Beautiful Disaster 02 Walking Disaster (46 page)

I pulled back and nodded, and then bent at the waist, cupping Abby’s round stomach. “How about you?” I asked my third child. I kissed Abby’s protruding belly button, and
then stood up again.

Abby rubbed her middle in a circular motion. “He’s still cooking.”

“Good.” I pulled a small box from my carry-on and held it in front of me. “Eleven years today, we were in Vegas. It’s still the best day of my life.”

Abby took the box, and then tugged on my hand until we were in the entryway. It smelled like a combination of cleaner, candles, and kids. It smelled like home.

“I got you something, too.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” She smiled. She left me for a moment, disappearing into the office, and then came out with a manila envelope. “Open it.”

“You got me mail? Best wife, ever,” I teased.

Abby simply smiled.

I opened the lip, and pulled out the small stack of papers inside. Dates, times, transactions, even emails. To and from Benny, to Abby’s father, Mick. He’d been working for Benny for
years. He’d borrowed more money from him, and then had to work off his debt so he wouldn’t get killed when Abby refused to pay it off.

There was only one problem: Abby knew I worked with Thomas . . . but as far as I knew, she thought I worked in advertising.

“What’s this?” I asked, feigning confusion.

Abby still had a flawless poker face. “It’s the connection you need to tie Mick to Benny. This one right here,” she said, pulling the second paper from the pile, “is the
nail in the coffin.”

“Okay . . . but what am I supposed to do with it?”

Abby’s expression morphed into a dubious grin. “Whatever you do with these things, honey. I just thought if I did a little digging, you could stay home a little longer this
time.”

My mind raced, trying to figure a way out of this. I had somehow blown my cover. “How long have you known?”

“Does it matter?”

“Are you mad?”

Abby shrugged. “I was a little hurt at first. You have quite a few white lies under your belt.”

I hugged her to me, the papers and envelope still in my hand. “I’m so sorry, Pidge. I’m so, so sorry.” I pulled away. “You haven’t told anyone, have
you?”

She shook her head.

“Not even America or Shepley? Not even Dad or the kids?”

She shook her head again. “I’m smart enough to figure it out, Travis. You think I’m not smart enough to keep it to myself? Your safety is at stake.”

I cupped her cheeks in my hand. “What does this mean?”

She smiled. “It means you can stop saying you have yet another convention to go to. Some of your cover stories are downright insulting.”

I kissed her again, tenderly touching my lips to hers. “Now what?”

“Kiss the kids, and then you and I can celebrate eleven years of in-your-face-we-made-it. How about that?”

My mouth stretched into a wide grin, and then looked down at the papers. “Are you going to be okay with this? Helping take down your dad?”

Abby frowned. “He’s said it a million times. I was the end of him. At least I can make him proud about being right. And the kids are safer this way.”

I laid the papers on the end of the entryway table. “We’ll talk about this later.”

I walked down the hall, pulling Abby by the hand behind me. Jessica’s room was the closest, so I ducked in and kissed her cheek, careful not to wake her, and then I crossed the hall to
James’s room. He was still awake, lying there quietly.

“Hey, buddy,” I whispered.

“Hey, Dad.”

“I hear you had a rough day. You all right?” He nodded. “You sure?”

“Steven Matese is a douche bag.”

I nodded. “You’re right, but you could probably find a more appropriate way to describe him.”

James pulled his mouth to the side.

“So. You beat Mom at poker today, huh?”

James smiled. “Twice.”

“She didn’t tell me that part,” I said, turning to Abby. Her dark, curvy silhouette graced the lit doorway. “You can give me the play-by-play tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I love ya.”

“Love you, too, Dad.”

I kissed my son’s nose and then followed his mom down the hall to our room. The walls were full of family and school portraits, and framed artwork.

Abby stood in the middle of the room, her belly full with our third child, dizzyingly beautiful, and happy to see me, even after she learned what I’d been keeping from her for the better
part of our marriage.

I had never been in love before Abby, and no one had even piqued my interest since. My life was the woman standing before me, and the family we’d made together.

Abby opened the box, and looked up at me, tears in her eyes. “You always know just what to get. It’s perfect,” she said, her graceful fingers touching the three birthstones of
our children. She slipped it on her right ring finger, holding out her hand to admire her new bauble.

“Not as good as you getting me a promotion. They’re going to know what you did, you know, and it’s going to get complicated.”

“It always seems to with us,” she said, unaffected.

I took a deep breath, and shut the bedroom door behind me. Even though we’d put each other through hell, we’d found heaven. Maybe that was more than a couple of sinners deserved, but
I wasn’t going to complain.

I
HAVE TO START BY THANKING MY INCREDIBLE HUSBAND
, Jeff. Without fail he has offered his support and encouragement, and has
kept the children happy and busy so mommy can work. I wouldn’t be able to do this without him, and I truly mean that. He takes care of me so completely, I literally just have to sit in my
office and write. My husband possesses seemingly endless patience and understanding that I wish I had just a fraction of. He loves me on my worst days, and refuses to let me believe there is
anything I can’t do. Thank you for loving me so perfectly that I can funnel that into my writing to let others experience a little bit of what you’ve given me. I’m so lucky to
have you.

My two sweet girls, who let mommy work for hours into the night without complaining so that I could meet my first real deadline on time, and to the most handsome man in the world, my son, for
waiting until I typed “The End” to make his appearance into the world.

Beth Petrie, my most treasured friend, who is the closest thing to a sister I could have. Three years ago she said I could finish a novel during X-ray school with two kids and a job. She said I
would accomplish everything I wanted to, and she’s still saying it. I’ve said this a million times, but I’ll say it again: if it weren’t for Beth, I wouldn’t have
written a single word of
Beautiful Disaster,
or
Providence,
or any of my other novels. It did not occur to me to write a novel until she said, “Do it. Go sit down at your
computer right now and start typing.” She is the sole reason I have traveled down this magical path that has freed me in so many ways. She has saved me in even more ways than that. Thank you.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Rebecca Watson, my film and literary agent, for her hard work and dedication, for taking me on when I was still an up-and-coming author, and to E L James for introducing us.

Abbi Glines, my sweet friend and fellow writer, who took a look at
Walking Disaster
in its infancy and assured me that yes, I was doing the male POV right.

Colleen Hoover, Tammara Webber, and Elizabeth Reinhardt, for making my editor’s job a bit easier. You teach me something almost every day, whether it’s writing, my career, or life
lessons.

The women of FP, my writers group, and on some days my rock and salvation. I cannot say enough how much your friendship means to me. You have been with me through every up-and-down,
disappointment, and celebration this year. Your advice is invaluable, and your encouragement has gotten me through so many rough days.

Nicole Williams, my friend and fellow writer. Thank you for being so gracious and kind. The way you handle every aspect of your career is an inspiration to me, and I can’t wait to see what
life has in store for you.

Tina Bridges, RN and former hospice angel. When I needed answers to some very tough questions, she didn’t hesitate to let me dig as deep and dark as I needed to get to the unpleasant truth
about death and dying. You are an amazing person for helping so many children get through unimaginable loss. I applaud you for your courage and compassion.

Foreign literary agents and staff of the Intercontinental Literary Agency. Everything you’ve accomplished has been so far beyond the spectrum of what I could have done for myself. Thank
you so much for bringing my book to more than twenty countries in as many languages!

Maryse Black, book blogger, genius, supermodel, and friend. You have brought Travis to so many wonderful people who love him almost as much as you do. No wonder he loves you so much. I’ve
watched your blog grow from something fun to a force of nature, and I’m so glad we began our journeys around the same time. It’s amazing to see where we’ve been, where we are, and
where we’ll go!

I’d also like to thank my editor Amy Tannenbaum for not only loving and believing in this unconventional love story as much as I do, but for being such a joy to work with, and making the
entire transition to traditional publishing so positive.

My publicist Ariele Fredman, who has walked me through an unknown (to me) jungle of press and interviews, and for taking such great care of me.

Judith Curr, my publisher, for her constant words of encouragement and validation that I was a part of the Atria family not only through her words, but through her actions.

Julia Scribner and the rest of the Atria staff for working so hard on production, marketing, sales, and everything else that goes into getting this novel from my computer to the readers’
hands. I’m not sure what I expected from traditional publishing, but I’m so glad my path led me to Atria Books!