Page 64 of Perdition
The heat in her core turned up expectantly, but she shut that down.
Nope. Not today, inner floozy! Today, the heart and mind are in charge!
They were seated, silently watching each other, and it was time to make or break….
“I need to know what happened, Frost,” she said, hating that her voice wavered, hating that she couldn’t speak his name, the name she revered and adored for twenty-eight years…since she’d first met him at twelve years old.
To her, right then, he was Frost. Not Madsen, her husband, but Frost, the President of an MC.
“I need you to tell me because I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep going with the worries, the what ifs, the whys, and the anger—so much anger….”
More than anger.
Rage.
“What happened a year ago that made you start pulling away? Did you even notice? Did you even care that you were becoming a ghost in this house, in this marriage? Did it even matter to you that your wife was becoming a side character in your life, like someone who could just disappear, and you’d never notice?”
Stricken, his face pale, he threw up a hand. “Whoa—whoa, now wait a second,” he barked, “You need to give me a chance to answer. I get that you’re upset, and I want to answer your questions, but I can only do that if you slow down, breathe, and let me speak.”
Snapping her mouth shut, she glared at him, but remained silent.
Tipping her head in a “go on” motion, she waited for him to speak again.
Frost scrubbed at his face, looking weary, his shoulder tense under the weight of his choices—past and present.
She’d never seen her strong, fierce, decisive husband look so defeated. So vulnerable. Not even when he’d lost friends in the service. Not even when he’d come home carrying the memories of the things he’d done in the desert. Not even when his grandfather—the man he loved most in the world—died.
Sitting across from her now…he wasn’t Frost. He was Mads; wounded by his own hand, and letting the poison from the infected flesh slowly kill him.
Em opened her mouth, though she had no idea what she was going to say, but he finally began to speak.
“A year ago…fuck…that’s when this patch over business started,” he said, an edge in his voice. “Tiburon came to me, offering what was left of the club resources, a few good men, and the opportunity to grow our ranks and income stream. The kids had just left home, you were at the shop more often than not, and I…I was left behind?—”
She gasped. “That’s not true!”
He snorted, shaking his head, a sneer on his face. “I know that, Em, in my head I know that. The kids were off to start their lives out of the nest, you were finally living your dream—full on—with your flower shop, and I felt like everyone else was doing something with purpose.”
Stunned, Emily reached over the gap between them, and placed a hand on his arm.
“You had the club, you had your family?—”
“The club was running well, no issues, nothing that could completely fill the void that you and the twins had left…when you left.”
“But we didn’t go anywhere,” Em argued, frustrated. “The kids are still in the area, and I was still home every night—waiting foryou, I might add.” And she had been, because she’d still been holding on to the beauty and stability and intimacy of their marriage. Until he’d stopped calling, stopped texting, stopped caring.
“My head knows all that Em, but my heart…I don’t know what the fuck happened.”
She huffed, rolling her eyes. “I know what happened,” she claimed, “you were no longer the focus of our family of four, no longer the head of a full household, in control of your domain. Your subjects were ‘rebelling’—leaving the safety of your protection and control, and living their lives without yourinput or permission. You were a king who had quickly lost his kingdom, and you just couldn’t deal with not having something to control. To rule over.”
As she was speaking, he was shaking his head, faster and with more vehemence.
She nodded, and snapped, “Oh yes, and when the chance to do the patch over came across your desk, you snatched it up because it meant you had something to pour all that control and hurt pride into. It gave you a purpose you didn’t think you had anymore, because, somehow, your kids becoming adults and your wife channeling her empty nest energy into her business were no longer something you could take pride in. Your family was no longer enough for you to feel like you mattered. We were no longer your purpose.”
The man looked wrecked, like someone had plunged a hand into his belly and showed him his own guts.
“You…” his voice cracked, “you actually believe that?”
God, why did it hurt so much? She knew it needed to be said, to be let loose, freed, but with that freedom came the pain. His and hers.
