Page 16 of I’m Already Gone

“With all my heart and soul,” he responded immediately, his eyes searching mine.

I smiled, a genuine smile this time. “Then how about this—we set up a date night, just the two of us, once a month. And a family night with the kids once a week. Can you try to give up an hour or two for your family, for us?”

Ethan

When she says it that way, with a quiet, almost defeated tone, it’s like a sharp arrow shot straight through the heart.

My own wife had to ask me to leave work early so I could spend one hour with my family. One hour. How utterly fucked up was that? That the question even had to form on her lips, that it wasn’t a given, screams what a complete, self-absorbed dick I’ve become.

An absentee father.

A neglectful husband.

I stared at my beautiful wife, sitting there with her long, golden locks set free after a long day at the bakery, her face bare of makeup, looking so sexy in her satin camisole that gave her a sultry look.

Her eyes held a weariness I hadn’t noticed, or perhaps, refused to see.

“Yes, Lily. I promise,” I managed to say.

“Really?” she whispered, the single word laced with fragile, desperate hope. And it nearly broke me.

“You’re right, Lily.” I reached for her hand, as I intertwined them with hers, rubbing my thumb over her knuckles, feeling the familiar warmth I’d missed.

“I haven’t been around. And I will do better. I want to do better.” That last part was true.

“Thank you, Ethan. That means a lot to me.”

I prayed I was not too late. That I hadn’t already lost the chance to keep that promise.

Ethan

My temples throbbed.

We’d been grinding on the Fox case for the last several hours, interviewing a parade of witnesses and sifting through surveillance footage. It had been a relentless day, the kind where you forgot to eat, forgot to breathe, forgot you even had a bladder. My tie felt like a noose around my neck.

“From what I’ve gathered so far, Mr. Fox’s wife repeatedly exposed herself to the guards and made unwanted sexual advances toward them,” Emma stated.

“Which falls in line with creating an unprofessional and hostile work environment,” I stated, already drafting the legal argument in my head.

“Precisely. And in addition,” she continued, “the evidence indicates Mr. Fox failed to report the guards overtime hours.”

So, the bastard was also a cheat. Great. Just freaking great.

“Pull every payroll record for the last six months,” I instructed. “Compare them against the digital time stamps from their entry logs and cross-reference with the surveillance videos. I want to see every discrepancy.”

She nodded, her perfectly manicured fingers flying across her laptop keyboard.

A sharp knock echoed through the door, and Marcus strode in, his face a mask of barely contained fury.

“What’s going on?” I asked, my own muscles tensing.

“We have a problem. A big one. It requires I fly out to California tonight.”

My stomach dropped. “Why? What happened?”

“One of our guards is accusing Sable of assault and battery while he transported her to her hotel.”

I ran both hands down my face, a guttural groan escaping my lips. Sable. High-profile pop artist and daughter of a senator.