Chapter 22

As I lay on the couch, wrapped in a sweat and tear-soaked blanket, the rumbling sound of the rising garage door shocked me from my latest weeping fit. When the inside door to the kitchen opened with a creak and closed with a resounding thud, my heart seized. Heavy footsteps and the wheels of a suitcase moved across the tile. Only then did the hammering in my chest begin as I stifled a moan.

Though clenching my fists and biting my lower lip, I just couldn’t bear to look at my husband. Instead, I shook like a leaf and kept my eyes on the blank wall-mounted screen. While I pondered what he would do, or say, I jumped at the thump of something weighty landing on the dining table’s wooden top. The quiet crunch of shoes sinking into the carpeting came closer. Despite my being visible beneath a lamp’s yellowish light, they headed for the stairs.

He’d said nothing—nothing at all. He’d seen me trembling. And I knew ... I knew he hurt. Yet, there was no sound but the creak of the little luggage wheels and the soft scrunching of the carpet under his feet.

At last, I couldn’t take it anymore. After springing from the couch, I dashed towards him.

As if in slow motion, his face—his lifeless, emotionless face, tanned and creased, turned to me while his arm lifted. My gaze flicked to his palm, thrust out towards me, fingers raised. With a gulp, I halted in my tracks and stared. Every part of me shivered under his cold, dead-eyed inspection. As he pursed his lips and knotted his brow, his narrowing eyes swept my shaking body, covered with orange bruises and fading red marks.

“Strip and be on your knees when I get back down.” The icy monotone of his voice shocked me. It was so completely unlike anything I’d heard from him before.

“What?”

Dave didn’t even blink as his gaze locked on mine. “It’s simple. If I return and you haven’t obeyed, I’m going upstairs to pack. A draft divorce decree is on the table. You get to keep the house.” After turning away, his first step creaked on the bottom step. Without facing me, he added, “Oh, and you can also keep every damned penny you earned whoring for Derrin.”

Shoulders slumped, he trudged upwards, dragging a spotless new suitcase behind him.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

With each muffled bang of the bag against the stairs, my heartbeat hammered.

This is my one and only chance.

While staring at the thick manila envelope on the dining room table, I tracked the heavy footfalls upstairs. Eyes tearing, at least not from pain, my shaky hands lifted the t-shirt from my mauled torso. Teeth buried in my trembling lower lip, I unsnapped and removed the wispiest bra I owned. Above, he was still moving around—slowly. He was giving me time. Gaze fixed on the ceiling, I tugged down my shorts and panties before tossing them to the pile of crumpled clothing beside me.

With a moan, I slid my hand along the wall and lowered myself to my knees.

I love him. None of the others. Not one. Not hunky Dave. Nor Rio. Nope, not Derrin with his pretty eyes and lips. And not even Troy, whose smile still has that strange ember sizzling in my deepest darkness.

Heart pounding and hands shaking, I waited. The shower started; it seemed to last forever. While the water rushed over my husband above me, I contemplated what he was going to do, the words he’d speak, and how they’d be flung at me.

Time dragged on as my mind swirled through an endless haze of possible futures until footsteps clomped down the stairs. Even as I locked my gaze on him, he walked past me into the kitchen without a word. He poured himself a drink. A very tall, amber drink. He never drank. I was the drinker. As he’d discovered at that fucking club. Before all the fucking. God, has he seen the videos?

As he settled into a chair, a lengthy sigh slipped from him. In silence, he swept shark-like eyes over the fading bruises, bite marks, and scratches across my body.

They didn’t blink.

Nor did he even gasp.

No, he only quietly sipped.

He was inspecting me, just as Derrin had at the beginning of all this.

“I lov—” I started.

With nothing but the raise of a single eyebrow, he cut me off.

“Save it.” His dead voice nailed the coffin around me tighter. A longer exhale escaped him. He took a slow sip and swept his tongue over his lips. The same numb voice began again. “I had a long talk with my sons. Our sons. Actually, several.” At my gasp, his eyes tightened, and he shook his head. “No, I didn’t mention the details of their mother’s latest addiction. Your little secret is safe. Well, until they discover you on the internet, I suppose.” As I gulped, my chest tight, he took a lengthier sip. While my chin quivered, my heart sputtered under his icy gaze. “Know what your eldest finally said?”

Eyes watery, I wagged my head.

“Dean said, ‘Dad, if mom is so happy doing whatever it is she’s doing, then you should be happy too. Have her do something to make you happy.’”

He chuckled, and I tilted my head even as my chest tightened. Dean was the more insightful of the boys.

“Also said we should communicate more.” He flung the glass back to gulp the last of the whiskey. Ice cubes banged against his clenching teeth.

“But I thought you enjoyed watching me?” I whispered, with my heart hammering my ribs.

“I did.” A half-grin, more a wince, slid across his otherwise stony face. “At first, but you know what I started thinking as I watched? What actually turned me on?”

With a gulp at the still-dead sound of his voice, I shook my head.

“That my gorgeous bride ... The love of my life was really a nasty, cock-gobbling little slut.” He snorted. “And has been the whole time we’ve been married.”

Despite air flying from my lips at his chilly words, he reclined, chewing on the ice. Each sharp crunch sent shockwaves through me. The grin, small as it had been, disappeared. He sucked on his mouth before setting the glass on the table beside him.

“You are, aren’t you?” He sighed. “It’s not simply who you are now, but who you’ve always been, correct?”

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