I looked to Heather.

“Stress release. She’ll be fine.”

Fucking great. What a way to start my day as a husband.

Emmersyn came back downstairs twenty minutes later. She’d showered, changed out of her pajama shorts and tank and into another summer dress.

“You look good,” I told her, and she did. Hair straight as a sheet, mascara and blush on and a shimmer of lip gloss. If this was how she dealt with a stress release, I was impressed.

“I figured if I was going to have a shitty day, I might as well look good.”

Women. I’d never understand them.

“Okay.” Heather grabbed the phone and plopped down on the couch. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

In the time Emmersyn was gone, I’d helped Heather finish cleaning up the dishes. I’d gotten on my own social media accounts and then immediately deleted Twitter. Why was everything so much worse over there?

Regardless, since I hadn’t posted any photographs of me since the spring, there were few comments on any of my actual pages, but there were requests for quotes from a number of online blogs and sports sites. I copied and pasted the link Alicia had us use for them to reach out to her.

She’d take care of it.

In the meantime, I’d avoided checking Lincoln’s social media even though I saw him tagged all over.

Yeah. He clearly knew. Had to.

“Do you want me to start with the oldest voice mail or go to the newest?”

“Newest,” Emmersyn said, nibbling at the edge of her thumb. “Let’s tear off the Band-Aid.”

“All right.”

She unlocked the phone, pulled up the app, and every second that waited my rage pulsed like a feral beast. Until his voice, the one I’d heard through the security camera, pierced the air.

“You fucking cunt. You have no idea. No goddamn idea what you’ve done. I swear to God, Emmersyn, you fucking slut. I will ruin you. Enjoy him while you have him, because I will destroy both of you.”

“Pleasant,” I muttered.

On the couch next to Heather, Emmersyn’s face scrunched up. “Not as bad as I was expecting.”

“What in the fuck? You goddamn fucking insane bitch! I knew. I should have known that’s where you went. Goddammit, Emmersyn. You shouldn’t have done this. You have no idea the mess you’ve made, but I swear to God you’ll regret this. If you think marrying that fucking two-bit player will keep you safe from me, you better think again. I cannot believe this. Jesus… you have fucked everything up for me. I swear to God, Emmersyn. You better call me, tell me this is some kind of goddamn joke—”

“I think that’s enough of that,” Heather said, and then cringed. “Except his mom called a couple of times too. You want to hear those?”

“He could be with her,” I said. I didn’t put it past him, and my blood wasn’t just boiling at how this man spoke to Emmersyn.