Ever since we left the field, Jack had been a roller coaster of emotions, taking me on a violently jerky ride. One minute he was sweet and attentive, and rude and nasty the next. Unsure of which Jack I might get, I stayed quiet in our bed in the aftermath of having sex, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened between us.
Jack had always dominated in the bedroom, but this was something else entirely. He bossed me around, making demands he’d never once said out loud before. He pushed and pulled at my body like he owned it, and I had no choice but to comply. Maybe under different circumstances I might have been turned on by his aggression, but not like this. Not after my husband just broke his pitching hand and potentially ended his career. He wasn’t in his right mind and his performance in the bedroom only proved it.
I’d never in a thousand years tell him that the thought of his career being over crossed my mind, but it did. Of course it did. I wasn’t an idiot. Multiple fractures would eventually heal, but there could be complications. Everyone knew that. Jack needed his hand to work on the ball field. His fingers were required to grip and maneuver across the seams of the baseball for different pitches. If his grip loosened, his pitches wouldn’t be the same. And the idea of Jack without baseball scared the hell out of me.
I knew he avoided talking about his injury for this very reason. I wasn’t the only one scared, but at least I admitted it. Glancing over at his sweaty body, the lines of his chest rising and falling with each breath, I longed to make his pain and hurt go away. He was quieter than he’d ever been before, and I realized how deep in his own head he must be.
Although I was the queen of building emotional walls, Jack could do a pretty good job too if he wanted. The memory of how I’d behaved earlier in our relationship flooded through me. All the times I kept my feelings to myself, refusing to burden him with any of my personal drama. The only problem was that not talking to Jack about it forced me into personal overload, where the only solution I saw was to run away. Holding feelings in hadn’t worked then, and it wouldn’t work now. Desperate to keep the lines of communication open between us, I touched his chest lightly. “Jack?” I whispered, still reeling from the sex we’d just experienced.
He rolled over to face me. “Yep?” His tone sounded annoyed again.
“I just wanted to talk about how you’re feeling, what you’re thinking, something?”
He growled. “Cassie, can we not do this tonight, please? Can’t you just give me one fucking night to process everything before you make me spill my guts like a fucking chick?”
I fought against the tears threatening to spill over and rolled away from his glare. “But you said we could talk after.”
“Yeah? Well, I fucking lied. Just go to sleep.”
Suddenly I felt very small. I definitely wasn’t used to this Jack and I most certainly didn’t like it. He had never acted so callous when it came to talking to me before. He seemed so uncaring, so cold. My brain knew it was all a front, but my heart couldn’t take the pain. Being treated like this by Jack, of all people, hurt more than words. We were married now. Didn’t he feel differently about us? I certainly did. Or I had up until about five minutes ago.
Wiping the tears I couldn’t stop from falling, I silently made a deal with myself to give him time to process and deal with what happened tonight, but after that he needed to get his act together. I wouldn’t put up with this attitude forever, and I’d make that abundantly clear if necessary.
I woke up the following morning to the light streaming through the windows where I forgot to close the curtains the night before. It was stupid the things you forgot to do when you were otherwise occupied with situations you weren’t expecting. Sucking in a small breath, I glanced at Jack, who appeared to be sleeping peacefully on his back, his cast-covered arm resting across his bare chest.
Pushing myself up from the mattress, I walked quietly toward the bathroom to get ready for work.
“Cassie, can you close the fucking curtains?” Jack’s sharp voice cut through me.
Apparently a good night’s sleep had done nothing for his attitude. Honest to God, no matter how beautiful I thought this man was, there was no way I would deal with this craptitude for very long. He was testing my patience, and that was something I had in short supply anyway. Fighting the urge to snap back at him, call him names, or stand up for myself, I merely did as he requested before walking into the bathroom and closing the door behind me. I stared at my reflection for a good five minutes before I attempted to do a single thing to my hair or face.
He’ll get past this.
He has to.
Right?
Sucking in a long, deep breath, I closed my eyes and willed myself to be strong. With a firm nod to the only person in the room, I reached for my makeup bag and tossed the contents onto the counter before putting my face on.
When I arrived home from work that evening, Jack wasn’t there. I had completely forgotten that the Mets had one last home game before they headed out on the road for ten days. Jack didn’t mention anything about attending the game, but I knew he was required to be there. I clicked our television on just to make sure. No sooner had the picture cleared when I heard the announcer talking about Jack’s “busted hand” and his face appeared across my high-definition screen. He looked miserable.
By the time Jack got home, I could barely keep my eyes open. When I heard the front door open, I pretended to need a glass of water from the kitchen.
“How was the game?” I asked, trying to sound cheerful and supportive. Jack didn’t answer my question. He barely gave me a passing glance before moving around me and into our bedroom.
His silence stunned me.
I stood alone in the kitchen, my bare feet pressing against the cold tile flooring as I clutched at my chest. As soon as the stunned feeling arose, it disappeared. Anger replaced it and I shouted from where I stood, “You gonna pretend like you didn’t hear me?” I waited for a response before shouting again, “Are you seriously not talking to me?”
Silence.
I wasn’t sure what was worse, the silent treatment or the asshole one. At least when he was being an asshole, he was talking. Not that it was pleasant.
The silent treatment went on for two more days.
Two. More. Days.
When you’re living in that sort of hell, two days might as well be years. It felt like a fucking lifetime because I was so goddamned miserable. It affected everything in my life from the second my eyes opened, to the moment my mind finally allowed me to sleep at night. I was consumed by Jack’s behavior and the fact that I couldn’t get through to him.
I stared at the telephone on my desk and stopped myself from calling to check on Jack at least ten times. Part of me couldn’t handle the idea that he’d send my call to voice mail without a second thought. I glanced at my engagement ring and wedding band, suddenly nervous that what we’d just shared with our family and friends felt threatened. Certainly we’d been through tougher relationship challenges than this?
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.
“Stop acting like a bitch,” Jack shouted through the closed door as he stomped through the kitchen.
My head snapped up. Did he just call me a bitch? Jack had never talked that way to me before. Ever. I slammed my book down on the bedside table and dialed the only person I thought could help me. The phone rang five times and I almost hung up when I heard his winded voice say, “Hello?”
“Dean?” I paused.
“What’s up, Sis?”
I smiled, the action feeling almost alien after the last few days. “Are you busy? Is this a bad time?” I listened as he struggled for breath.
“No, it’s fine. I just had to run upstairs.”
“Do you think you could come out here for a little bit? I know you’re busy with work, but even if it’s just for a few days it would be great. I need your help with Jack.”
He laughed a breathy sound into the phone. “Is he really that bad?”
“Let’s just say we’re not really seeing eye to eye right now, so maybe you should come out here and punch him in one.”
He snorted. “I’ll gladly beat the shit out of him. So, what’s he doing?”
“Dean,” my tone turned serious. “He literally hasn’t spoken a single word to me in almost three days. Not. A. Word,” I said, pausing between each word for effect.
“Say what? You’re joking.” Dean half laughed.
My frustration boiling over, I balled my hand into a fist and punched my thigh. “I’m not joking. It’s not funny. I need your help.”
“Okay, sorry. I can’t believe he’s being like that,” he said. “I mean, I can. But I can’t believe he’s being like that to you.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty awful,” I admitted.
“You let me know when you want me there, and I’m there.”
I breathed out in relief. “Thank God. I’ll take care of all the details. Just e-mail me your schedule and I’ll do my best to book around it.”
“Ryan and Marc will let me take off whatever time I need. Book whatever and I’ll be there.”
“Thank you so much, Dean. I’ll see you soon.” I ended the call, then got up and opened the bedroom door and walked out into the darkening house.
When I switched on the kitchen light, I heard, “Finally come out to get me that beer?” Jack’s voice broke into the room, cutting the sliver of hope that was weaving its way within me clean through.
I bit my tongue so hard it almost bled. I wanted to be the bigger person, but he made it really damned hard.
At my silence, he called out, “Who knew it was that hard to get your broken husband a beer?” He was relentless.
“For Pete’s sake, Jack, you’re not broken. It’s not like you can’t get up and get it yourself.” I leaned on the kitchen table and breathed deeply, willing myself to stay calm.
“I am broken!” he shouted, his eyes turning around to meet mine, the fire in them blazing. “You think I don’t know what you think of me?”
What?
I stood in the small space between our room and the kitchen, stunned at his outburst. I honestly had no idea what Jack was talking about, and wasn’t sure how to respond without this turning even uglier than it had already been.
His gorgeous face twisted into a sneer. “See? You can’t even admit it! At least say it to my face.”
“Jack,” I said carefully. “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.” I shifted my weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other.
“Don’t lie to me, Cassie. The least you can do is not lie to me.” His voice took on a desperate quality and it caused my heart to ache for him, the pain so real I was certain it could be seen on an EKG.
Turning to face Jack where he still sat on the couch, I let out a sigh and my shoulders slumped. “I’m not lying to you, Jack. I love you.” I longed to cross the space between us and close it, wrap my arms around him and reassure him that it would all be okay, but I was too scared. I couldn’t make him that kind of promise and we both knew it.
Emotions flitted across his face—yearning, distrust, then his expression settled into an angry mask. “But it’s not enough to love me when I’m broken like this, right? You love a baseball player, not just a man. And I’m not a baseball player anymore. I’m worthless on the field and I’m worthless at home. I know that’s what you think. And I don’t blame you, but at least admit it.”
My heart twisted as I looked at the torment evident on his face. I wanted so desperately to lock that pain and insecurity in a box, and then burn that box to ash and dust so he’d never feel this way again. Seeing my confident husband reduced to this shell of a man crushed me.
I stepped toward him and he snapped, “Don’t! Don’t come over here and look at me with pity in your eyes. Don’t pity me, Cassie! I don’t deserve your pity. And I don’t want it. Just leave me the fuck alone.”
“That’s enough!” I cried out with a sob. “I can’t do this anymore!” Clutching one hand to my mouth, I broke down, tears of frustration falling without warning.
Jack narrowed his eyes and spit out, “I knew it! I knew you were weak.”
His voice burned me like venom from a snake bite, and I steadied my shaking body against the counter.
He doesn’t mean it.
He doesn’t mean it.
He doesn’t mean it.
It was easy for your head to know the truth, but try telling that to your heart when it was too busy shattering to hear.
Trembling, whether from heartbreak or anger, I wasn’t sure, I swiped at my wet cheeks and said, “I just meant that I can’t deal with your attitude anymore. Dean is coming out here, so you’d better get your act together.”
I’d wondered how I was going to tell Jack that Dean was coming out. Thankfully, he’d just given me the perfect opportunity.
“What the hell do you mean, Dean is coming out here? When did you two plan this little bullshit charade?” he demanded, slamming his unopened beer down on our coffee table.
He’d already gotten himself a beer? What the hell?
“Today. I can’t deal with you like this, Jack. You’re mean. You’re just plain mean.”
His good hand balled into a fist before he looked away. “Don’t know what you think bringing Dean out here is going to do.”
“Yeah, me either.” I sighed before walking away. It seemed like that’s all I did lately, walk away from him instead of to him. I wondered if he truly thought I was quitting, or giving up. It probably looked that way in his eyes. But the truth was, I just needed to leave him alone, give him space before I said something I’d regret. We were clearly making each other miserable, and I didn’t want to make it any worse. Being away from him was the only way I could think of to stop the fighting.