Page 4 of Perdition
Ten days. It had been ten fucking days since he’d been home, since he’d seen his wife. It had been three days since he’dspokenwith his wife, and that was three fucking days too long.
He ached with the absence of her.
And whose fucking fault is that?
Scrubbing his hand down his face, he heaved a sigh and leaned back in his desk chair, the aged leather creaking and the metal base squeaking with the movement. He could buy a new one, but this one was worn in, comfortable, fitting him perfectly.
Just like his marriage. Best friends for twenty-three years. A couple for twenty years. Married for nineteen years, two kids, six deployments from Fort Drum, two moves—from their tiny apartment to the house they currently lived in, and years of stress, drama, and other ups and downs with the Unchained MC…. Their relationship was older than some of the prospects looking to patch into the club, but that was one of the best things about it.
Right?
That his marriage was strong, uncomplicated…and…well, he wascontent.
At least he had been before the kids left for college, creating a vacuum where all-consuming chaos and noise once reigned. Now…there was silence, there was peace, there was…an emptiness he couldn’t quite fill, especially now that Em wasn’t there as often as she’d once been. Now…he had no idea what the fuck was going on.
Em, his Em, was his rock, his home, his reason. Em, his Em, hisBloom, had been with him from the very beginning, through all of his deployments in the Army, then all his long weeks away during road trips or long nights dealing with club business. His Em was used to long absences, some without contact for days or weeks at a time. But not once since he’d been discharged from the US Army had he and his wife gone so long without at least texting.
Yeah, he should have noticed on day one that she hadn’t texted, called, or had one of the brothers check in on him—she was a good wife like that. Truth was, he could have reached out to her too, checked in on her, told her he missed her and wished he could be home with her, wished he could lay next to her in their bed, make love to her. But…well…he didn’t have an excuse. He’d been letting the bullshit with the Bone Dogz patch over, drama with the brothers and their women, and the upcoming Cool Hands costume party and fundraiser keep his head occupied.
He was jerked from his thoughts when his cell chimed with a text from his desk, where a pile of invoices still sat untouched. Shit, he was never going to be out from under that pile of bullshit.
Maybe I should just let Patriot handle it…then maybe I can see my fucking wife again….
His phone chimed again, and he checked it.
Sarah: Thank you for lunch on Tuesday and yesterday. I can’t believe how beautiful that place is.
Sarah: Do you think we can go there again tomorrow? Weather is supposed to be perfect.
A hot poker covered in acid impaled him.
Fuck….
He scrubbed a hand down his face and pinched his eyes shut.
The moment he’d first set foot beneath that red maple tree with a woman who was not his wife, he’d known he’d done something irreparable. But…that day, he’d needed a moment, and Sarah had been vocally upset about something with her family back in New York, and he’d stupidly thought she could come with him, find peace and solace in the beauty and quiet of the back mountain property he and Em had owned for decades. He'd taken the truck, and Sarah had sat beside him, chatting about her issues with her mother, her hand reaching for his when she needed his strength, and once they’d parked at the fence line and gotten out of the truck, a weight had settled over him. An oppressive sense of wrongness that only added to his agitation over all the other bullshit he was dealing with. Rather than give in to it, to allow the stress of duty and obligation conquer him, he’d pushed forward, taking Sarah’s hand to help her over the old log fence, and then leading her to the spot overlooking the small lake at the back of the property. He hadn't even noticed he was still holding her hand until she curled into him, sighing, at the sight of “the spot.” The spot beneath the red maple tree he and Em had planted so long ago; a symbol of them, their growth, their relationship.
For fuck’s sake, he carved their names into the bark of that tree the same night they’d taken each other’s virginities.
Her voice soft, warm, filled with that sweetness he loved, she asked, “What’re you doin’, Mads?”
He turned his head to look over his shoulder at her where she was laying, naked, her skin glowing in the moonlight, beneath a thin blanket on top of a sleeping bag he’d spread out to keep the chill of the ground away.
He couldn’t stop the unrepentant and ravenous grin that lifted the corners of his mouth at the sight of her, his woman, his everything.
“I’m making a record of us, claiming this spot, this moment…for us,” he replied, a feeling unlike anything he’d ever felt before filling him from his toes to this scalp.
With one last deep groove, Mads stepped back, the knife now loose in his aching fingers.
He felt her move, not needing to see her to know she was there, now standing behind him, the blanket wrapped around her beautiful body, a body he’d worshipped for hours that night.
Her breath against the back of his neck, he groaned when she pressed herself against his back, then wrapped her arms around his waist, holding him there, as though she were his anchor, and him her pillar.
“Wow, Mads…,” she whispered, awe in her soft voice, “it’s amazing.”
He nodded silently, unable to tear his gaze from the permanent mark he’d left in the tree they’d planted three years ago. Red maples were fast growing, but they’d had no idea, when they’d planted it during Arbor Day when she was twelve and he was sixteen, that the tree would become a symbol of them. Em and Mads. And now it always would be.
“Mads loves Em 4-Ever,” Em read, sighing.
