“I’m here.”
“But disconnected.”
“I’ve got a lot on my mind, babe.”
She nodded. She got that. She did. But it didn’t make it any easier when Boone pulled away, retreating inside himself, distancing himself. It just made it even harder to feel safe. Loved.
“We never did do anything for your birthday,” she said.
“You gave me presents and cards,” he answered.
“But we were supposed to do something fun together. Something special.”
“We’ll do it when I’m back. Make reservations somewhere. Get tickets. Whatever you want to do. You and me, babe.”
“We’ll make it a joint Boone birthday and Mother’s Day treat,” she said.
He frowned, his brow furrowing and faint creases fanning from his eyes. “I’m gone for Mother’s Day again this year?”
She nodded, refusing to feel sad, or empty. She didn’t want to feel anything remotely sad. Sad wasn’t good. Sad lined up way too close to depression.
“Damn,” he muttered, rubbing his jaw.
She watched him, thinking she loved his square jaw and strong chin. Loved the way his cheekbones were set high and his forehead was broad. He was handsome. Handsome, tough, sexy, and hers.
Her man. Her gorgeous man.
And yet she shared him with a team owner, managers, coaches, and the twenty-four players on the roster.
As well as the fans.
“It’s all right, hon,” she said. “It’s part of the job. I know. And at least we have Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas with you home. You could be playing football or basketball and I’d be carving the turkey all by myself.”
He smiled reluctantly. “Funny.”
“Yeah,” she said, holding her smile, not letting him see how much she hurt just then, and how much she’d been hurting lately.
It wasn’t until he was out the door that her smile slipped.
Turning away from the door, she reached up to wipe her eyes. She wasn’t a crier. Didn’t like weeping about silly things. But good God, she felt empty, and lonely, and sad.
The sad part was grief. The sad was from missing her mom. Her mom had always been there for her, an adviser, a cheerleader, her best friend. It was her mom who’d helped her weather the ups and downs of marriage, as well as learn to adapt to the unpredictable life of a professional baseball player.
But now Mom was gone and life was getting unpredictable again, and Sarah felt as if she was falling, flailing. She needed Mom right now. She needed someone strong and focused and fierce in her corner.
* * *
Boone didn’t arrive home until close to three. He took a shower before he came to bed, waking her, and she lay in the dark, staring at the clock, wondering why he was showering now, wondering what he was trying to rinse off.
Don’t think that way, she told herself. Don’t go getting crazy . . .
As Boone turned off the bathroom light and headed for bed, Sarah heard a car door slamming in the driveway next door, and then listened to the ping ping as Jeff Neeley locked the car and set the alarm.
So Jeff was home now, too.
Must have been quite the party.
Alyssa would probably be furious. Like Sarah, Alyssa didn’t like when her husband stayed out late.
“You awake, babe?” Boone asked, his deep voice unusually rough.
He’d probably been drinking some hard liquor and smoking cigars.
“Yes,” she whispered, trying to let go of the anger inside her. He was home. He was safe. She should be grateful for small mercies. But she wasn’t. She was mad that he needed to go out two nights in a row and drink and hang out with guys who liked nothing more than “tapping that.”
“Did you have a good night?” he asked, reaching out for her and drawing her toward him.
Usually she wanted to be close. Tonight she didn’t. Tonight she wanted to punch him. Punish him. He’d been out at a club. He’d been out looking at chicks. And hopefully that’s all he’d been doing. Just looking.
“You mad at me, babe?” he asked when she took too long to answer.
“No,” she fibbed, because it was three fifteen for God’s sake, too late to start a fight. “Just sleepy.”
“Sorry, baby.” He settled her against him, his chest now a pillow as his legs slipped between hers. “Go back to sleep.”
She wanted to. She tried to. But she couldn’t relax, not when every muscle in her body hummed with tension.
Boone, though, had no such problem. Within moments, his breathing slowed, deepening. He was almost asleep.
Sarah ground her teeth together, her back molars tight. She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t do four months of him doing what he wanted, when he wanted, because in his testosterone-fueled world, it was okay.