Jack & Coke (The Uncertain Saints Book 2) by Lani Lynn Vale Page A
Authors: Lani Lynn Vale
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heart sank as I saw Annie lying on that bed.
Her head was wrapped in white gauze, and what little I could see of her face and eyes were also bruised.
Every last bit of it.
There wasn’t any unbruised skin on her entire face.
My hands rose, and I grabbed onto my head, trying to breathe through the pain that was ripping through my chest.
I closed my eyes, opening them once I thought I had enough control to get closer to her.
And that’s when my eyes lit on the note.
I’d been curious when the doctor explained about it while he was telling her parents what had happened, asking about the significance of the note.
The note that Annie had refused to give up—the whole time they were working on her in the ER—was in a baggie next to her bed.
Once she’d been sedated she’d finally loosened her grip enough for the doctor to remove it.
It was in a plastic bag with the rest of her belongings, but I could read it clearly.
Before, you were just a passing fancy. A way to keep my ear to the ground.
Now, I’m watching you.
I don’t like being threatened.
Even more, I don’t like people I trust throwing me under the bus.
Your wife will be next if you pursue this. Be thankful that I didn’t kill the bitch. Better watch yourself and yours.
I’m coming.
And I won’t stop until I’ve taken everything you have ever loved.
I wanted to vomit.
It wasn’t signed, but I knew who it was from.
Liam Cornell.
Annie had been bashed over the head with a fuckin’ two by four all because I wanted to approach the fucker I thought was fucking my wife.
I’d done this.
“Mig,” Annie’s raspy voice called.
I turned to her quickly, seeing one of her eyes just barely open.
I leaned down until she could see my face, then grabbed her hand that was resting on top of the blankets.
“Hey, baby.”
Annie smiled slightly.
“It’ll be okay,” she promised.
I wanted to cry.
Was it acceptable for a thirty-four-year-old man to cry? Because, right then, I wanted to.
Here I was, responsible for this happening to her, and she was trying to comfort me.
God, what had I done?
She’d been by me all this time.
I’d wasted so much time trying to make my life with Jennifer bearable, even though I wanted nothing more than to be with the woman next door.
I’d given it six months.
I even considered that I might be able to get over Jennifer’s manipulation, for the sake of our child, a child I had a part in creating, willingly or not.
This child had no control over the circumstances of its conception
They had no control over anything.
They were defenseless human beings that deserved to be protected.
And the more I listened to my friends, recalling all of the bad things that I’d experienced over the last six months, I knew that I would never be able to offer my child even resembling a loving, stable home with Jennifer in the picture.
My kid didn’t need to know how much I despised Jennifer, but it would be impossible to conceal if I had to see her and deal with her shit on a daily basis.
But right then, with Annie’s hand in mine, and her bruised puffy face staring back at me with understanding in her eyes, I realized that I couldn’t do this .
I couldn’t bring Annie into my life…not when I led a life that wasn’t for the faint of heart.
I’d nearly gotten her killed with my need to have the element of surprise when I approached the bastard.
Something I’d done at Annie’s expense.
Annie, who was such a beautiful, strong, caring woman.
Annie who’d helped me realize that I couldn’t live with Jennifer for the rest of my life.
Annie who deserved much better than me.
She deserved a home with two point five kids. A husband that worked nine to five.
And I wasn’t that.
I’d never work nine to five.
I hadn’t wanted kids at all, but life didn’t ask me what I wanted.
But I sure as fuck could make sure that I didn’t bring this shit to Annie’s front door anymore.
That, I had the power to do, and
Her head was wrapped in white gauze, and what little I could see of her face and eyes were also bruised.
Every last bit of it.
There wasn’t any unbruised skin on her entire face.
My hands rose, and I grabbed onto my head, trying to breathe through the pain that was ripping through my chest.
I closed my eyes, opening them once I thought I had enough control to get closer to her.
And that’s when my eyes lit on the note.
I’d been curious when the doctor explained about it while he was telling her parents what had happened, asking about the significance of the note.
The note that Annie had refused to give up—the whole time they were working on her in the ER—was in a baggie next to her bed.
Once she’d been sedated she’d finally loosened her grip enough for the doctor to remove it.
It was in a plastic bag with the rest of her belongings, but I could read it clearly.
Before, you were just a passing fancy. A way to keep my ear to the ground.
Now, I’m watching you.
I don’t like being threatened.
Even more, I don’t like people I trust throwing me under the bus.
Your wife will be next if you pursue this. Be thankful that I didn’t kill the bitch. Better watch yourself and yours.
I’m coming.
And I won’t stop until I’ve taken everything you have ever loved.
I wanted to vomit.
It wasn’t signed, but I knew who it was from.
Liam Cornell.
Annie had been bashed over the head with a fuckin’ two by four all because I wanted to approach the fucker I thought was fucking my wife.
I’d done this.
“Mig,” Annie’s raspy voice called.
I turned to her quickly, seeing one of her eyes just barely open.
I leaned down until she could see my face, then grabbed her hand that was resting on top of the blankets.
“Hey, baby.”
Annie smiled slightly.
“It’ll be okay,” she promised.
I wanted to cry.
Was it acceptable for a thirty-four-year-old man to cry? Because, right then, I wanted to.
Here I was, responsible for this happening to her, and she was trying to comfort me.
God, what had I done?
She’d been by me all this time.
I’d wasted so much time trying to make my life with Jennifer bearable, even though I wanted nothing more than to be with the woman next door.
I’d given it six months.
I even considered that I might be able to get over Jennifer’s manipulation, for the sake of our child, a child I had a part in creating, willingly or not.
This child had no control over the circumstances of its conception
They had no control over anything.
They were defenseless human beings that deserved to be protected.
And the more I listened to my friends, recalling all of the bad things that I’d experienced over the last six months, I knew that I would never be able to offer my child even resembling a loving, stable home with Jennifer in the picture.
My kid didn’t need to know how much I despised Jennifer, but it would be impossible to conceal if I had to see her and deal with her shit on a daily basis.
But right then, with Annie’s hand in mine, and her bruised puffy face staring back at me with understanding in her eyes, I realized that I couldn’t do this .
I couldn’t bring Annie into my life…not when I led a life that wasn’t for the faint of heart.
I’d nearly gotten her killed with my need to have the element of surprise when I approached the bastard.
Something I’d done at Annie’s expense.
Annie, who was such a beautiful, strong, caring woman.
Annie who’d helped me realize that I couldn’t live with Jennifer for the rest of my life.
Annie who deserved much better than me.
She deserved a home with two point five kids. A husband that worked nine to five.
And I wasn’t that.
I’d never work nine to five.
I hadn’t wanted kids at all, but life didn’t ask me what I wanted.
But I sure as fuck could make sure that I didn’t bring this shit to Annie’s front door anymore.
That, I had the power to do, and
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