Page 46 of Heart of Frost and Scars

A son I’ll never meet.

Because I refused to accept him.

I kick over a trunk, the tumble of books echoing in the room. The sound of destruction fuels my anger, pushing me further into madness.

All the money in the world won’t bring them back.

They’re gone.

Panting, seething, I collapse to my knees, surrounded by the chaos I’ve created.

I need to get out of here. Away from this house. Away from the memories. Away from the woman who’s driving me insane.

My body trembles as I force myself to stand and head for the door.

Moving on autopilot, I slip out of the crawl space, into the guest bedroom closet, and cover the opening with the shelving unit.

In my bathroom, I wash my hands, gritting my teeth against the hot sting of broken skin.

I pull on running shoes, grab the boat keys, and bolt outside.

The rain stopped, leaving the air fresh and crisp. Shirtless and out of breath, I sprint into the night, following the running paths away from the guest house, away from the torment of watching her with them.

The scent of damp earth fills my lungs as my feet pound the ground, my mind a bleeding mess of heartache and desperation.

The dock comes into view. One of the men on the security team stands at the entrance. He looks at me funny but doesn’t say anything. He only nods as I pass, recognizing the violence in my eyes.

I jump into the yacht and start the engine, the roar of the motor shattering the silence.

Water churns beneath the hull as I speed off into the Sitka Sound.

Richness and extravagance surround me in comfort. Polished exotic wood, stitched Italian leather, custom artwork, and handwoven carpets—all crafted by renowned interior designers.

The best that money can buy.

Yet I’ve never felt more alone.

None of it means a goddamn thing without her.

The wind whips through my hair, and the salty tang of the sea melds with the smell of diesel.

As the island fades into the distance, the dark expanse of the Sound stretches out before me. I push the yacht faster, slicing through the waves, but the speed and fresh air bring no pleasure.

My chest cracks with each crash of the bow against the water. Doesn’t matter how much distance I put between her and me, I can’t escape the pain.

As I steer into the night, it starts raining again. Pouring. The droplets hammer down, the darkness swallowing everything, leaving an expanse of sorrow and isolation.

I slow the yacht and pour a glass of the finest whiskey, but the burn does nothing to warm the cold ache. I turn on music to drown out my thoughts, but every note feels hollow. I pace the deck, the rain soaking my sweatpants, the wind lashing at me, but nothing eases the torment.

The image of my wife fucking two men invades my mind, a relentless torture hellbent on destroying me.

I’m consumed.

My bloody knuckles turn white as I squeeze my hands around imaginary necks, the rage transforming me into something unrecognizable.

With no one around, I stop the yacht and kill the engine.

Stepping out onto the deck in the pounding rain, I raise my face to the sky and scream into the storm. A primal, guttural sound tears from my throat. I scream until my voice goes raw, until the agony pulls my legs out from under me.

---