Page 72 of Perdition

Frost put a large hand up, blocking her advance.

Frost wrapped an arm around Em, holding her molded to his side, like she belonged there. Because she did. For the first time in too long, she actually felt like part of a couple.

It was too bad the circumstances were what they were—him claiming her, her protecting him, and they two protecting each other from whatever evil this woman intended.

Something ancient and primal surged within her, and without taking a moment to think it through, she pushed to her toes, and kissed her husband.

Claiming him.

TWENTY-ONE

The groundbeneath him was hard, unyielding, cold.

It had once been soft with green grass, scattered leaves, and maple seeds.

There’s was once a tree there, right where he was sitting, but now it was freshly compacted dirt, pressed down, over and over, by the running tracks of a backhoe and the wheels of a hydraulic crane.

The tree they’d planted with a hand trowel, a watering can, and joy in their hearts had been ripped from its home by industrial steel, diesel, and scorn.

All that was left was grief.

Echoing and persistent.

The night before, after Sorsha’s call and Em’s hurried departure, he’d felt lost, unmoored, completely and utterly fractured. He’d been left standing in the living room of the home he was no longer welcome in, and he knew he should leave, but the idea of going back to the clubhouse, a place he one considered his second home, his place of rest during times of chaos, the heart of his brotherhood, was like contemplating jumping—bloody and naked—into a shark tank.

Those men would smell the blood in the water, and they’d circle, concerned, wanting to know what was going on, how things were going between him and Em, and what could he tell them?

He’d fucked all the way up, and his wife honestly believed that he wanted another woman, had already strayed with another woman, and that he had given that other woman the confidence to think she’d be his new old lady.

And Em hadn’t been wrong.

He had wanted to be with Sarah—though not sexually, at least not sober. Yes, she was attractive, and there had been that single moment when he’d been curious about what going there would be like, but he’d never, ever taken the steps to get there. Never touched her inappropriately, never kissed her, and he’d never gone into her room or let her into his. His room at the clubhouse was his and Em’s.

But it had long lost Em’s scent…and the warmth of her presence within it.

Had he strayed with Sarah? Was what he’d done equal to actually putting his dick inside her?

That was the danger in limerence, he decided. You fool yourself into thinking that because you didn’t get physical, it can’t be betrayal. The truth, however, is betrayal isn’t just the physical act, it is the small decisions, the little adjustments to manner and routine and boundaries. Men who’d never lie to their wives were suddenly “fibbing” a little about why they were late. No harm, right? They weren’t cheating, they were just helping that female co-worker change her flat tire. Then they’re helping her move. Then they are helping her fix the leak under her sink in the kitchen, then the faucet in the bathroom, then the light fixture over the bed—and with each intentional, harmless “fib,” they are making the decision to lie.

And suddenly, they’re lying naked in the bed beside that co-worker, wondering how the fuck they got there.

That was where Sarah had gotten her confidence to confront Em—step by step, little by little, he’d shifted from being a husband to Em to a “friend” to Sarah, and he’d rationalized it as him helping her. She was sad, so he helped her feel better. She was lonely, so he helped cheer her up. She was feeling unloved, so he told her she was young, and she had a whole life ahead of her to worry about locking herself down—all the while, his own wife had been sad, lonely, and feeling unloved.

God, he was a fucking asshole.

And the empty earth beneath him was a consequence of that.

Their red maple tree was gone.

Mads loves Em 4-Ever was gone.

Forever.

Burned on the pyre of his own mistakes.

Looking out over the hills in the distance, the world around him twilight and fireflies, it all felt wrong.

Out of place.