcome something.” Arya clutched Louie close to her chest in a snuggle. “Ugh, I really like this one, Riggs. Please, can we keep her?”

“Apparently fucking not.” I waved the letter in my hand.

“Language,” Christian drawled.

“English,” I confirmed. “But not a very good one, according to our former lit teacher, Ms. Maren.”

“Uncle Riggs said a potty word!” Louie clapped, twisting in his mother’s arms and watching her expectantly. “Mommy, put him in the naughty spot.”

“That’s all right, kiddo.” Christian ruffled his son’s dark hair, lounging back. “Uncle Riggs is in a worse place than the naughty spot.”

“He is?” Louie’s eyes widened.

“He’s in the doghouse, after spending the last twenty years living like a gap-year student.”

I folded my arms over my chest, curving an eyebrow that said, Really?

“He’s not wrong.” Arya dropped an imaginary mic.

“Thanks for the judgment. Exactly what I needed right now. So, what do I do?” I barked out, like it was their fault Duffy had decided to bail. “My wife just dumped me via letter.”

“She didn’t dump you,” Christian said, disagreeing. “She gave you an out. Nice girl. Kind of hot too.”

Arya nodded. “Totally hot.”

“Talk about my wife like that again, and I’ll smash your teeth in.” I pointed at Christian, then turned to his wife. “You can still say these things, just as long as you remember I’m notoriously bad at sharing.”

Louie blinked, fascinated. “Now does he get a time-out?”

“No, but Mommy is about to throw him out if he doesn’t watch his mouth around you, sweetie,” Arya fussed.

Louie was the only kid I was in contact with. I forgot how coddled they were.

“I can’t let her go.” I gathered the divorce papers and ripped them to shreds, letting them rain down on Christian’s marble floor. “Especially after she fu—” I started, then saw Christian’s and Arya’s bulging eyes. “Forgot,” I amended, “her ex-boyfriend and dropped him like a hot potato. She’s single now. Fair game.”

Arya looked at me like I was a complete moron. “She’s not single, Einstein. She’s married. To you.”

“It’s not a real marriage.” These words had never felt so much like a lie on my tongue.

Arya bowed an eyebrow. “This is news to me, since you have all the components of a real one—you love each other, there’s enough angst between you to last for an entire season of Grey’s Anatomy, and the physical connection is there.”

“What’re you gonna do?” Christian asked, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“Go to London, fu—fabulously, obviously.” I produced my phone from my pocket, already going through flights. “I’m not ready to give her up.”

“Good thing your suitcase is already packed.” Christian jerked his chin to the suitcase by his door.

I whipped my head up, scowling. “My clothes smell like shit.”

“Shit!” Louie exclaimed, giggling. “Shit, shit, shit!”

“That’s it, out of my house!” Arya stood up and pointed at the door. “By the time you’re done with my precious baby, he’ll have the vocabulary of a drunk sailor.”

“At least let him do his laundry first.” Christian chuckled. “He can’t try to win her heart smelling like cra—crab.”

“He’s a billionaire.” Arya was already halfway into the vast hallway, about to put Louie down for his nap. “He can afford a nice please-marry-me-for-real suit.”