George
Three stitches and one-hundred-fifty dollars later, I was at the gym, sweat dripping down my face and neck as I hustled on the stair climber. My thumb throbbed and my quads burned, but I pressed on, determined to drive the pissed-off feelings out of me. Why was I so mad? I wasn’t angry with my wife. I was angry with me. But what could I do? I just wanted to help her, and I was going mad not being able to. My wireless headphones were in, Depeche Mode’s Personal Jesus blaring in my ears as I climbed as fast as I could.
Another ten minutes and I was gassed, my chest burning as I gulped in air. After hitting pause on the machine, the stairs slowed, and I used the bars to hold myself up while I caught my breath. Leaning down, I closed my eyes. The older I got, the longer it took me to recover from a good workout. “You’re getting old, George,” I wheezed to myself.
“Or maybe you just work out too hard,” Charlotte said, causing me to whip my head toward her.
“Hey,” I said, surprised. “What are you doing here?” She never came to the gym with me; she usually covered the restaurant while I was here. Warm Springs didn’t have a fancy gym like big cities, but it had Ed’s Sweat Shop, which was really just a four-bay garage Ed Snider had thrown some cardio and weight machines in and let people pay him twenty bucks a month to use.
Charlotte shrugged one shoulder, her expression uncertain. “You didn’t respond to my text. I was worried.”
I instantly felt like a dick for not texting her back. I was so wound up after the doctor’s office, I’d come straight to the gym. “I’m sorry,” I sighed, wiping my face with my shirt before stepping off the stair climber. I held my bandaged hand up and added, “Three stitches. It’s fine.”
Charlotte glanced at my hand, then down at her feet for a moment, before peeking back up at me. “I know I haven’t been…myself. I’m sorry.”
I shook my head adamantly. Yes, I was frustrated, but never with her. I felt terrible that she thought that. “Babe, I’m sorry too. I just want to help, and I feel like I’m failing you.”
This time she shook her head. “You have no idea how much you help me, George. I couldn’t do this without you. But I know it takes a toll on both of us.”
I closed my eyes, guilt overshadowing the frustration. Neither of us were doing each other any good by constantly worrying about the other, and given there was nothing she could do to stop the spirits, the last thing she needed was me adding to it by sulking about not being able to do more. Any residual anger fled out of me as I met her earnest gaze and sighed, “I want you to have peace, babe. I want to give you that.”
Carefully taking my injured hand in hers, making sure not to touch my bandaged thumb, she squeezed. “Believe me, you do.” She hesitated briefly as she met my gaze, her pleading eyes telling me I wasn’t going to like what she said next. “But I have to get her out of there. I can’t leave her there, George.”
My shoulders tensed instinctively at the thought of returning to New York. I hated what she was saying, but I knew there was no way around it. If she was going to find any peace, Charlotte had to go back and help the little girl we’d come to call Click cross over. She wanted me to tell her I understood. That I would support her.
I nodded. I did understand. My wife had a heart the size of Texas, and it wouldn’t let go of this, leaving Charlotte with no choice. Maybe I couldn’t protect her from this, but I could support her and make sure she knew I was with her, no matter what.
“Okay.” I squeezed her hand back. “Whatever you need, Charlotte. I’m here. Always. The good, the bad—”
“—the ugly,” she finished. Her eyes glossed over as she studied my face before she flung herself on me, wrapping her arms around my neck.
I was gross and drenched in sweat, but I squeezed her to me, inhaling her. “I love you.”
“I know you do, and it means everything to me,” she murmured against my neck. When she pulled away she smiled at me.
“I’ll see you at home then?”
“Yeah, babe. I’m right behind you.”
She nodded a few times. “I’ll get dinner started.”
I quirked my brow in amusement. “Mac and cheese?” Charlotte wasn’t the best cook, but she had a few signature dishes she specialized in, like macaroni and frozen pizza. Thank goodness we owned a restaurant, and my mother and Mrs. Mercer liked to cook for us, or we’d live strictly on the diet of college kids.
“Yeah,” she smirked. “And Mrs. Mercer’s leftover meatloaf, too. My reheating skills are expert level.”
We both chuckled, a little of the tension between us ebbing before she rested her hands on my chest and stood on her tip-toes to kiss me. “I love you.”
I pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You’ll never know, Charlotte, how much that means to me.”
I stared after her as she left. Damn I was a lucky man. A thought crept into my mind as she disappeared around the corner, and I grabbed hold of it as I pulled out my phone to shoot Sniper a text. I might only be able to be supportive, but maybe there was someone that could do more.
What was the name of the lady you saw on television you were telling me about earlier?