“Break my arm, do it,” Vaughn’s voice said behind the bushes.“Your good arm?” another voice,...

“Break my arm, do it,” Vaughn’s voice said behind the bushes.

“Your good arm?” another voice, incredulous, asked.

Stella did not know the speaker.

“I quite literally do not care,” Vaughn’s voice replied. “What use is either arm to me if I’m in prison?”

“That’s a bit too dramatic, Tim,” the second voice said. “Marriage is not the exact same thing as prison.”

“Isn’t it?” Vaughn’s voice dripped bitterness.

Excerpt from Frosted