CHAPTER SIXTEEN
As heavenly as our wedding night was, the follow morning turned to hell. News of my marriage to Harlow spread like all gossip does—quickly and with bite. By the time we had breakfast with Maxon, Griff, their wives, and little Jamie, the press was already surrounding the parking lot. Getting to the car proved difficult. Sliding inside and driving away turned out to be nearly impossible. Their shouted questions were somewhere between salacious and insulting, about everything from my “busy” sex life apart from my wife to barely veiled sneers about our relationship while she was engaged to Simon.
As much as I’d love to go off on them, they’re doing their jobs and losing my shit does no good, so I stick to my canned response. “Harlow and I are newlyweds and we would appreciate some privacy so we can enjoy this time in our married lives.”
I hoped more than believed that would be the end of the incident.
“Mercedes Fleet says your wedding is a publicity stunt and a way to avoid your responsibility to her baby.”
Of course she said that. I would, too, if I was trying to exploit someone else for my own gain. I wish this woman would just stop. I’m guessing she got unexpectedly pregnant. Maybe she can’t afford this baby. Or maybe she got pregnant by a hookup who won’t acknowledge her. It’s possible she simply wants to put a famous man’s name on her child’s birth certificate. I don’t know. But she needs to be honest with the press—and herself.
“I’ve never met, much less been intimate with, Mercedes Fleet. That’s all.”
And that’s the last time I’m repeating myself, damn it.
As I’m finally able to duck in the car and slam the door, I glance at Harlow. She looks a little rattled.
“You okay?”
She gives me a nod that looks more confident than I think she feels. “Let’s get out of here.”
That’s going to be a feat since a handful of reporters seem intent on blocking the road so they can continue to shout questions at us. But after I start the engine and rev it a few times, they get the message and back away.
Finally, we’re making our way down the road. I know the press will be waiting for us at the security gate when we get home, but at least we’ll have privacy once we make it inside.
“This will die down,” I assure Harlow. “After the test results come back negative, Ms. Fleet will be exposed as a fraud. The press rarely apologizes or admits it was wrong to run with a story when they had no facts to support it. But they will go away and chase the next juicy tidbit as soon as they find it.”
“Have you lived with this since you went pro?”
“No. Usually, I get a few cameras in my face after a game or before a big event. But it’s never been this intense. That’s why I know all the attention will disappear as soon as there’s no more steak to feed these hounds.”
“But it’s your word against hers. I don’t know why they don’t wait until the facts are in.”
“Because that doesn’t sell papers or generate clicks.”
She sighs in frustration. “That sucks.”
It does. And it suddenly occurs to me that we’ve only talked about the paternity suit in practical terms since the day the accusation came to light. “Do you believe me, Harlow? Do you think I got her pregnant?”
“I thought you had when it first happened and that you simply didn’t want to tell me.”
“Like Simon. I get it.”
She nods. “Even my dad has that nasty habit. It’s like he gets off on knocking up girls half his age and…”
She’s revolted and angry. I met the man, so I at least have a glimmer of understanding. When her experience with men has been so negative, trust is thin and believing my claims of innocence can’t be easy. I’m trying to see this situation from her perspective. But she has to see it from mine, too. If she loves me, I need to know she trusts me, as well. No, she wouldn’t blame me for something that happened before we met. But she would blame me for lying to her about it now. If I wasn’t telling the truth and Harlow found out, everything I’ve spent weeks building with her would crumble in so many pieces I wonder if I could ever put it back together.
“I don’t understand the man.” I grimace. “But I completely get why you might have had difficulty believing I didn’t get that woman pregnant at first.”
“I was sure you had that day it came to light. And I was angry when I had no right to be. I’m sorry about that.”
I take a left onto a wider street and head west, sending her another glance. “But you believe me now?”
“Of course. I mean, unless you were super-drunk that night—”
“No. I had a beer or two, but I wasn’t wasted. After my concussion, the doctors told me to drink only in moderation and I’ve followed their direction. And I’ve never been so drunk that I didn’t remember taking a woman to bed, much less doing all the stuff she claims.”
“Then I see no reason you’d lie. And why would you demand a paternity test if you were? Logically, it doesn’t make sense. Even without all that, I’d believe you.” She reaches for my hand. “We hadn’t known each other long the day her claims went public. I overreacted because…you were getting to me and that scared me to death. I was so afraid I was falling for someone who was like my dad or my ex. I wasn’t really mad at you. I was furious with myself.”
I give her hand a squeeze. “I understand. It just means a lot that you believe me now. Proof that I’ve been nothing but honest is coming, baby.”
She smiles my way. “Thanks, but I already know.”
Just like that, my Sunday starts looking up. Once we get home, my family comes over for an early dinner before Trace boards a plane the next morning for a few days of meetings in San Francisco.
The shit hits the fan and splatters everywhere on Monday morning when Mercedes Fleet gives her most salacious interview yet, revealing details of the things I supposedly can’t resist in bed and the ink I’ve never showed in public. The first claim…she’s guessing. She has to be. Besides, what guy doesn’t like a blow job, followed by some down-and-dirty penetration? But the description of the tattoo on my hip is something else entirely. It’s an elaborate compass, a tat I got after a few years in the league to remind myself which direction was home so that I’d never lose my way. The ink on my shoulders, arms, and ribs are all well photographed. But the compass was just for me.
How the hell does this woman know about it?
I try to block the worry out, work on reducing my anxiety and upping my mental calm. Harlow stays beside me, helping in every way she can. I need it now more than ever. I’m starting to worry that if this liar gives more interviews like the last and I don’t accept the network’s offer before I’m ready, I’ll never have a chance at a career in the broadcasting booth and I’ll have to leave football way before I’m ready.
The call I’ve been fearing comes on Monday night. Cliff didn’t board his plane back to New York because Gus Chickman, who runs the network, wants to see me. In person. As soon as he can get to Maui.
Cue the interrogation.
Shit.
I’m pretty sure this chat is make-or-break.
“You’re going to be fine,” Harlow assures me in a soothing voice as we finish dressing for a dinner meeting on Wednesday night at one of the steakhouses on the island. “I’ll be right beside you. We’ll tell them you’ve been busy wooing me, then planning a secret wedding. After our honeymoon, you’ll definitely give their offer the serious consideration it deserves and you’ll have an answer to them in less than a month. We’ve rehearsed this, so it will be as smooth as butter.”
“Yeah.” I try to sound sure of myself, but I’m nervous as hell. What if I freeze up when I need to defend myself most? I know Harlow will step in and smooth things out…but how will that look to Chickman?
On the way to the restaurant, I don’t complain when she puts on soothing instrumental music I swear only gets played in elevators and funeral homes. To my wife’s credit, the relaxed tempo of the flute-heavy tunes helps me focus on my thoughts and talk myself away from the proverbial ledge. I also practice my breathing on the drive and take a lot of moments to touch Harlow—a squeeze of her hand, a caress of her knee. Just having contact with her calms me.
When we arrive, the valet takes my keys and manages not to gape at us for too long, which is a blessing. But he can’t keep his eyes off of Harlow, and it annoys the hell out of me.
I step into the punk’s line of sight and force him to stop ogling my wife. “We good here?”
He blinks, seeming to realize that he’s staring at Harlow in her strappy blood-red dress. “Um, yes, Mr. Weston. Sir. There’s no problem.”
“Glad to hear it.”
I don’t mean to be hard on the kid. He’s maybe all of twenty-two, and my wife is a vibrant beauty. But not every man who comes to this place with a gorgeous woman on his arm will be so understanding. Hell, I’m not sure how much I can be. This is the first time I’ve discovered how much I don’t like random men gawking at Harlow.
She approaches with a smile for the kid and wraps her fingers around my arm, flashing her wedding ring. “Thank you.”
Her soft voice rings in my ears as we head to the door.
“Was I an asshole?” I whisper.
Harlow holds up her thumb and forefinger a fraction of an inch apart. “A little bit. Wound up or jealous?”
“Both,” I grumble, knowing I need to get my shit together. “Sorry.”
“The good news is, I’m not leaving you for a kid I met in a parking lot two minutes ago and Mr. Chickman is here because he wants to talk to you, because he wants to have you on board. If he didn’t, he would have given Cliff the kiss-off speech already and asked your agent to pass it on to you.”
She makes valid points. I’m so lucky to have her in my life. “Damn, I married a smart woman.”
“Don’t you forget it.”
With a laugh, we enter the restaurant to find Cliff and Chickman already sitting at a table in the corner, exchanging words over a glass of Scotch. Their conversation looks too heated to be casual. As we approach, they stop arguing abruptly. My agent pastes on a wide smile that reeks of bullshit.
My nerves torque up. Sweat breaks out between my shoulder blades. This could go sour really fast.
“Hi, Noah.” Cliff and I shake hands before he nods in my wife’s direction. “Harlow. Good to see you again.”
“Likewise.” She gives him a gracious smile.
Then Cliff makes the introductions.
I’ve met Gus Chickman once or twice in passing over the years. He’s a football fan himself and he’s cheered me through a couple of Super Bowls, I’m told. I’ve got that working in my favor. Instead of focusing on everything that’s gone wrong with the Mercedes Fleet situation, I have to remember that the man who wants to hire me actually likes me.
Or he once did.
The network executive and I exchange a few pleasantries before I help Harlow into her chair. Chickman isn’t smiling, but he isn’t glowering either. Maybe the situation is still salvageable…if I can keep my shit together.
After the waiter comes to take our drink orders, the television bigwig leans across the table and stares at me. “I asked for this meeting because as charming as your agent is, I need to hear from you, Weston. Do you want this job or not?”
Cliff pats him on the back. “Gus… Gus, we’ve talked about this. Of course Noah does. Most likely, he’ll say yes. He’s just been—”
“I want to hear from Weston.”
When the older man drills me with his blue eyes, I nod. “I’m very seriously considering your offer. I hope you’ll appreciate that the last few months for me have been hectic. Getting married isn’t something that happens without a lot of consideration and planning, so—”
“Agreed, but we don’t make this sort of substantial offer to everyone before we’ve actually heard them perform in a booth. Your last couple of press conferences weren’t your best, but I’ve listened to you speak many times over the last dozen years. With your knowledge of the game and your insight, I think you can do this job better than anyone.”
“Thank you. I understand I’ve kept you waiting longer than you anticipated. You’ve made me a lucrative offer, and I grasp the gravity of that. Because I’ve had big things going on in my personal life, I wanted to be one hundred percent sure I could deliver on everything you expect before I agreed to anything.”
“What does that mean? I just expect you to talk.” The old man glares, his forehead gleaming with a thin sheen of perspiration. “Are you really considering walking away from football altogether? Or is there some other reason to think you can’t do the job?” He leans in with narrowed eyes. “Did that last concussion mess you up more than you’re letting on?”
“Um…” I start sweating, too. Profusely. The need to swallow makes me shut my mouth. My stomach feels as if I took it apart with a chainsaw and tried to hold it together with a rubber band. A million words zoom through my head, but I can’t seem to speak a single one. So I shake my head and hope he believes me.
But really, if I can’t muster an eloquent defense, why would he?
Harlow understands my predicament and reaches under the crisp white tablecloth to wrap her fingers around my knee and give me a comforting squeeze.
“Then what’s the damn problem?”
I still can’t answer. I try to pass off an expression that says I’m attempting to put my thoughts into words, but I’m sure he can see a drop of sweat rolling from my temple.
“Out with it, Weston,” he insists. “Is your personal life too much to keep up with your job responsibilities? Because we should talk about that. The executives in my sports division aren’t happy with all your splashy news lately. You had a reputation as a man whore early in your career. I decided to offer you this job at this pay because you’d seemed to clean your act up in recent seasons. But since your antics with Mercedes Fleet came to light, I’ve had a very nervous board of directors. Say something that will help me put them at ease.”
I could. Normally, I’d love to. Right now, I can’t say anything at all.
Clenching my fists, it’s all I can do not to pound them on the table in frustration. Since I have to keep my shit together, I turn to look at Harlow. She’s been holding back, letting me run things unless I needed her.
Now, more than ever, I do.
She squeezes my knee again, then turns her most charming smile on Chickman. “Other than being worn out after an eventful weekend, Noah is fine. We’d planned to take at least this week for a honeymoon, so the fact that he’s having dinner with you tonight instead of keeping his promise to his new wife ought to tell you he’s very serious about your offer. But he wants to give it its due consideration. It’s a long-term commitment. The fact that he wants a few weeks without a media spectacle distracting him so that he can be entirely sure is not something that should make anyone nervous. Your board of directors should be relieved he’s being so serious and cautious. If he says yes, they can be completely certain he means it.”
God, she’s wonderful. Perfect. She both scolded and reassured Chickman in the same speech. No wonder I love her so much.
“Furthermore, if I thought for one moment that Ms. Fleet’s claims were true, I would not have married Noah. Maybe you saw the YouTube video of my last attempt at marriage? If you did, you know I won’t accept my fiancé knocking up some other woman. Ms. Fleet is an attention seeker, and you’re giving her far too much validity by even listening to her claims. You’re a smart man. Haven’t you ever dealt with someone trying to get their fifteen minutes of fame by climbing on your back and riding your coattails for all they’re worth?”
When he flushes a guilty red, I drag in a deep breath. Score, Harlow! The woman should have been a trial attorney. This performance tells me that if we ever get into a gnarly fight, I’m likely to lose.
“Thank you, Mrs. Weston,” Cliff cuts in, jaw clenched. He’s annoyed that Harlow is doing his job for him right now—and doing it better. “But I’ve got it from here.”
I glare at my longtime agent. Where the fuck does he get the idea that Harlow doesn’t have a voice at this table? That she can’t speak for me if I want her to, if I can’t do it myself?
Harlow shrugs. “I just thought it was important to share what Noah and I have discussed and—”
“Sure,” he says dismissively, then turns to Chickman. “Like Noah explained to me, the wife is a great asset and a perfect front. Smart, lovely, educated. This marriage will keep the Mercedes Fleets of the world from being taken too seriously in the future, and Noah will use his utmost discretion with other women. Right, buddy?” He claps me on the shoulder. “She was a smart business move. Good choice.”
I drag in growling breaths of fury. Cliff is way out of line, making Harlow sound like a prop instead of the woman I’m going to love madly for the rest of my life. I’ve known Cliff for a decade. He doesn’t love anything except a smoking deal and he’d say anything to get one done. I can’t point that out now, but Harlow is smart. She’ll get it.
Still, I feel compelled to stop his shitty behavior.
“What the hell?” I manage to blurt out. More words are behind those, piling up in my throat, dammed by anxiety and anger.
“I’m just relaying what we discussed, Noah,” Cliff assures. “You promised me she’d be good for your image, and now I’m in total agreement. I’m sure Mr. Chickman is as well.”
“Absolutely.” The network executive winks my way.
“Well, since my work here is done and you boys don’t need me to conduct business, I’ll leave you to it.” Harlow smiles graciously and rises to her feet.
I grab her by the hand, swallow, force out one syllable. “Sit.”
“Don’t be silly. You get business done. Mr. Chickman has flown all the way to Maui from New York to talk to you. I’m sure he has a network to run and can’t be gone any longer than usual. I’ll take a taxi back to the house.”
“Harlow…”
“I’m fine.”
She’s not fine. Not remotely. I see it on her face. She handled Cliff’s snub and insult with grace, but her smile is as artificial as Chickman’s toupee. My agent is a hustler. She couldn’t possibly take his BS about her being an asset to cover up my affairs seriously.
“I’ll go with you.” I stand.
“Don’t be silly.” She shakes her head.
“My red-eye leaves in three hours,” the network executive states baldly. “We discuss this now or I’ll have to rescind the offer.”
“See?” Harlow says with a sparkling smile as she grabs her purse. “Lovely to see you, gentlemen. Good evening.”
I stand and take hold of her arm. Nothing on her face conveys that she’s upset or pissed off, but I sense something deeply wrong. “Baby?”
“Do what you need to. You’ve got this. I understand. Don’t worry.” A brittle wave later, she slips out of my grasp and exits.
I’m left staring after her, dread rolling through my gut. What, exactly, does she understand?
I’m not sure. In fact, I’m worried as hell. That woman wouldn’t have left my side when she knows I’m having verbal trouble unless something had gone horribly, terribly wrong.
“Noah, buddy…” Cliff stands and urges me back to my chair. “Mr. Chickman’s time is limited, and the little woman will be waiting for you back home. Why don’t you sit down so we can get everything ironed out?”
With a frown, I do. I don’t have a choice if I want to cover the sport I love come this fall. But as soon as I get home, I’ll talk everything out with Harlow. That will be enough. Right?
Sixty-five minutes later, I dash inside the front door, glad business is done for the night. I rushed dinner along and managed to give Chickman a promise that I’d make a splashy announcement in a few days with my exciting news. Let him interpret that however he wants.
“Harlow?” I shout from the entryway.
No answer.
Foreboding rolls through me as I glance around the dimly lit house. The pictures of little Jamie she stuck to the refrigerator the other day are gone. So are the random hair ties she usually leaves lying on the coffee table so she can get her hair out of her eyes for serious gaming.
Shit.
I try not to panic. She’s often tidy. She sometimes declutters randomly. Maybe she came home from the restaurant and decided to pick up a little.
“Harlow?”
Still nothing.
Dread knotting my gut, I run upstairs and barge into the bedroom she used to sleep in alone. When I fling open the closet door, it’s completely empty. No sexy red dress. No hanging row of short-shorts and sexy tanks. No pile of shoes at the bottom screaming in loud colors and gleaming with bling.
Oh, fuck me.
When I dash to my room, the few garments she’d moved into my personal space are all gone, too. Her toiletries are missing from the bathroom. Her scent still lingers…but the woman herself is utterly gone.
This cannot be the end of us.
With shaking hands, I pluck my phone from my pocket and call her. Her voice mail greeting plays right away, telling me to leave a message. I squeeze the device as shock rolls over me. She won’t even talk to me, hear my side of…whatever’s gone wrong? No, she’s simply picked up and left. I’m still not sure why. Yes, Cliff was a prick and painted our marriage as a business transaction, but doesn’t she see that he just wanted to get the deal done and was willing to say pretty much anything to both make it happen and be the bigwig?
Maybe not.
“Baby, where are you? What’s going on? You’re upset and I want to talk this out. I want to fix it. I want—”
“You can’t,” Harlow says suddenly, stepping from the shadows to lean against the doorframe.
She’s changed out of her killer red dress and now wears a T-shirt that says BE BRAVE. BE BOLD. BE YOU. A Harlow with a message on her chest is a Harlow with something on her mind.
I pocket my phone and approach her. “What do you mean, I can’t? Are you saying I can’t fix it? Baby, Cliff is an asshole and—”
“I know. But I understand everything now.” She sighs and sways into the room.
“What does that mean? You don’t understand anything if you think I used you to make this deal happen. Newsflash: it was already on the table before you walked into my life.
“But you needed me to improve your image after Mercedes Fleet started alleging you’re the hottest lay outside of porn and that you two are having a love child.”
That might be true but… “I didn’t use you.”
“Maybe not. Probably not.” She presses her lips together in regret. “But the whole drive here and the time I spent packing up, I couldn’t stop wondering if I was just a smokescreen to you. A way to get ahead in business. I tried to talk myself out of it. You’re not my father and all that. But what I ultimately realized is that I’m not ready to trust anyone that completely, least of all myself. So…Maxon came by and took all my things. Griff is on his way to pick me up. I’ll return the money you paid me for speech services, and you don’t owe me anything more when we divorce. Don’t worry. I won’t rock your boat and start proceedings until our anniversary. You’ll be great in the broadcasting booth, I’m sure. I believe in you.”
I’m crushed and so fucking confused. “No. No, baby… I believe in you.” I grab her shoulders. “Don’t leave. I love you. I—”
“And I can’t guarantee I’ll ever be whole for you, so it’s better if I let you go now. Before I hurt you any more.”
“What does that mean? You are whole. You’re everything I need. We’ve been doing great until tonight and I don’t understand.”
Harlow sits on the side of the bed and closes her eyes. “I owe you an explanation. I didn’t tell you everything about my miscarriage.” She lets out a rough breath. “When I went away to college, my dad got me a part-time job with a man named Jeremy Ronald. He had a small company with a unique computer technology my father wanted to launch big and exploit. I didn’t know when I walked in the door that talks had been stalled for months. Or that I was butter meant to grease the wheels so they’d start to turn again. My father just told me to work for the man and ‘be nice.’”
“He pimped you out?” I know that’s what she means and I’m instantly horrified. She was barely more than a child.
“See, you understood that much quicker than I did. I started that job with all intentions of being the best assistant he could imagine and giving him my all. I just didn’t know he didn’t mean behind a computer, but on my back.” She frowns, not quite looking at me. “I was young, and he was handsome, charismatic. When he made a pass at me, I was dumb enough to be flattered. He wasn’t married, and so what if he was older than me?”
“How old?” I snap. It’s all I can do to hold on to my temper. Because I know where this story is going and I want to kill this man I’ve never met.
“Thirty. I was eighteen. He seemed so worldly and funny…” An acidic, self-deprecating twist of her lips wrings out my heart. “And I couldn’t believe that a man like that thought I was beautiful and interesting. The love of his life, he said. Yeah, I was that stupid.”
“Never stupid. You were naive, baby. Trusting.”
She finally looks at me, and I see something so vulnerable on her face it hurts me. For the first time, I see the most fragile parts of Harlow. And I see how close she is to breaking apart.
“I was a virgin,” she whispers.
Oh, fuck. “Baby, I’m so sorry. You deserved better than to have your father sell out your innocence for a business deal.”
“It’s actually worse than that. Before I left for college, he insisted I go on the pill.” She swallows. “I took them faithfully and I was so shocked when, a few months into my affair with Jeremy, I realized I was pregnant. I told my mother first. She didn’t say a word, just handed the phone to my father, who congratulated me. I still didn’t get it, even then. Not for years, in fact. But I’ll get back to that.
“After we hung up, my father called Jeremy, full of plastic outrage and demanding to know if my boss intended to ‘do the right thing.’ Jeremy was furious. The second I arrived at work, he ordered me into his office, called me a manipulative whore for trying to trap him, and fired me. I left in tears. And I never saw him again.” She drags in a breath as if she needs the courage to continue. “I quit school and transferred to a campus closer to home. I’d barely walked in the door when my father started in on me. Apparently, I was a stupid bitch because I couldn’t even manage to make Jeremy fall in lust with my pussy long enough to get the deal done. Two days later, I miscarried.”
Fury roils and bubbles inside me. I should never have let that bastard leave our wedding reception alive.
But right now, Harlow needs me more than I need to right her wrongs.
“Listen to me. Your father took advantage of you. He’s a sociopathic bastard who doesn’t deserve a daughter as wonderful as you. You’re funny and beautiful and so smart.”
“Not smart enough. I let him manipulate me twice. Simon was his idea. I’d already decided not to go through with the wedding. I was only staying around long enough to let the video play so all of our guests would know exactly why I was running back down the aisle. As my father and I lined up at the back of the ballroom, he said he’d talked to Simon about my desire for a baby and that I should ignore my fiancé and stay off the pill. After all, the placebos he’d gotten me in college had very nearly done the trick. They would have if I’d just been a little better in the sack.”
Shock pings through me. Who does that to their own daughter? The kind of man who sees her as nothing more than a bargaining chip in a quest to pad his bank account. Rage grips my throat, squeezes my chest. Death is too good for that man.
Then I realize what she’s saying to me. “You were never a business deal to me. Ever.”
She shrugs. “You’re probably telling me the truth, and I may very well wake up one day and regret this. But I’m not ready for unconditional trust. I don’t know when I will be. At least I leave understanding so much more about what love really means and with a baby finally on the way. I’m so much better for having known you. You’ll have moved on before I’m whole enough to think about love again. I hope you find the woman who’s worthy of you, Noah Weston. You deserve the best.”
With an apology on her face, Harlow turns to go. My heart crashes against my ribs as I grab her wrists and tug her against me. “I have the best, damn it. I have the most amazing wife in the world. Don’t go. Please.”
As I seize her mouth in a crushing kiss, I feel the wetness on her cheeks. Harlow is breaking both our hearts because she’s so afraid to believe in love, so afraid she’ll wind up used and alone.
I clutch her, push my way into her mouth, and kiss her like I’m never letting go. She’s everything to touch, to taste. When I dig my fingers into her hair, I do it with a silent plea to stay and believe in herself. To believe in our love.
Her body shudders as she kisses me in return and clings to me for a terrible, wonderful second. Then she steps back with a shake of her head and teary eyes that confess leaving me is destroying her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I love you.”
She tears the ring off her finger and lays it on my nightstand before whirling around to disappear, feet thudding as she runs down the stairs.
I chase after her. “Harlow!”
The front door slams. By the time I yank it open again and follow her into the dark night, I’m too late. Griff is driving her away with a grimace and a wave of apology.
I’m left in the driveway as I watch the taillights disappear, worrying I made the biggest mistake of my life by staying at that dinner tonight and wondering if I’ll ever hold my wife again.