Page 19 of Perdition (Unchained Hearts #4)

TWELVE

Still stunned. Still speechless. But now… enraged .

He’d cheated. Her husband had cheated on her with that bitch!

Mads isn’t a cheater! There has to be an explanation!

Was there? How did one explain how Sarah knew intimate details about Frost’s body, details that they’d kept between them because they were special, a close and precious secret they shared as husband and wife?

The mole.

The tattoo.

The scars from the piercing.

How did Sarah know about those unless she’d seen them? A man didn’t just tell someone those things, not in normal, everyday conversation, especially not to someone he didn’t trust. As far as Em knew, not even the club brothers knew about the tattoo or the botched piercing.

So how did Sarah know?

Unless Frost told her….

Unless Frost showed her….

Another significant, personal matter that Frost had so casually offered to another woman.

First, Sarah had taken her spot as Frost’s confidante, his shoulder to cry on, his “person” to rely on.

Why else would be he speaking in hushed tones in the privacy of his office with the door nearly shut?

A man didn’t invite people he didn’t trust into the sacred confines of his office, which meant Sarah was someone important to Frost. Something Em had once been to him.

Second, Frost had taken another woman to a place so deeply personal that she’d never told another soul about it…stupidly believing that Mads—Frost—felt the same way. Apparently, it meant nothing to him to take a woman who wasn’t his wife to sit beneath the red maple tree.

Not just sit!

If Sarah was telling the truth…Frost had done more than just take Sarah to their special spot…he’d defiled it.

Before Emily had walked into her shop and was ambushed by that bitch, she’d been adamant about giving herself another day or so to think and consider before reaching out to Mads.

She loved him, had dedicated her life to him and their family, and she knew she owed him a chance to explain himself, to man up and give her a clear and honest answer… .

You want him to admit to having an affair? Can you handle hearing the answer?

Her heart racing, her throat tightening, her eyes burning, she knew that whether she could handle it or not, she absolutely needed to know.

But there was no time to prepare—she was so goddamn angry!

When she’d thrown all Frost’s stuff into his truck, the scribbled an angry note and tucked it into her property kutte, tossing that in with all the other stuff, she’d been livid, acting impulsively, not caring about much more than making a statement.

Yes, she’d changed the key code, she’d refused his calls, but in all honesty…

she’d hoped it was a wakeup call for both of them.

She was so tired of feeling alone and invisible and neglected in her marriage.

She was so tired of hoping he’d call, text back, or come home.

Did it really take that much effort to text a quick “I miss you”?

Did it really mean nothing to him that she’d been silent?

Okay, yes, she was being a little mulish by not texting him or calling him for days, but… he obviously didn’t care.

When did this become my life?

When did the love between us become so cold…so empty?

Why did our children leaving home create a vacuum so big it sucked the life out of what was supposed to be eternal?

Sorsha had been right in telling her to take a breather, then talk to her dad, to give him a chance to be the man they both believed he could be.

And that’s what Em had planned to do, even though she was still seething about what she’d overheard outside his office.

She’d been determined—despite the hurt—to believe her husband still loved her, that the distance between them could be bridged or closed completely if they just sat down and talked through it.

But now….

Pulling up her husband’s contact, she called him, her hands shaking from the anger, from the fear, from the flood of rekindled dread suffocating her soul.

What if this is the end? What if he tells me Sarah was right, that he’d cheated on me, that our marriage is over because he doesn’t love me anymore?

Because she was old, worn out, ugly, fat, embarrassing—all the things Sarah was not.

Surprisingly, Frost answered after the first ring.

“Em? Baby?” He sounded relieved.

He wouldn’t for long.

“Your bitch just showed up at my shop, Frost, and I don’t appreciate her coming to my place of business to spout off her bullshit,” Em said, her voice venom and acid.

There was a moment of shocked silence, then he barked, “What the fuck are you talking about? And what the hell happened at home? Why did you change the key code and throw my shit in the truck—why was your property kutte disrespected like that, Emily?”

Oh, so he was demanding answers now, huh?

Well screw him and his damn questions.

“Oh, not so happy about being unstuck from your fat, ugly wife?” she snarled.

“What the fuck, Em? You heard part of a conversation and decided to blow up twenty years of marriage?”

Twenty years…dedicated, devoted to the man of her dreams, a man who’d grown up from the boy she’d adored.

He wasn’t that man anymore, was he?

“Did you fuck her?” she demanded, her voice sharp.

Again, there was moment of stunned silence. This time, however, when he replied, his tone was one she’d never heard before.

“Are you fucking kidding me with this bullshit?” he spat. “So, because you overheard a conversation between me and Sarah, one you took completely out of context, you’re thinking that I must be fucking her?” He growled. “Fucking unbelievable, Em, that you would think that?—”

“What the hell else am I supposed to think, huh?” she cried.

“You were cuddled up on the couch, talking about how you’d been married too long, that you were stuck, that you had options!

You diminished twenty years of our life, of our love, into something you can toss away when someone younger, prettier, tighter, and carefree comes along. ”

“That is not what I said!” he bellowed, but she wasn’t listening anymore.

She was done listening.

“You took her to our spot, Mads….” She choked on the words. “Our spot.”

He cursed. “Fuck, Em, I know I did wrong, but?—”

“There should not be a ‘but’ in that sentence because you never should have taken another woman to the place where we began our lives together.”

“I know, Em?—”

“Did you fuck her under our tree, Frost?” she asked, her voice so heavy with tears she sounded underwater.

“Goddammit, Em! I didn’t fuck her anywhere!” Mads roared.

“Then how does she know about the tattoo on your hip, or the mole or your ass, or the piercing scars on your dick!”

There was a curse then what sounded like a crashing sound.

“I have no fucking idea, Em, but there’s no fucking way she learned any of that from fucking me—because I never touched her.

Yes, we chatted at the club a few times, she’s come on to me, and I admit I share more with her than I should—but none of it is really personal shit, Em.

That conversation you overheard, that’s about as personal as we got. ”

Em snorted. “And taking her to our spot—not once but twice?”

He sighed, and she could feel it in her bones. “I fucked up, Em, baby. I know that. And I’ll do whatever you need me to do to make up for it.”

“Can you turn back time and not become an asshole who ignores his wife, neglects his marriage, and treats a club slut like his old lady?” she replied, cold as ice, her tone flat, chilling.

“Are you serious right now? I didn’t fuck her, Emily—goddammit!”

“You don’t have to fuck someone to treat them like your old lady, Frost,” she declared, trembling from the emotions rioting through her.

It took everything in her to keep her voice steady as she spoke, “How many times did you call her, text her? And then how many times in the same period did you call me, text me? How many times did you tell her how you were feeling—tired, upset, frustrated, that you were hungry, thirsty, had a headache, hated something, loved something, needed something? And how many times did you not think about me ? Every single time you opened you mouth to tell her something about how you were feeling or what you were thinking…you were giving her something that belongs exclusively to me. How many times did you smile down at your phone screen when you saw her name there? How many times did you laugh at her jokes or worry about her or ask what she wanted to eat or drink, or if she was tired or if she was sad or if she was scared, or worried, or even if she had a goddamn aspirin? Every single time you even considered her for a moment, a moment you were still neglecting me and our marriage, you were betraying me.”

“Em…” he rasped, sounding like a man who’d been driven into the ground. “I…I….”

She shook her head, deflating, the fire of her anger slowly burning down to embers, flickering in her guts.

“I could have forgiven you making friends with a club girl, you’re the president, it’s part of your duty to the club to make sure everyone—brothers and the women—feel part of the family.

I could have forgiven you getting so busy with the patch over that you forgot a few meals or forgot to text or call back, or got so caught up in your work that you stayed overnight at the clubhouse a few times a week.

I’m an Army wife; I’m used to long periods of time without you, Mads, I can understand your pressing responsibilities, your dedication to the club and the men who follow you.

I can even understand that there is a growing distance between us that neither of us has done a damn thing about.

I get it. I’m not innocent in that, either.

I got busy, got angry, got even by not calling or texting when I know you might need me.

I’m human. I fail. I have flaws. I can be selfish and impulsive and petty—who isn’t?

But what I cannot forgive is you sharing parts of our personal lives, our marriage, our relationship with someone else.

And to share it with a woman who thinks nothing of confronting me in my shop, of humiliating me, of tearing me down to make herself feel better…

. That is who you want? That is who you’re willing to give up our marriage for? ”

“Em, Sarah…I’m not cheating on you with her. If she came to your shop and talked shit, it wasn’t because we’re anything more than friends.”

“How does she know about things only I should know about, Mads?”

“I don’t know.” He sighed, the sound sharp and acidic.

Em closed her eyes as tears finally broke through and spilled down her cheeks.

“Why…why did you take her to our spot?” she asked, unable to comprehend that level of betrayal. That spot, that tree, was where her dreams were planted. Where their marriage had been planted, the roots deep and once well nourished, were now withering in soil too long left fallow.

A growl rumbled through the phone. “It’s just a fucking tree, Emily! I don’t know why you’re so fucking caught up on that! I took her there because I was going there and she just came along, okay? We ate lunch, we talked—it wasn’t anything special.”

Just…a…fucking…tree….

Breathless, heart shuddering, blood draining her from her face and hands, leaving her cold…numb.

In unutterable pain, and with fingers stiff from holding the phone too tight, Em ended the call, her limp arm falling to her side, the cell like a stone in her grip.

Just a fucking tree….

She needed to get out of there, she needed to go somewhere dark and quiet…somewhere she could scream and cry and curse and rage until her throat was sore and her agony was spilled.

Closing the shop, Em dialed a number she knew by heart.

“Em? What’s up? I never knew you to call after hours,” Tim Noches, a local arborist, answered, sounding concerned.

She often called Tim when she got a client asking about tree planting, stump removal, or replanting after moving a healthy tree from one location to another.

“You busy tomorrow?” she asked, refusing to let the burning ache in her chest stop her from uttering her next words. “I need a tree removed. Root and all.”