The Wright Boss(18)

       
         
       
        

"Yeah, sorry. You know I want to be there, but-"

"Yeah, yeah. Just figure out your life. Call me if you need me … or a lawyer."

I sighed. "Thanks, man. I'll keep that in mind."

After I hung up, I said my good-byes to Austin and then Miranda and I headed to the airport. Our flight had a layover in Dallas, and Miranda insisted we upgrade to first class for the long leg of the flight. I didn't want to argue, so I just did it. She ordered a mimosa as soon as we were in the air again. I didn't need a drink; I needed a new body.

The landing was hell on my back, and in that moment, I was glad for the first-class seat. If the pain could flame up that quickly, I had a feeling that surgery was going to come sooner rather than later. A problem for another day.

After we picked up Miranda's bag from baggage claim, we walked out to my Mercedes SUV parked in the deck and drove into Clearwater. We lived in a gated country club on the water with a full golf course that, up until this recent injury, I had played at nearly every day. Big enough to house a college spring break, our house was a sprawling two-story overlooking the Gulf of Mexico with a pool and hot tub out back.

Miranda had been silent and fidgeting the entire drive from the airport. She hopped out of the car as soon as I pulled into the garage. She seemed nervous, and I didn't know why. But the vibe from her was coming off strong.

I didn't really want to deal right now. I wanted to get our luggage inside and pass out for a few hours. I had not gotten enough sleep this weekend.

With a groan, I pulled Miranda's enormous suitcase out of the trunk. Why she'd had to bring a full-sized suitcase for a last-minute weekend trip, I would never understand. My back certainly didn't approve. Then, I lugged it along with my own bag inside.

And I stopped dead in my tracks. "What the fuck?"

The house was a wreck.

I'd left it in pristine condition, and I came home to find it … vandalized. The furniture had been moved, and pillows were scattered across the room. Pictures had been ripped off the walls. All the frames of me and Miranda had been overturned, or the glass had shattered onto the hardwood floor. Some decorative display with green glass pebbles had been strewn across the room.

Miranda whirled around with her brows scrunched together and her mouth open. "I can explain."

"You can … explain?" I asked in confusion. "We've been robbed."

It was the only explanation that seemed to fit. Someone must have broken in and trashed the place, looking for money or valuables.

"We haven't," she said softly.

"How the hell do you know that?"

I dropped the luggage and slammed the garage door behind me. My fury reignited, like pouring gasoline on a flame. I'd been gone for three days, and this had fucking happened! 

"Because I did it," she whispered.

"You did what?"

"I was upset, and I got carried away," she said so evenly that it was as if she were delivering news about where we were going for lunch. It was nothing of importance. Just something that had happened. Something she hadn't even blinked at when she left the house like this to come get me from Lubbock.

"You trashed our house," I said slowly through gritted teeth.

"I said I was upset." She lifted one petite shoulder, as if to say, Oops.

My gaze shifted around the room once more. This was what had happened when she was upset. She had turned into a Tasmanian devil and leveled the living room. What in the hell was wrong with someone who could do something like that?

Finally, my eyes landed back on her.

She seemed perfectly content. We'd talked. I was home. Her world was in the right.

But I was seeing a different person.

I was seeing the person my family had been warning me about for years. The one I had known existed and been willing to walk away from a year ago. The woman that I'd given everything … and then she spat in my face.

I'd been played.

As I stared around at the destruction, it was so fucking obvious. Miranda hadn't been sad or upset after I'd left. She'd been pissed. Then she'd used that anger to come up with a plan to get me back. No matter how much she had to lie and act. And it had fucking worked.

But the evidence of her scheming was before me.

"Don't worry," Miranda continued. "I'll have someone come to clean it up. It'll be fine."

"Fine," I whispered.

"Yep." She grinned at me. She thought this was all better now. Her plan had worked. She got another chance, and now she could go back to how things were. "I'm going to go up and change. I scheduled a massage and facial for later today. After this horrible weekend, I need to detox."