“They aren’t worried about getting caught because everyone already knows.”
“You’re trying to tell me that Kymber the bitch knows her husband is a cheating piece of shit?” I asked, my tone clearly reflecting my disbelief.
He huffed. “Not in so many words, but yeah.”
“So she knows he’s cheating on her, and what? She just doesn’t care?”
I couldn’t fathom how anyone in their right mind wouldn’t care about being betrayed in that way. What kind of relationship was that anyway?
“I don’t know if she really knows, but I know she suspects it.”
“And she doesn’t care enough to find out for sure?”
“She probably doesn’t really want to know the answer. The reality is that a lot of these guys cheat on their wives, Kitten. It’s a really shitty fact, but it’s the truth. And yeah, the wives usually know, but they just pretend it’s not happening.”
“Like they’re in denial?” I shook my head, still trying to comprehend it all. I thought about Kymber and her crew of mean girls, and felt sorry for them.
“Either that or they just pretend it’s not happening because they like their lives.”
I shook my head, refusing to believe such craziness. “No way. All the material things they get are more important to them than being respected, or treated well, or truly loved?”
“I think it’s really easy to get accustomed to a certain lifestyle. And they’d rather not give it up.” He tousled his dark hair before pressing his head against the wall.
That entire concept seemed foreign to me. I wondered what caused a person to convince themselves that the trade-off was worth it. Who needed self-esteem and self-worth when you had big diamonds and expensive clothes? “Well, don’t you get any ideas, Mr. Carter, because that kind of crap will never fly with me.”
My eyes started to mist, my heart aching with the realization that he already did do that to me. The whole cheating, my knowing about it, basically accepting it, and welcoming him back with open arms. It all happened.
“Kitten, I would never do to you what they’re doing to their wives. I think they’re assholes. Especially the guys with kids.” He patted the bed. “Come here.”
I moved to lie down next to him, and he wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “I know you aren’t like those other women. And I wouldn’t like you if you were.” His lips pressed against the side of my head. “I made a mistake before, but it won’t happen again. I know you’d leave me forever if I did and I can’t…” he paused, “I won’t lose you again.”
Shouldn’t She Be Hotter?
Cassie
Jack and I fell into a comfortable routine over the next six weeks. Matteo accompanied me to every home game, and the heckling basically stopped. Until Jack garnered his first lost for the team, that is. That night I was forced to hear a few choice things about how much “Jack sucked” and how I needed to “get his head on straight.” The hard-core fans were rabid. When you won, they loved you so fiercely you could do no wrong. But the moment you lost, they stepped all over you on their way out the door.
We talked on the phone constantly when he traveled. He wanted me to come to as many away games as I could, but it wasn’t as fun as I thought it would be. I spent most of my time wandering alone in a strange city or eating by myself in restaurants. From the outside, it seems so glamorous to be the girlfriend of a major leaguer, but it’s mostly sort of lonely. Not to mention the fact that seeing the other players constantly cheat on their wives made me sick to my stomach.
I had small bouts of insecurity every now and then, but I did my best to keep my fears in check. Jack tried his best as well, staying on the phone with me until all hours of the night, opting for room service instead of going out with the guys, no matter how many times I told him not to.
Baseball kept Jack gone for literally half of each month. The most consecutive number of days he’d been home at one time was seven.
Seven.
Trust was a tricky thing. At times, it seemed like a living, breathing entity that I shaped, built, and conformed to fit my needs in that moment. And other times, it moved like an uncontrollable emotion that ebbed and flowed like the tides in the ocean. One day I’d be perfectly fine and the next I’d be a wreck, convinced that Jack was no better than his teammates.
I wished our relationship were easier, but we were a work in progress. The hardest part was being OK with that. I had a choice when Jack first came back. I didn’t have to let him through my front door, but I wanted to. I needed to move forward and believe that he wouldn’t hurt me again. My heart longed to accept his actions and take a leap of faith, but my head refused to give in.