WORK IN PROGRESS: Jet and Parker

Chapter 5 (Jet): Your Private Account

Copyright © 2024 by GroveltoHEA

The fourth book dedication from Jet to Parker:

You said yes.

You agreed to marry me, Parker.

You agreed to be mine.

I asked because I was already yours.

I wanted us to be official.

And by the end of this year, we will be.

You are my love, Parker.

She'd hung up on me again. Hadn't heard from Parker in days, and then fucking Rhonda started running her mouth in the background a-fucking-gain making things sound like they were something when they weren't. I couldn't catch a break where my wife was concerned and it was pissing me off. I called Parker again and again.

No answer.

No surprise.

Fifty calls later, they were all unanswered, all unreturned. Didn't bother leaving a voice mail because I'd filled up her mail box within hours after I arrived home to discover she'd left me.

When she'd told me not to worry about coming home, I knew she wasn't fucking around and, not thinking clearly, headed for my bike. Fortunately, my brothers stopped me since I was unsteady on my feet. They threw me in the MC's pickup, with Rhonda following me out to the parking lot and fucking yammering I don't even know what until I looked at her and told her to shut the fuck up. 

Then the sober brothers peeled out on their bikes, heading for my house as quickly as possible to make sure Parker didn't leave before I got there and could talk with her. The prospect drove me at a more sane pace, ignoring me telling him to get on the sidewalk to pass some slow-moving assholes on the road if he had to but to get his ass moving. I had a wife to talk with.

Parker had never sounded like she had that night on the phone, and I was worried. She'd sounded done. And since she was my very life, her being done wasn't in my plans and nothing I could contemplate.

When I'd arrived just a couple of minutes after the brothers, Parker had already disappeared. We'd determined that she wasn't in the house or the yard, so the brothers had spread out on their bikes to see if they could find her, and with every passing minute, I was sobering up rapidly as I paced outside. Her car was here, so where the hell was she?

Parker and I would argue occasionally, but neither one of us had ever walked out. We worked things out, having recognized early on that we were two hot-tempered people who needed to cool down but not walk out. But this time, it appeared Parker had left me.

I'd read my wife's note to me, written in red, on the dedication page of the book she'd left open on the coffee table, and that ink matched the red film that covered my vision. I didn't know what the hell had happened, but the shit on the dedication page wasn't the dedication and acknowledgment I'd written.

I called my agent while I had the brothers trying to call my wife, thinking maybe she'd answer one of the many unknown numbers popping up on her phone since she was clearly ignoring my number. No luck with the brothers getting in touch with her, and the call with my agent was equally unsatisfying. She had no clue what had happened to the dedication, but promised she'd call my editor and the head of my team at the publishing house and find out what had happened and how such a colossal mistake had been made.