Page 6 of At His Wife's Behest

“I know it’s scary. I know it’s going to be hard. I know there’s going to be chaos.” Emma smiled. “Once the smoke clears, we’re free. One big hurdle and we’re done.”

“We can wait. A few more years. Once Abby is old enough to better understand what’s going on.”

“I can’t live like this another minute!” Emma roared, tears streaming down her face. Her chest rose and fell a few times. “I can’t pretend to be someone I’m not. I’m going to lose my mind.” She eyed him. “Aren’t you exhausted?I’mexhausted.”

Pretending? He’d covered for so long that the lie had become his reality. Being an out, gay man seemed foreign. And terrifying.

“Darling,”Emma whispered, wrapping her arms around his waist and sidling closer. “Don’t you have needs? I’m fairly confident you haven’t been with a man in years… perhaps as long as we’ve been married.”

It had been so long that he wasn’t sure he remembered. He thought back to a decade before, on his knees at a men’s room gloryhole where he’d nearly gotten caught by police. He hadn’t been so lucky missing the reporter’s camera.

He hadn’t attempted fulfilling that need since, unless counting his own hand or the drawer full of toys he kept close. “I don’t know what my father might do if I came out. You know the kind of power he wields.”

“We have enough money to keep him and the rest of the world at bay now. As far as your father, he no longer has Daddy in his back pocket. We can be free, Kel.”

“Wecanbe free. In a few years. When Abby is older.”

Emma sighed. “I promised you five years. I gave you ten. The rest are mine.Mine,Kel. We’re not getting any younger.”

“You wait until both parents are in the ground and you can waltz free … then stand here expecting me to face what you were too chickenshit to face yourself.”

The pain that rose in Emma’s face made his stomach hurt worse.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “That was cruel.”

“But not altogether wrong,” she murmured. A tear slipped down her cheek. “They’re gone, and I don’t have to face them or theirire. But we both know why I stuck around and played the dutiful daughter.”

If they’d disowned her, her inheritance would’ve gone to her cousin—who was just as bad, if not worse than, her father. He would’ve continued the legacy of hatred and bigotry—which Emma wanted to end. She spoke of dismantling her father’s PAC and changing the entire company atmosphere once she had the reins. He wanted to see that happen.

“I know,” Kellan said. He believed in her, too. She would do amazing things with that money. She’d already started in a hundred tiny ways during her father’s battle with cancer over the last months. The closure of several overseas sweatshops. A company-wide raise in pay. Better benefits packages. A scholarship fund for employees and their children. With her father gone, she could go even farther.

“I have the moneyandthe power to free us both, babe.”

Kellan swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Amanda,” Emma whispered, tears shining in her eyes. “She deserves better than to be my mistress. I want to make her my wife.”

Guilt bubbled in his chest. Technically, Emma and Amanda had been off-again when Abigail had happened. Too much drink between two miserable people had ended with a bevy of bad decisions. Not that he’d change any of them.

Not if it meant he’d lose Abigail.

Yet, there was a sense of guilt. Emma and Amanda had been on and off for years. He’d expected they’d likely get back together again. They always did.

“Fine. I’ll agree to the divorce. I’ll stay so I can be close to Abby and attempt not to uproot her entire life. If you want to shout to the world that you’re a lesbian, fine. Me? I’m not ready.”

“Kel…”

“You’ll get what you want. Freedom and Mandy,” Kellan said, pulling from her grasp and reaching for the door. “I need to go check on Abby.”

It was hard to breathe as he stalked away from Emma.

Easier once he had one of Abigail’s hugs. Her hugs could cure any ailment known to man, and oh boy, did he need some of those. He marched her outside into the fresh, spring afternoon, and watched as she played on the custom, lavish jungle gym Emma’s parents had commissioned just for her. Her laughter as she raced up the rope ladder was a balm for his soul. She paused on the highest peak, turning to wave at him.

“Hi, Daddy!”

“Hi, Baby,” he called. Her smile was infectious, even in his lowest moments. She was the best thing he’d ever done.

Don’t you think we owe it to our daughter to be our authentic selves? To end the cycle of shame and lies?

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