Chapter 79

The One With A Message

NATE

What the actual fuck.

Not only have I been robbed while being away on holiday, but almost everything I left behind has been destroyed. As I take a glance around my bedroom, I’m legitimately curious why whoever did this didn’t just finish the job. Why didn’t they go ahead and set the entire fucking house on fire? Wouldn’t it have been easier than taking the time to do this much damage?

This was meticulous. Time consuming. Well thought out. It was done to inflict the most damage not only on my things, but to me.

I saunter across the room, grabbing my lone green armchair to stand it up right. I seat myself in it and sink my head in my hands as I assess what my bedroom has become. When I twist my neck to peer at the far side of the room, I see the painting Arielle gave me for Christmas tucked behind the dresser where I left it—the painting of her naked body sitting on my face.

I stand, sprinting to the other side and I carefully yank it out. I breathe a sigh of relief when I notice that it hasn’t been touched. The fact that I placed it behind the piece of furniture for safe-keeping until I figured out where to hang it is likely the only reason it isn’t smashed and torn into a million pieces on my carpeting.

I lean it up against the nearby wall—beneath a hole that appears to have been punched through the drywall.

Why didn’t I bring the engagement ring with me to Muskoka? I had debated shoving it into my suitcase because I didn’t want to lose it but I never in a million years thought something would actually happen to it. I had a slight fear that Arielle—or Chase, even—would go through my luggage for something and would find it and then it would become a whole thing. It’s one of the main reasons I hid it in the closet before we left.

I mean, I’m super fucking glad that didn’t happen. After Arielle’s and my conversation about marriage, there’s no way that her seeing an engagement ring that I’ve owned for weeks would be a good thing.

However, if I would’ve brought it, at least it wouldn’t be missing right now.

As I’m standing there, thinking over my life choices, I feel my phone vibrate once in my pocket. I pull it out and with a glance at the screen, my heart sinks in my chest.

Unknown Number: Welcome home, Nate

I swallow with difficulty, reading the message over at least a half dozen times. It’s so simple, yet so fucking ominous.

Nevertheless, it gets the damn point across. I don’t have to recognize the phone number to know who it is. This has Ezra written all over it. He’s probably calling shots from prison, having his little weak ass lackey Langley doing his dirty work.

I pissed him off, I get it. I’m the main reason he ended up in prison. The reason why he’s going to be sent away for a long time. I mean, if breaking into my house and trashing it is the worst he can do, bring it on then. I still have a copious amount of evidence proving his crimes and he’ll never find where it’s all stored.

I glance down at my phone again.

Unknown Number: To be continued ... see you soon

I exhale, closing my eyes as I take a moment to control my breathing. Arielle can’t know about these texts. I quickly delete them, stuffing my phone back into my pocket as I hear her voice nearing my room.

I’m not a moron, I realize she’s going to know exactly who did this, but I’d rather she assume it was a simple act of revenge for putting Ezra away. She doesn’t need to know that it sounds like we have trouble brewing in the future. Or, at least, I’d like a chance to head down to Ezra’s old office and chat with Langley. We worked together, I’d like to think I made his acquaintance, I even saved his ass—maybe he feels like he owes me.

If I can talk him out of this shit, then it’ll be handled. If he doesn’t take kindly to my arrival, then I’ll tell Arielle about the messages and the fact that Ezra’s likely up to something behind bars. I just want to try my absolute best to protect her without her ever realizing somethings up.

Granted, my inner voice reminds me that the last time I attempted to protect her without her knowledge, I ended up in prison.

“You know who did this, right?” Her voice echoes down the hall as she gets close and when I finally make eye contact with her, she steps over a pile of broken furniture. “This is a total Ezra move.”

I nod, trying not to react to the sound of that.

That means Ezra and his people have Arielle’s engagement ring. Which means they are aware of the fact that I have plans to propose. I’m sure Ezra will do anything possible to keep it from happening. He made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t believe I’m good enough for Arielle. Some metal bars aren’t going to stop his influence. I was a fool to ever think they would.

The worst part of this, is that I’m positive none of those evil people will keep the secret of a possible proposal. I just know that they’re going to throw it in my face—or Arielle’s—the first chance they get. They’ll mock me and by doing so, will inform Arielle about my plan.

The normal circumstance of a proposal is that it’s supposed to a surprise. However, in my circumstance, I’m trying extra hard to keep it hush, especially after the conversation I had with Arielle where she stated she’s not ready for marriage yet. I agreed that I’m not ready either—I’m really not—but I’ve been repeating this shit in my head constantly for days now ... I don’t want to scare her off.

I honestly don’t know how she’d react to an engagement ring right now. I understand that she’s not going to up and stop loving me because of it, but I don’t want to trigger any potential commitment phobias I see bubbling under the surface. I understand them all too well. She’s the first woman I’ve been with that I don’t have those feelings about. I’m actually excited about the idea of committing to her for the remainder of my life.

Arielle steps towards me and wraps her arms around my waist, pulling me into an embrace. “I’m so sorry,” her voice is soft, deeply sincere.

“Please, stop apologizing for the things he does.”

If she keeps doing this, she’s not going to have a voice left.

This isn’t her fault.

I brush hair off her forehead, pressing my lips to the newly exposed skin. As I pull back, she’s pouting and so, I question her on it. “They ripped the felt on your pool table,” she tells me.

I cock my head, rather confused. “I mean, they destroyed everything. Why is that what’s bothering you?”

She hides her face in my chest, suddenly shy. “That’s the first place we fucked,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.

I smile, letting out a laugh. Memories of me bending her over the billiards table flood my mind. Fuck, that feels like it was ages ago, but maybe that’s because after that night—after our interaction at the bar—I was done for. I was a fucking goner. She had me wrapped around her finger and so much has happened since that night.

I grab her face in my hands, forcing her to look up into my eyes. “You do realize we’ve fucked everywhere in this house, babygirl? If you’re sad about the billiards table, you should be upset about the sofa, the countertop, the shower, pool, my bed—” I motion with my head towards the mattress that’s been shredded.

She smiles, “That’s true. Fuck, I didn’t realize we’re that fuckin’ horny.”

I crack a smile at the sound of that.

“What are you gonna’ do about all this?” She questions as she removes herself from around my waist to turn around. She approaches the painting, “At least something survived.”

I sigh, stepping up behind her to put my hands on her hips and my lips to an exposed piece of her back at the base of her neck. “I don’t know. This is a fuckin’ mess.” I stare over her shoulder, watching her trace down her body in the painting with her index finger.

“That’s an understatement.” She places her left hand atop mine where it sits on her waist and leans backwards into me. “Come stay with me,” she offers, still enamoured with the piece of art.