Page 113 of Wide-Eyed

Tessa Holliday skidded into the space next to my truck, yanking the hand brake with a ferocity that made me cringe—both for the car and for whoever it was that had made her this mad. Clearly, their days were numbered.

“That man!” she shouted, slamming her car door. “I’ll kill him!”

“Who?” I said, at the same time Lyssa said, “Why?”

“He’s coming back.” She ripped off her sunglasses and glared at me, her chest heaving. “Mike, did you know about this?”

“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about, Tessa. Come inside, have an ice cream.”

(If I wasn’t going to get to lick my wife this afternoon, I deserved a consolation prize.)

Lyssa giggled like she knew what I was thinking. She probably did.

“Mike Holliday,” Tessa growled, her hands fisted on her hips. “If I find out you’ve been in touch with him, your life won’t be worth living.”

I looked at my older cousin, whose eyes were flashing with pure unbridled rage, and realized who she must have been talking about.

Oh fuck.

This was bad.

“In touch with who, Tessa?” my wife asked.

Through gritted teeth, my cousin replied, “Maxim Hayes.”

It was a clear day, but I swear I heard a thunderclap.

Lyssa sucked in a breath. “Maxim Hayes? The Maxim Hayes?” Her head whipped from me to Tessa and back again. “How do you know Maxim Hayes?”

“I married him.”

This was going to be messy.

THE END