Chapter Twelve
For two days, I wrote.
I didn’t hear from Saint at all after he left me at my car two days ago.
No texts, no visits, no surprises. I was okay with it, though.
I got so much written. I was still reeling from the fear of being tied up, and then I was still buzzing from the emptiness he left me with after what happened on my car.
I’ve barely eaten, I’ve been writing so much. I was so fired up by the way his hands had gripped my hips on that car, the way he was being such an asshole. I loved it. I loved feeling vulnerable.
That’s new to me, and I’m surprised by how much it turns me on.
I channel my energy into the manuscript, typing away on my keyboard at a speed I’m not accustomed to.
Every detail replayed in my mind of us on the couch, vivid and undeniable.
Before he left, Cam fucked me again, on my bed.
It wasn’t rushed or frantic like the first time.
It was slower, deliberate, as if he knew we wouldn’t see each other for a while.
His hands moved over my skin like he was memorizing it, like he was committing the feel of me to memory.
The room had been bathed in darkness, the only sounds our shared breaths, the creak of the bed, and the occasional murmur of his voice in my ear.
Even now, I can feel the imprint of his fingers on my waist, the discrepancy in the temperature of his body against mine.
I don’t know where he told his wife he was last night—possibly working a night shift—but he said he’d be back again this afternoon.
That’s how these things go, I guess. Sneaking moments, lying to someone we vowed our lives to, all in the name of something we pretend we can’t resist. I should feel guilt clawing at me, but instead, there’s this strange mixture of anticipation and dread swirling in my stomach.
Part of me is counting down the hours until I see him again, while another part of me is terrified of what might happen if this goes on any longer.
I’m ripped from my writing by a knock at my front door. I glance at the clock and see that it’s barely after lunch. An odd time for Saint to show up here.
Maybe it’s Mari.
I close my laptop, hoping for Saint to be at the door rather than either of the Longsetters. It would be a nice reprieve from work, considering it’s been more than forty-eight hours since I last saw him. I’m starting to have withdrawals.
Maybe he is too.
I entertain changing into an actual outfit, considering I’m just in my nightgown, but that sounds like too much effort, and I’m too tired from the writing marathon to give a shit.
I glance toward the window overlooking the front yard, expecting to see Saint’s car, but I immediately stop walking.
My stomach drops at the sight of the car in my driveway. That’s not Saint’s car.
That’s Shephard’s car.
Shit.
Shit, fuck, shit!
What is he doing here? This was supposed to be my time, my space to write, to disconnect from everything else, including my family. Especially my family. Oh, God. Did he bring the girls with him?
The panic sets in, rising up through my chest like a wave threatening to swallow me whole.
I can’t even believe this. Shephard never shows up to my writing weeks unannounced.
We have an understanding. This is my retreat, my sanctuary, the one place where I’m supposed to be able to escape the real world, where I can focus on my work and nothing else.
But now, my carefully constructed bubble has been burst, and I have no idea how to piece it back together.
Just as I’m turning toward my bedroom to make sure nothing of Saint’s was left behind, Chloe cups her little hands around her eyes and presses her face against the window.
“Mommy!” she squeals, her voice muffled by the glass but unmistakable in its excitement. She backs away from the window, pointing inside at me, her grin wide and full of joy. “Daddy, I see Mommy!”
Shephard is looking through the window now too. His expression is one of complete happiness, like he’s giving me the best surprise in the world. He waves at me, his smile a thing I’d like to wipe off his face right now.
“Surprise!” he yells, his voice carrying through the glass, as if this is exactly what I would have wanted.
I feel like I’m walking through quicksand as I move toward the door.
Each step is slow, deliberate, as I try to wrap my mind around what’s happening.
My heart is pounding in my chest, my pulse loud in my ears.
I glance around the living room, my eyes scanning this area, too, for any signs of Saint—anything that might give away what’s been going on here since I left home.
There’s nothing obvious, nothing that screams infidelity, but the memory of him is everywhere. It lingers in the air, in the sheets on my bed, in the scent of him still clinging to my skin.
What have I done?
What the fuck was I thinking?
Saint might come back today. He’ll likely come back today.
That’s been his routine during all of this.
An intense day here, a break there, another intense day, another break.
Today is on schedule for an intense Saint day, and that absolutely cannot happen.
It jolts me, and I realize with a sinking feeling that I need to text him as soon as possible and let him know not to show up here.
My hands are shaking as I reach for the lock on the door. I hesitate for a brief moment, my fingers hovering over the handle, before I finally unlock it and pull it open.
Chloe and Andi push past their father, their little arms wrapping around me before I even have a chance to greet them properly. Their tiny hands clutch at my nightgown, their faces pressed against my legs, and for a moment, the guilt of everything I’ve done hits me with full force.
These weeks I spend at the lake are honestly the toughest weeks of the year for me, being away from them.
I love my daughters more than anything, and yet, here I am, standing in the aftermath of these days and nights where I’ve pretended I’m not their mother, where I’ve pretended I’m not Shephard’s wife.
Having these getaways allows me to write my books much faster so I can spend more time with my girls when I’m at home, but I’ve never had the experience that I’ve had this time.
I’ve always just gone away and worked. Truly worked.
I’ve never gone away and done something so horrid, it could destroy my family. Destroy my kids.
I kneel down and pull them in for an even better hug, my arms wrapping tightly around them as if holding them close could somehow erase the guilt gnawing at me. “We came to surprise you!” Andi says, her excitement bubbling over as she bounces up and down in my arms.
I glance up at Shephard, my smile forced but as genuine as I can muster under the circumstances. “I see that.”
Shephard slips around us, his presence looming larger now that he’s inside the cabin.
Just as I stand back up, he leans in for a quick kiss, his lips brushing against mine in a way that feels foreign after everything I’ve done.
“Sorry,” he mutters, his tone apologetic. “They insisted I not tell you.”
“It’s fine,” I say, my voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions crashing through me. I hope my reaction is convincing, that he can’t see through the mask I’m wearing. “I needed the break.”
Shephard is holding two bags of groceries.
He sets them on the counter with a sense of purpose, already moving toward the front door again before I can even process what’s happening.
“We’re going to cook dinner for you,” he says over his shoulder, his smile wide and genuine.
“I’ll grab the rest of the groceries.” He heads back outside, and I pry the girls away from me with as much patience as I can manage.
“Mommy needs to change out of her nightgown,” I say, trying to sound lighthearted as I usher them toward the kitchen. “You two start putting away the groceries.”
They’re too young to know how to put away groceries in a home they’re unfamiliar with, of course.
Andi is four and Chloe is five. Shephard and I had them back-to-back, hoping it would be easier on us to go through the toughest years all at once.
Now, watching them climb onto the chairs to reach the counter, their little faces full of concentration as they pull items from the bags, I feel a pang of guilt so sharp it’s almost physical.
I should be better than this. I should be a better mother, a better wife.
I shouldn’t be living this double life, sneaking moments with a man who isn’t my husband.
I glance out the kitchen window, watching as Shephard reaches into his trunk to grab the rest of the groceries.
My stomach churns with a mixture of dread and urgency.
I rush to the bedroom and grab my phone, my hands shaking as I open my texts to Saint.
My fingers fly across the screen as I type, each word feeling like it’s sealing something inevitable.
Whatever you do, please do not come back here today.
I toss my phone on the bed and strip out of my nightgown, my heart still racing with the fear of what could happen if Saint shows up. The thought alone is enough to make my skin crawl with anxiety. I hear the buzz of his reply come through just as I’m pulling a shirt over my head.
My hands are still trembling as I grab my phone and read the text.
Is everything okay?
I hesitate for a moment, my thumb hovering over the screen.
I don’t want to lie to him, but for some reason, it feels like I’ve betrayed him.
He’s never asked me if I’m married, so there’s really nothing for him to be upset about.
Besides, he’s married too. He’ll understand. He’ll probably even be relieved.
My husband and kids just showed up.
I delete all my texts from him and finish getting dressed. I slide my phone in my back pocket so Shephard won’t see me preoccupied with it. I walk out of the bedroom just as Shephard is heading into the kitchen with the rest of the groceries.
Chloe rushes over to me with a puzzle she’s pulled off a shelf. “Mommy, can we do a puzzle?”
“Please?” Andi begs.
I nod and look over at Shephard. “You want to join us?” I’ll do anything to pretend I’m a good wife and mother, and not the terrible human being I’ve been since showing up here.
“You girls go ahead. I’m going to prep.”
Shephard seems at ease as he begins pulling items out of the bags. He seems to dive right into the normalcy of our routine, unaware of the chaos I’ve brought into our lives.