Hadn’t we?
I hated the thoughts spinning in my mind, but what if Jack’s baseball career were over? Was this how my husband was going to act from here on out, snappy and pissed off all the time? I knew I wouldn’t be able to deal with it forever, no matter how much I loved him. I wanted my husband back.
Nora interrupted my musings by calling me into her office to discuss Jack’s latest issue. “Close the door,” she demanded before I’d even finished walking through it.
With a click, the door closed and I walked to the chair facing her and sat. I laughed as she glared at me, her mouth pursed into a displeased pucker.
“Broke his hand, huh? I bet he’s a joy to live with right now.” She tapped her pen against a yellow notepad.
“Yeah, he’s a real peach. How’d you know?” I asked, wondering how she could be so aware of Jack’s moodiness.
“Jack’s one of those guys. A real man’s man, if you know what I mean. Can’t imagine he enjoys feeling helpless. And I’ll tell you, Cass, that’s exactly how he’s feeling right now.”
“You’re absolutely right, but it sucks. He’s acting like a complete jerk.” I pulled my mouth into a pout, wanting sympathy or understanding or something.
Her head tipped to one side as a slight smile crept across her lips. “Of course he is. He doesn’t know what else to do. He doesn’t know who else he is if he isn’t a baseball player. The bottom line,” she paused before looking me straight in the eyes. “He’s scared. He may never admit it, but he’s terrified of losing the game.”
The reality sank into my throat and I swallowed it whole. “I know that. But it doesn’t give him the right—”
She clicked her tongue to stop me midsentence. “No, it doesn’t give him the right to treat you badly. But just give him some time.”
“Don’t you have an assignment in another country you can send me on?” I suggested with a halfhearted laugh.
“No, I do not,” she said sternly. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t send you.”
“Why are you out to get me?” I said it half-jokingly, but part of me wondered why she was being so hard on me.
Nora leveled her gaze to mine, a stray wisp of hair falling over one eye. “I’m not out to get you. I simply refuse to help you run away when it comes to this. He will get past it. And you’ll be there for him when he does. You just need to be patient with him right now.”
“It’s not really my strong suit,” I said. “Patience, I mean.”
“Honey, you’re a woman. You can do anything. And you will.” She smiled and waved her hand in dismissal. “Now, get out of here and send me something pretty to look at. These new photographers don’t have your eye.”
Without another word, I left Nora’s office and headed back to my desk. Like I’d done a million times already today, I checked both my cell phone and my work phone; neither showed signs of any missed calls. I hated living like this.
But Nora was right. I could do this. Jack would do this for me, wouldn’t he? Hell, I didn’t know what Jack would do at this point anymore.
I assumed Jack would still be on vocal strike when I got home from work, so I didn’t bother to acknowledge him when I walked through our front door and saw him watching TV in our living room.
“Cassie, bring me a beer.”
I froze in our foyer; stopped walking, moving, breathing. “Oh, now you’re talking to me?” I belted out, still surprised by his demanding tone.
His disheveled head turned in my direction. “What the hell are you talking about?”
My temper hit the boiling point as I tossed my purse and keys on the hallway table and stalked to the living room. Hands on hips, I shouted, “Are you fucking delusional or something? Do you even realize that you haven’t spoken to me in almost three days?”
Jack glanced back at me from his usual TV-viewing spot on the leather sofa, his cast-covered arm resting on a throw pillow and his sock-covered feet propped on the ottoman. I watched as his eyebrows pulled together before slowly releasing. “You’re exaggerating,” he said flatly. “Beer me.” Then he turned his focus back on the Mets versus Astros game on the television.
Tempted to pull a beer from the fridge and chuck it at his fucking head, I stormed through the kitchen before heading toward our bedroom. “Get off your ass and get it yourself,” I shouted as I slammed the door shut.
Angry tears burned at the back of my eyes and I wanted to scream and throw things. I felt like a prisoner in my own home. Whatever room Jack was in, I wanted to be nowhere near it, his rejection hurt me so badly. But the tears wouldn’t fall; I was too busy feeling pissed off to waste time crying. Grabbing my latest read, I sank against my pillows and cracked open the spine, wanting nothing more than to escape the hell our life had become for just a little while.