Page 11 of Perdition
She knew. Cheri knew that Em had been hiding things, but that wasn’t a surprise; the woman was perceptive as hell.
Apparently, her bestie was done waiting for Em to spill the tea, because she was bringing out the big guns—wine and a sleepover.
Em hummed, closing her eyes, taking the comfort where she could get it.
She only hoped that once she’d bared it all, she would still be strong enough to stand and, if necessary, walk away.
Expelling a heavy breath, Em replied, “Fine, we’ll have a sleepover.” Her expression hardened as her hands curled into fists. “But first, we have some shit to do.”
Standing in line at the Sheetz gas station was not what she’d originally planned for her evening. Truthfully, she’d hoped that after dropping off Mads’s jeans, she’d find him in his office, they’d talk for the first time in too long, and he’d tell her how much he missed her. Then, he’d tell her he was taking her to dinner, then home, to “werk the bedsprings.”
It had been so freaking long since she’d even seen her gorgeous husband naked she was stuck using old pics of him in uniform to jelly her bean.
It was those nights she felt the most pathetic.
So, of course she wanted her husband to see her, admit he missed her, then make her come so hard and so often she couldn’t walk let alone sit upright for days.
But none of that had happened.
Instead, she’d been dragged from her own home by her bestie, who was expecting Em at her apartment in thirty minutes, which meant Em only had another ten minutes to spare in line, waiting for her turn to pay for gas.
She sighed and crossed her arms, annoyed. Frustrated. Desperate for the cheese platter and wine Cheri had promised her as a reward for packing her bag for a long weekend, and getting her ass in her car. They took tequila off the table when they agreed that morning after hangovers were not conducive to deep, soul-bearing conversations like the one Cheri was pushing for, and Em was grudgingly preparing for.
The next person in line moved forward, scooching their armload of snack purchases toward the harried looking Latino in the Sheetz t-shirt and visor. His name tag read “Dominic.”
Only two people left in front of her.
Ugh. Em heaved another sigh. Why was she always so fussy about using cash for non-online purchases? She even used cash for groceries, which always drove the kids crazy when she’d stand at the cash register, counting out change—totally embarrassing for preteens with an image to maintain.
Just thinking that made her roll her eyes.
She used cash because that’s how her grandma taught her financial responsibility. Once cash was spent, that was it. Not so with credit cards, which could be collected and run until empty, one after the other—and suddenly, you were up to your eyeballs in debt. Even from a young age, Emily knew she didn’t want to owe anyone anything. She didn’t even have a business loan for Flower’s Blooms; the Unchained MC were her investors, and she’d paid back every penny—and then some in interest—so she could do business without worrying over MC interests.
Finally, she was at the register, paid, and was headed back to her car. She had five minutes to get to Cheri’s, and she was feeling the urgency. Realistically, she knew there wasn’t any realdanger in being late, but one didn’t make Cheri mad unless they were asking to have their asses handed to them—verbally and physically. Then again, Cheri was Em’s best friend, had been for decades, so she wasn’t feeling as alarmed as most people would be.
Pointing her Durango toward Cheri’s house, Em tensed when her cell rang through the car’s Bluetooth system.
It was Mads.
And she knew exactly what he was calling about.
With a sneer and an aching heart, she hit ignore.
She needed space to think about how shitty her marriage had become over the last year. And she definitely needed to think about what she overheard in Frost’s office. And she really needed to think about what she was going to do if it all fell apart.
When the phone rang twice more, one on top of the other, the pang in Em’s chest clanged along with it. She’d nevernotpicked up when Mads called before; she always answered, because that’s what good wives did, that’s what women who love their husbands did—andGodshelovedthat man so damn much.
But then she remembered all the times she’d called him, and he hadn’t answered. All the read but unanswered texts. All the nights with the empty bed and even emptier promises.
She turned off her phone, wiped the tears from her cheeks, and swallowed down her sobs.
She’d cry later.
FIVE
He growled,his nostrils flaring as he slammed the front door behind him, leaving an equally angry wife barricaded behind the door in the master bedroom. Their bedroom.
Fuck sleeping on the couch.
