Page 64 of Make You Mine

My phone buzzes in my hand, Declan’s name showing up on the Caller ID. I go lightheaded from instant relief as I rush to answer.

“Declan, did you get my messages? You have to get that bitch?—”

“Hello, Amerie,” comes Chelsea’s brisk voice. “Feeling better, I hope?”

Air sputters from my lungs, I’m so damn shocked to hear her on the other end, answering his phone.

“Put Declan on the phone.”

“I’m afraid not. He’s a bit… preoccupied, see. We’ve been having such a lovely time together.”

“You fucking crazy-ass bitch,” I snap, my temper exploding. “Put my husband on the phone now!”

“Tsk-tsk,” she chides in a sickly sweet tone. “That mouth of yours. No wonder he’s come running to me.”

“In your dreams, you delusional psycho!”

“If you want to see him,” she continues like I’ve said nothing, “you’ll need to come home. Alone. No police. No little tricks. If you try anything… well… I don’t think you’ll like what happens to your precious family. I have Emmett right here in my arms. He’s such a sweet boy. You can hear him for yourself.”

She pauses long enough for Emmett’s little coo to sound in the background.

“Don’t you dare hurt him!”

“I wouldn’t want to. But if you make me, I will.”

Hot, angry tears come to my eyes. “When I see you, I’m going to?—”

“You’re not listening, Amerie. You don’t make the rules, I do. Come home. We’ll get this sorted like women. But come alone… or I hurt one of the littlies. That’s a promise.”

And then she hangs up before I can even think to respond.

Chapter 17

Chelsea

It’s nearly noon, the roast is perfect, the table is set, and the children are playing in the next room. All that’s missing is my husband.

I smooth down the front of my dress, fussing with the hem though it’s already pressed flat, then reach up to pat the loose waves I’ve put into my hair using Amerie’s curling wand.

The mirror in the front hall reflects back a version of myself I rather like—bright-eyed, flushed with purpose, radiating the soft glow of someone who’s finally come into her own. The lady of the house, just as I ought to be. My lips, painted a rose-petal pink, lift into a smile that’s almost girlish as I hear the unmistakable crunch of tires on gravel, followed by a car engine dying.

He's home.

My heart gives a dainty flutter as I spin around, preparing to open the door and greet him the way a good wife should—arms open, smile warm, hot meal waiting on the table. But before I can even cross the threshold, Willow darts ahead of me, little legs flying as she throws the front door open with a delighted squeal.

"Daddy!”

I pause mid-step, my smile faltering for just a second as she launches herself into his arms. I’ve noticed she’s been a touch withdrawn all morning, lips pressed tight over her cereal, glancing toward the windows like she expected someone to materialize from thin air. I’d assumed it was simply the oddness of her mother and father being away, but children are adaptable. She just needs more time to bond with me and forget about her.

That’s all.

Declan scoops her up with a grunt, burying his face in her curls as he whispers something I can’t make out, though I do hear the soft laugh that follows and the affectionate murmur of, “There’s my Widget.”

It’s a sweet father/daughter moment that belongs to the two of them. But it cuts that I’m ignored as if I’m not standing right beside them.

He doesn’t even look at me at first. He’s still holding Willow when he finally steps past the threshold and offers the briefest nod in my direction.

“Cheers for staying last night. For looking after them.” His voice is rough with exhaustion, but there’s no warmth in it. No gratitude in his eyes.

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