Page 159 of The Bad Husband

“I can’t, can I? I might get out. Or I might not. A lot of bad shit can happen to someone like me in prison. I can’t tell for sure I won’t kill someone in jail. It’s not wise to ask someone to wait for me under these circumstances. My men will protect you for as long as they need to.”

“What happens with the club?” I ask, holding out hope that some of his world will survive.

“They closed it.”

I search his eyes.

“You knew this would come. You knew it back then when we visited Randal.”

He brings his eyes to me and gives me a soft nod.

“I always thought that there was something about me in that story. Something I didn’t know,” I murmur.

“There was something about you. Unfortunately, I didn’t know exactly what would happen. He routinely takes care of my finances when something like this happens. He was supposed to take care of you if needed. That wasn’t the case.”

A smile tilts his lips, yet the tension in my jaw only fuels my tears.

“Don’t cry, Lila. Please don’t cry. You’re too young for this shitty thing. So many good things are waiting for you out there in the world. Stay away from the Frankies of the world and find a decent man who can take care of you, protect you, and let you spread your wings and live life fully. The life I had was a rollercoaster, and I enjoyed it for as much as it lasted. Yet at the end of the day, it’s not something you would want to live. It eats you alive. You have your entire life ahead of you, while I’ve got nothing to offer. The only thing I had––my freedom––was taken away from me. My advice to you is, stay away from Henrietta. Have your lawyers deal with her. She’s bad news. Once she collects her money, she’ll take off, and no one will miss her. Trust me on that.”

I wish I could stop crying, but my tears keep dripping on my robe.

“Come to me,” he says, and he closes his arms around me while I shrink into something small and quivering in his hug.

He presses his lips to my hair.

“I’m so sorry things didn’t work out,” he says, stroking my hair.

“They didn’t work out?” I repeat after him like a parrot, rejecting his truth.

He pulls away from me slightly so he can see my face and tilt my face up.

“Do you think they did work out?” he asks quietly.

I nod repeatedly, pathetically, I might add. It’s so obvious that things didn’t work out.

And not because we didn’t want them to work out, but because life had a say in this.

When you live the kind of life he lives, these things are unavoidable.

He could’ve been dead by now.

He could’ve not had the chance to take a plea deal.

He’s going away for white collar crimes. It could’ve been worse, way worse than that.

Am I happy that Henrietta had something to do with it? Absolutely not. I hate that woman. The thing is, even if I said no to him to manage her sensibilities, things would’ve been just as bad for the two of us.

I would’ve never gotten to know him better.

I would’ve never met him if it wasn’t for her.

So, in a way, she was instrumental in our story.

Without her, we wouldn’t be here.

She brought us together, and then she pulled us apart.

She’s a snake.