The Perfect Game(82)

“That’s enough,” I whispered through a tight smile.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Mr. and Mrs. Jack Carter,” the preacher shouted with enthusiasm, and I pulled at my tie, willing its chokehold to loosen.

“You okay?” Dean leaned in with a whisper.

“I gave up being okay the day I lost Cassie,” I admitted, Chrystle’s hand gripping mine as she pulled me from the altar.





NINETEEN





After the wedding Chrystle wanted to buy a house, insisting that our child needed a neighborhood and a backyard in order to be truly happy. We fought for weeks over it, until I finally got it through her thick skull that we weren’t going to live in Alabama forever.

“I can get moved up or traded at any time, Chrystle! Then we’ll have to move right away. It doesn’t make any sense to buy a house here when we’re most likely not staying,” I shouted, trying but failing to hold back my temper.

“But I want to live here in the off-season. Don’t you?” she cried.

“Hadn’t planned on it.” I longed to feel any emotion for the tears she shed, but couldn’t find it in me.

“You’re not even trying.”

I released an exasperated sigh. “What are you talking about?”

“This marriage. Us. You’re not even trying, Jack. I deserve for you to try.” She stomped her foot on the floor. “I’m carrying your child. We both deserve for you to try.”

There was the emotion I so desperately needed. Guilt. Welcome home, old friend. “You’re right. I’ll try harder,” I promised, and she cried again.

“Sorry. Being pregnant makes me really emotional.” She wiped at her face with the back of her hand and I reluctantly pulled her into my arms.







I walked through the front door carrying my baseball gear before I shouted, “Chrystle? I’m back!”

I refused to say that I was home because Cassie was my home. But I’d lost that, and her, forever, so I’d never truly be home again.

“I’m up here,” she shouted from upstairs, her voice sounding odd.

“Are you okay?” I yelled before craning my neck to hear her response. “Chrystle?” I yelled again, dropping my bags with a thud.

I could make out the soft sounds of crying as I rushed up the stairs to our bedroom. Chrystle was curled into a ball surrounded by pillows and used-up tissues. While no feelings existed for the woman I was married to, my feelings for what grew inside of her were immeasurable.

“What’s wrong? What happened? Is the baby okay?” I asked, overwhelmed with worry.

“Oh, Jack.” She broke down into tears. “I lost the baby this morning.”

My stomach dropped and on its way down it grabbed a hold of my heart. “What? What happened?”

“The doctor said it’s common. I woke up and started bleeding really bad. I was so scared.” She threw herself into my arms and sobbed against my chest.

Devastation ripped through me. Somewhere along the way I’d grown used to the idea of being a father. I’d made plans and looked forward to a future that no longer existed.

There was no more baby. I brushed under my eye and stared at Chrystle’s stomach, resting my hand there.

“I can’t believe I lost our baby. I’m so sorry. All I wanted was our baby. Our child.” She looked up at me through her tears.

“I know. Me too,” I admitted as a tear escaped my eye. “Can I get you anything? Do you want some water or something?”

“I’m okay. Where are you going?” She clung to my shirt as I climbed to my feet.

“I’m just going downstairs to grab a drink. I’ll be right back, okay?”

She nodded and I flew from the room, my emotions taking over. I hopped over the last two stairs before rushing into the tiny bathroom and slamming the door shut. I fell to the floor, my head falling between my legs as I grieved for the child I’d lost.

My chest heaved with pain before a sliver of hope crept in.

You can leave Chrystle now.

Get a divorce and go fix things with Cassie.

Spend your life making it up to her.

Relief washed over me, quickly followed by guilt, my new best friend. How could I feel relief at a time like that? This isn’t the time to find happiness. What the fuck was wrong with me?

I steadied my heartbeat before pushing my body up from the floor. I poured a glass of water, grabbed some headache medicine, and slowly crept back up the stairs.

“Let’s make another baby, Jack.”

Her request caught me off guard. “What?”

“Make love to me,” she begged.

“No,” I told her staunchly, the very idea made me want to punch something. I hated the relief I felt, but the truth was, I’d just dodged a bullet. I wasn’t about to load the gun again.