Rafe (Wounded Sons #4) - Leah Sharelle



“Angie baby, are you ready to go?” I yelled out as I entered the house from the back door, my heavy boots echoing on the hardwood floor as I made my way through the kitchen to go in search of my wife.

Wife. I still couldn’t get my head around that I had a wife or that I was someone’s husband. Three weeks and four days ago, Angie put the thick, gold ring on my finger and promised to love me forever. Me doing the same as I slipped the thick diamond band next to her modest engagement ring.

My parents and hers said we were just kids and had no business getting married at twenty-two. I understood their concerns, Angie was two years younger than me, but it wasn’t as if we were rushing into married life without knowing each other. I met Angie when she had been just sixteen, we clicked right away and only days later, we became a couple. Since that day we have been inseparable … until today.

“Honey, we gotta get moving,” I called out a little louder this time, a little more frustrated that I had to go chasing her when she knew I was on a timeframe.

Moving through the house we rented, I looked in almost every room but came up short.

No Angie.

I knew what she was doing, but going over the argument that seemed to play on a record was not something I wanted to get into today. I’d always, always told Angie the truth. She knew what I wanted to do with my life, had accepted it, and married me knowing it. Why she was being difficult now kind of pissed me off. I was nervous enough as it was without Angie throwing one of her tantrums.

Deep down, I knew I indulged my wife in many ways. She came from money, I did not. She never had a part-time job in her life, I had several. She was an only child, with rich parents to lean on; my parents were blue-collar workers and had been all their lives. Where they installed morals and work ethics in their kids, Angie’s parents tossed money at their only child and left her care to her nanny. When we got engaged, I told Angie I wanted to support her with the money I earned, not have her parents set up a bank account for us or gift us a house of their choosing paid for by them. I learnt early into our relationship, the Laylaw’s were generous, but every handout came with conditions. They didn’t always become apparent right away, but trust me, they were there.

Angie accepted it, I did not. Therefore I wanted to make it on our own, and renting a three-bedroom cottage was part of it. The other part of it was my big career move, doing this was going to be good for us and set me up for a lifelong career and paycheque. Once Angie had some time to come to terms with it, she was going to be fine.

Walking down the hall after checking the bathroom and spare rooms, I headed for our bedroom, coming to a halt when I looked inside and saw my wife tucked in bed with her phone in her hand, her fingers flying across the screen, and the TV on.

“Angie, what the hell?”

“Don’t swear at me, Rafferty, it is uncouth.” My full name sounding like a curse word when she resorted to her rich, snotty voice.

Fuck me, I don’t have time for this.

“We have to go, Ang, it is a long drive there.”

“Yes, and a long drive home, which you expect me to do on my own,” she huffed dramatically, not looking at me. I fucking hated it when she talked to me but used her phone at the same time. Texting or surfing social media it didn’t matter; it was rude, and she knew where I sat with that shit.

“Angela, get out of bed and let’s move it. I can not be late to the base.”

Angie sniffed then finally tossed her phone onto her blanket-covered lap, her green eyes firing bullets at me.

“I’m not going, Rafe, I don’t want you to join the army, and Daddy said if I don’t want it, then that should be enough for you to stay.” Angie used the voice I normally found endearing, childish yes, but Angie was an only child and her parents doted on her twenty-four hours a day. Most of the time, I let her snide moods