Page 8 of A Method to His Madness

“Then allow me to be very clear.” I stand up, so that he’s forced to look up at me again, this beta who flew too close to the sun. “If Ashley wants to spend three days talking, that’s what we’ll do. If she wants to be taken on a date by a real man, that’s what we’ll do. But listen very carefully, if Ashley asks me to fuck her, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” I enunciate every word. “I’m going to fuck your wife, Waylon.”

CHAPTER 4

Ashley

Every timeI think I can’t be surprised any more than I already have, I’m proven wrong. Not only did he slap my husband across the face, but he has also utterly cowed the man. Waylon is doing his best to melt into the couch, his toxic bullshit diminished in the face of real strength. Real power. I’m…dreaming? Imustbe dreaming. This man, this self-proclaimed unconventional therapist—Caleb Draper has shocked me at every turn since walking into his office.

He’s a pillar of quiet might.

A puma on the verge of striking.

He’s terrifying.

And I can’t look away. I’m hypnotized by the deep resonance of his voice. The words coming out of his hard yet undeniably sensual mouth.

I’m going to fuck your wife, Waylon.

I should cross the room and slap him across his chiseled face for making such a presumption. I should storm from the dim, tasteful office comprised of muted forest colors, steal Waylon’s truck and keep driving. Get far, far away from here and the conflicting emotions in my chest, the confusing waves of heat pulsing through my lower body. I don’t want this. I don’t want any man. I made that decision a long time ago.

But Caleb is giving me the green light to make more choices.

More decisions. Real ones. Concerning my own body. A body I’ve never truly explored because I resent it for all the attention it’s brought down on my head.

If Caleb is to be believed, he’s empowering me.

And I’m caught off guard. I’m struggling with how to react.

Righteous anger or…gratitude.

“What the hell did you just say?” Waylon finally shouts, spittle flying from his mouth, his face still red from that well-earned backhand.

Caleb’s expression is made of stone as he steps even closer to Waylon, so he’s looming above the smaller man. Smaller in every way. “You heard me.”

It’s unreal, watching my abuser shrink down to nothing. It’s like dragging in oxygen after swimming against the current all the way from the ocean floor.

It’s magical. It’s freedom.

It’s so freeing, in fact, that if I could, I would leave Waylon this very afternoon. I would file for an annulment and pursue my own life. A life of creativity and abundant thought. Writing stories. Letting my mind expand and run wild. But he still has my family by the throat. He could refuse to renew their lease on the land. He could strip them of their livelihood in a heartbeat. And he would. He’s vindictive. He’s unconscionable. How else to describe a man who could force me into marriage when he’s known me since I was in elementary school?

“Ashley,” Waylon says, twisting toward me on the couch, face purpling with impotence and rage. “You can’t really be considering this!”

I can’t.

I can’t.

Right?

Except I haven’t been able to think of anything but Caleb for two straight days. How he spoke to me with such understanding and respect. How he stood up for me. And those two compelling words written on the back of his business card.

Trust me.

“I decide how I’m to be…counselled?” I ask Caleb, sending Waylon into a sputter.

“That’s right.” Caleb ignores my husband and focuses on me, his blue eyes like a beckoning stretch of ocean. Deep and reliably turbulent, but also…eternal. Strong. Present. Renewing. “I’m going to help you learn about yourself. You’ll learn what you need. That way, you’ll know what to ask for. In a marriage.”

Amarriage.

Notmymarriage.

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