Page 10 of Stockholm (Angel of Mercy #1)

The Kept

G uilt. So much guilt.

My father always used to joke that I'd make a great Catholic. It’s something I’ve dealt with my entire life, even as a child.

Guilt for a bad score on homework, guilt for forgetting to floss before bed.

Guilt for making Mom look bad when I’d gotten my period at a luncheon and hadn’t realized it before I’d embarrassed us both.

I’d been living with it on my shoulders like a yoke, letting it absorb so deeply into me that it had been several years into my marriage to Eric before the constant guilt had started to fade.

Eric didn’t shame me for anything, didn’t hammer into my head the way he wanted me to be his wife.

Instead of guilting me into being the perfect woman, he made me enjoy the little things about our life together.

I became the person he needed, and he loved me more for it.

Mom, however, had drilled each of her lessons so hard into me that they were ingrained in my soul for life.

Be a lady, be perfect, be sweet.

Be a good wife.

I failed at that last night.

Molly is curled up on my chest, which is making it hard to breathe, but I accept the comfort anyway.

I had bargained with…God? Whoever was up there. I’d promised to be the best spouse, the most dedicated woman to my husband, if I could just find out I was pregnant. I would do anything, give anything.

And then as soon as that promise was tested, I failed.

I’d wanted Dean. I had dreamed once again of him on me, in me. Of him handling me in a way that was neither nice nor sweet. The electric burn in my body had woken me in the darkness, and then I’d cried myself back to sleep.

If God was real, he would surely never keep our bargain after the thoughts I’ve had.

I need to tell Eric.

Which is how I find myself wallowing in bed, trying to piece together how to confess to last night.

You can’t put this off forever, and you have work soon.

Covering my face with my hands, I groan into the dark room. My chest tightens, nerves building about what Eric might say. But I pick up my phone and start a video call.

The phone rings and rings, and I feel like I’m going to throw up by the time Eric finally answers.

His voice is groggy, bags under his eyes. He looks awful. “Hey. Morning,” he says in a voice I don’t recognize.

“Are you okay? You look sick,” I ask, concerned at his appearance.

He squints, rubbing his eye with the palm of his hand. “Yep, just late dinner last night. I might have had one too many drinks at the steakhouse.”

I nod, studying him. Something’s off, but it’s impossible to decipher through the screen. “I need to talk to you,” I finally say when it’s clear he’s got nothing to add anything else.

Eric alerts, shoulders stiffening, his expression tense.

Nervous . That’s what he looks like.

“What’s wrong,” he asks, voice stiff.

“I’m…not sure how to say it. I went out last night with Bo, remember?” He nods, and his eyes widen slightly.

“Did he say something to you?” he asks.

My brow furrows. “Like what?” I ask, confused why that would be his first question .

Shaking his head, he motions for me to continue. “Did something happen?”

“No. I mean…no, nothing really happened. I just felt like I needed to tell you something so I can stop feeling guilty about it.”

“Yeah?”

I sigh. “Bo had a date last night and he wanted me to go with him. His date brought a friend with him—actually, it’s someone you talked to about some loans.

I didn’t want to be weird, or mess things up for Bo, so I got stuck at the booth with the other guy.

” I pause, not sure what to include in this confession.

“Nothing happened, we just…were there. We talked with each other, and I just felt weird not telling you,” I finish lamely.

I don’t describe the tension. The attraction. The dreams. I shut my mouth, seemingly unable to make myself fess up.

What a stupid phone call . You haven’t even told him the bad part.

Eric’s face softens. “Angel, I’m sure it was fine. Why were you stressed out, honey? It’s okay for you to have some fun with Bo. I’m glad you have each other.”

I roll my lips together, then bite down. Eric looks exhausted. I shouldn’t have even called to wake him up when he’s working so hard.

“Sorry. Why don’t you get some sleep and see if you feel better. I’m going down to the bank in a few and then I’ll lock up for the weekend.”

He sighs softly, laying his head on the pillow and moving the camera so it’s sideways next to him. Like I’m laying in bed with him.

“I’ll be home soon, okay?”

His words make my chest ache. Not with excitement, or love. But with anxiety. Guilt.

I have to stop the dreams. I need to get this man out of my head. I’ll never forgive myself if Dean keeps touching me every night while I sleep, with my husband in bed right next to me.

“Me too. I miss you so much.”

“Love you, hon.”

“I love you, t—”

He hangs up the call before the words leave my lips.