“You need to go, Sylvie,” I say. “I have to unpack my husband’s things.”
“No! I’ll help!” she says suddenly. “Where are his clothes?”
So she can sneak a couple of his things and try to sell them? I don’t think so. “He doesn’t like it when strangers paw through his stuff.”
“I’m not a stranger! I’m family!” she protests.
I smile blandly. Tasha says I do the bland smile well. “We’ll see what he thinks about that when he gets here.”
Chapter Sixteen
Devlin
I could have fallen into Alice in Wonderland, or the Matrix, and it still wouldn’t be as weird as what I’m seeing as I cut through Drover, Texas four days after returning from Vegas.
It’s only about two or three hours from Dallas, but actually took four because of some interminable construction work that turned a two-lane highway into one. And apparently that work is going to be continuing for the next couple of years.
So I’m pretty isolated, and the town is nothing like what I imagined. Small towns just aren’t my jam. I understand them about as well as I can read Japanese.
But at least the roads here are paved. Otherwise it would’ve been a bitch to drive my Maserati. And I’ve spotted at least two gas stations so far. Not bad. Plentiful gas is always important. A sheriff’s office and a fire station. Something that’s either a small hospital or a big clinic.
But that’s about where the civilization ends.
There’s no Starbucks. Definitely no clubs. No gyms.
Kingstree—the little Virginia town where Killian is right now with his wife—has all three. So why does my wife have to pick a place without modern amenities?
It’s weird when a town doesn’t even have a Walmart. I hope there’s a supermarket, and I hope they have Crest 3D Whitening Therapy Toothpaste with Charcoal. If not, maybe Amazon can deliver it…assuming their Prime delivery covers a town as primitive as this. I’ll probably have to source my body wash and shampoo directly from Milan, though.
I pull into the neighborhood where Becca lives. Lots of space and land. Excessive green. I almost do a double take when I spot a trio of cowboy-hat-wearing men on horses. You see that in California, too, but out on the coast, horse riding looks like a hobby. I get the impression that these guys are actually living and working on the animals. And is that a plastic deer with an arrow sticking out of its ass on the back of one of the horses?
Jesus. Alice in Wonderland, man. Alice in Wonderland. And Max was born and raised here. No wonder he doesn’t talk much. This town fucked him up.
Finally, I spot Becca’s home at the end of a cul-de-sac. At least no cowboy wannabes are running around. That’s a plus.
The house is a sprawling two-story structure with an addition in the back, which you can see as you drive along the curving road. That must be her studio.
Then a thought strikes me. The art pieces I saw in New York are hers. Do I have to fawn over them like the annoying woman who kept clinging to me?
Nah, I decide after a moment. Not my job.
I stop in front of the house and kill the engine. I step out of the car with a small duffel bag and a change of clothes. The rest of my stuff should’ve arrived yesterday. And Aiden should’ve FedExed the agreement I asked him to draft. He asked me if it’s about fucking somebody over, because he’d bury some “gotcha” mines in the legalese in that case, and I told him it was for an amicable dissolution. No harm, no foul.
I inhale deeply, getting a good dose of the fresh, dry air. So what if Drover is a weird little town? New experiences are good for the soul, right? And a year isn’t much time. It will pass by fast. It will probably be comical when I look back on it.
Besides, it’s going to fix my broken dick issue. Because contrary to what Max would like, I’m not here just so Becca can get the house. I need to figure out what the hell she did to make my dick bored and uninterested around other women. But that shouldn’t take more than a few weeks.
I get to the door and turn the knob. Locked.
Do people lock homes in small towns? What’s the crime rate in Drover?
Besides, didn’t she—
Bang!
I flinch, then look around. What the hell? Was that a gunshot? It sounded awfully close.
Bang, bang, bang!