December and Austin have a traditional, storybook marriage complete with defined roles. Married young, they’ve shared nearly a decade of passion and love. December’s submissive nature is perfectly suited for her husband’s authoritative, yet adoring personality and he seamlessly holds the indisputable role of head of the household.
But Austin harbors secrets, and the pressure of losing his job makes those festering skeletons impossible to ignore.
Turning to alcohol instead of his wife, Austin finally drives December into the arms of their closest friend, Cord, despite her intense loyalty. Cord has loved December since the day they met. His moral compass is challenged and lines are blurred when Austin steps aside and insists Cord take his place.
Forfeiting all, Austin must face a harsh truth. Take control of his life, or forever lose the woman he loves.
WARNING: This book contains subject matter suitable for mature reading audiences. Some content may be offensive to sensitive readers. Degrees of Separation is a ménage trilogy with many emotionally graphic encounters and challenging situations that break the rules of traditional romance.
The glass shattered as he kicked the mirror. “Tell me another! What else do I do wrong?”
December held the folded laundry protectively to her chest and tried to remain calm in the face of this particular storm. “Stop screaming at me.”
He stomped across the room and she hustled backward. “I told you not to accept any more money from him!”
She glanced at his splinted hand. Two knuckles had cost a lot of money to fix, especially when they could only afford mediocre medical insurance with astronomical deductibles. “What was I supposed to do, Austin? You need your hands. No one told you to punch that wall.”
And now he looked ready to punch another one. He mumbled something she couldn’t make out.
“What?”
“We could have paid the bill later.”
“And let it accumulate interest?” It was hard enough asking Cord for another loan on top of the one they already had, not to mention hiding the reason they needed the money, which she’d done out of respect for Austin’s privacy. She shouldn’t have to justify yet another solution to a problem he brought on himself. “We’re already in a hole.”
“Then stop borrowing money!”
“If you don’t want to lose our home, we have to. Why don’t you get that? My paycheck isn’t enough to afford more than our mortgage and groceries. We have other expenses. You need a phone in case someone calls about a job. You need a car to get to that job. You need insurance to drive that car. And you need functional hands to work.”
“Well, that ain’t happening now!”
She angrily stuffed the laundry into the drawer and crouched down to clean up the broken shards of glass. God only knew how long it would take to replace the mirror.
“Leave it,” he snapped.
“I’m not going to leave shattered pieces of glass all over the bedroom floor.”
Here they were again, him drunk and her astounded that he’d broken yet another promise. Such a fast return to hell only two weeks after their reconnection. No job and he was drinking again. Still.
“I said leave it, before you cut yourself.”
As if his words were the catalyst, she hissed as a thin shard sliced into the pad of her thumb.
“God damn it, Ember! I fucking told you to leave it alone.”
Staring down at the swelling line of blood collecting on her finger, she fell back onto her ass, stunned. Yet again, it all came down to her screwing up, the outlet his blame needed to keep his own accountability away.
Defining moments should be accompanied by a sound like thunder clapping loud enough to rock a person’s world. But in actuality, silence denoted such moments, as the pivotal point settled with utter clarity in the mind.
She placed the collection of glass back on the floor and stood, cupping her hand so blood didn’t drip on the carpet.
“Is it bad?” he asked, as she made her way to the bathroom.
Too late for concern, Austin. Hollow and meaningless.
December held the folded laundry protectively to her chest and tried to remain calm in the face of this particular storm. “Stop screaming at me.”
He stomped across the room and she hustled backward. “I told you not to accept any more money from him!”
She glanced at his splinted hand. Two knuckles had cost a lot of money to fix, especially when they could only afford mediocre medical insurance with astronomical deductibles. “What was I supposed to do, Austin? You need your hands. No one told you to punch that wall.”
And now he looked ready to punch another one. He mumbled something she couldn’t make out.
“What?”
“We could have paid the bill later.”
“And let it accumulate interest?” It was hard enough asking Cord for another loan on top of the one they already had, not to mention hiding the reason they needed the money, which she’d done out of respect for Austin’s privacy. She shouldn’t have to justify yet another solution to a problem he brought on himself. “We’re already in a hole.”
“Then stop borrowing money!”
“If you don’t want to lose our home, we have to. Why don’t you get that? My paycheck isn’t enough to afford more than our mortgage and groceries. We have other expenses. You need a phone in case someone calls about a job. You need a car to get to that job. You need insurance to drive that car. And you need functional hands to work.”
“Well, that ain’t happening now!”
She angrily stuffed the laundry into the drawer and crouched down to clean up the broken shards of glass. God only knew how long it would take to replace the mirror.
“Leave it,” he snapped.
“I’m not going to leave shattered pieces of glass all over the bedroom floor.”
Here they were again, him drunk and her astounded that he’d broken yet another promise. Such a fast return to hell only two weeks after their reconnection. No job and he was drinking again. Still.
“I said leave it, before you cut yourself.”
As if his words were the catalyst, she hissed as a thin shard sliced into the pad of her thumb.
“God damn it, Ember! I fucking told you to leave it alone.”
Staring down at the swelling line of blood collecting on her finger, she fell back onto her ass, stunned. Yet again, it all came down to her screwing up, the outlet his blame needed to keep his own accountability away.
Defining moments should be accompanied by a sound like thunder clapping loud enough to rock a person’s world. But in actuality, silence denoted such moments, as the pivotal point settled with utter clarity in the mind.
She placed the collection of glass back on the floor and stood, cupping her hand so blood didn’t drip on the carpet.
“Is it bad?” he asked, as she made her way to the bathroom.
Too late for concern, Austin. Hollow and meaningless.
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Allyson Young
Lydia Michaels
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