Free Wreckage by Emily Bleeker Page A

off his reading glasses. A bright smile crept onto his face.
    “Hey there, hot stuff, this is a nice surprise. How are things going down there? You holding up?”
    “Yeah, we’re not even halfway done but one of the camera battery packs malfunctioned, so we took a break.”
    “Mmmm,” he murmured, biting the rubber tip of the temple on his glasses. “I must know, how’s the infamous Genevieve Randall? As scary as she looks on TV?”
    Jerry wasn’t a Genevieve Randall fan. He called her fake and overdone. Lillian thought it was incredibly cute of him.
    “Worse, I think she might be a robot.”
    “Hmmm, good or evil?” Jerry raised his eyebrow playfully.
    “Evil, what other kind is there?”
    “Touché.” He laughed. “So how’s the robot treating my wife? Trying to take over your body yet?”
    “That’s the pod people. Get your sci-fi evil villains straight.”
    “Sorry, robots aren’t pod people, got it.” Folding his glasses, he sat up a little straighter. “But seriously, what’s she like? Is she any different from the others?”
    Shaking her head, Lillian studied an invisible spot on the bedpost, trying to sound casual. “No, she’s just like all reporters. She keeps trying to get me emotional, get the ‘real story.’ You know what I’m talking about.”
    “Yeah, I know.” He closed the laptop and slid it under the bed. “Come here, relax a minute.” He scooched over a little, turning on his side and crunching some of the papers in the process, then patted a small space next to him on the bed.
    “I don’t think I’ll fit,” Lillian sighed, assessing the size of the bare spot on the bed and remembering her new generous hip size. He patted again, refusing excuses. Kicking off her heels, she raised a dubious eyebrow, which Jerry ignored. He slipped his hand around her waist, fingers holding on tight to a rear belt loop.
    “Oh, we’ll make you fit.” With a quick yank he tugged her into the warm spot he’d just vacated, tucking her legs between his own. He cradled her head neatly beneath his chin, right above his heart.
    He smelled like his fancy cologne, the kind she bought him at Macy’s when he made partner a year before her trip to Fiji. He only wore it on special occasions like a big day in court or a date night that included more than grabbing a bite at Taco Bell and walking around Walmart looking for storage bins. He wasn’t like a lot of men, dousing himself in cologne until any open flame could set him ablaze. No, as with everything else in his life he was measured and conservative, allowing one puff of the spray. Lillian buried her nose in the crease of his neck, inhaling his smell.
    “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
    “I know I don’t.” Lillian paused, considering how to explain it again. “I want to.”
    Jerry sat still, right arm wrapped all the way around his wife, caressing her free arm. His light strokes sent shivers down her spine. She tipped her head back enough so she could kiss his neck.
    Settling down on the bed, she imagined the thoughts tumbling around Jerry’s brain. At times like this she wanted to blurt out the whole story, no more secrets between them. But then she’d always come to her senses and remember why she had to hold fast, how everything would change if he knew.
    “ Why do you want to do this all over again? I thought you hated it.” She could feel his warm breath in her hair as he pressed his lips against her scalp.
    “I want it over, and I think if everyone finally hears the story, the whole story, then they’ll leave us alone. And that contract, you said the exclusivity clause is binding. This will be the last interview . . . ever.”
    He laughed, rubbing his lips across her hair as he shook his head. “Well, yeah, but even that has loopholes. Even though you have a pretty spectacular lawyer, I’m afraid it’ll take more than one interview to get those vultures to leave us alone.” He paused. “So I’m assuming Dave