I sit on the cushion where his legs are stretched out. “I fixed up the guest room down here so you don’t need to try to tackle the stairs,” I say. “You ready to go to bed?”
“I’d love a shower, actually,” he says. He finally looks at me. “But I’m going to need some help with that.”
“I’m here, Luke. For whatever you need.”
“Yeah,” he says thinly, his voice soft in case Michelle isn’t completely out of earshot. “I guess it’s in your contract.”
His words stab my heart.
I know what he’s doing. He’s lashing out because he’s angry about his injury, and I’m the closest target to take it.
I can’t take it personally even though it hurts.
“That’s right,” I say. “It’s the in sickness and health part of the marriage pact since I’m not aware of any other contracts you might be referring to.” I smile sweetly, and he simply grunts in response.
Well if the reminder that our contract no longer exists since he ripped it up isn’t enough, I guess I’ll just have to work my magic in the shower.
And I try. Man, do I try.
I help him out of his clothes. He winces a lot. He mutters some curses. He grips onto the countertop for support—or maybe so he has something to clutch to help with the pain.
“Did they give you any painkillers?” I ask.
“They tried,” he says.
“And you wouldn’t take them?”
He just sighs in response. So it’s going to be that kind of conversation.
I get it. He’s a big, tough man. But that doesn’t mean he can’t take help when it’s needed.
I help him slowly over to the shower, where the glass door is already open for him. It would be easier upstairs in our shower since it’s big enough for two—or five—but that’s not our current situation. I get undressed too, in part to try to take his mind off his injury and in part because I don’t want to get my clothes wet from helping him.
“Do you want me to wash your hair?” I ask.
“I’m not a fucking child,” he mutters, and I hand over the shampoo bottle. He’s really in a mood.
He washes his face next, and most of his body. I kneel down to help him wash his legs and feet, and while I’m down there, I get a little idea in my head.
I glance up at him, and our eyes lock. A bit of heat passes between us.
Or, at least I think it’s heat. I move toward his dick, ready to suck it to the back of my throat just to try to take his mind off things and give him a few minutes of happiness again, but he pushes me away.
He pushes me away.
I feel hurt. I feel rejected. I feel humiliated.
But this isn’t about me, I remind myself.
So I finish washing him. I quietly get out of the shower and dry myself off, and once I have a towel wrapped around me, I help him dry his legs. He handles the rest himself because, in his words, he isn’t a fucking child.
He brushes his teeth while I get dressed, and then I help him into his boxers and over to the bed.
He’s silent through the entire process. I ask him little questions here and there, and I offer help where I think he needs it without assuming he can’t do something for himself. And once he’s in bed, I feel a tiny bit of sweet relief.
Once this surgery is over, I’ll feel more of it.
“I’m going to sleep,” he says, flicking off the bedside lamp.
“Okay.” I set the television remote on his nightstand next to a bottle of water and his phone. “I’m going to work a while. I’ll be back in a bit.”
“’Night,” he says.
“I love you,” I say.
He doesn’t say it back. I try not to feel hurt over that. Maybe he’s already asleep or something, but somehow I doubt it.
I close the door behind me, and I set a hand on my lower belly as I lean on the wall in the hallway. And then I let the tears freefall down my cheeks.
CHAPTER 4
I can’t decide which is preferable: feeling lonely because I’m actually by myself or feeling lonely because I’m sitting beside Luke. Either way, I bury myself in work for a while. I grab a snack, watch a show on Netflix, and then head to bed.
I slip into bed beside him. He’s quiet, and I assume he’s asleep. I turn away from him and face the windows of the guest room wishing things were different in this moment. We should be holding hands as we brace for tomorrow, and instead I feel like he keeps pushing me further and further away.
“I’m scared, Ellie,” he whispers into the darkness. I’m nearly asleep, and for just a beat, I think I might’ve dreamed that he said those words.
“So am I,” I admit, though my admission comes from a completely different place than his.
“I’ve been under this knife before. The recovery was brutal, and it’ll be even worse this time with the dislocation and my age. I don’t know if there’s any coming back from this.” His voice is soft, but I still hear the emotion in it.
Tears pinch behind my eyes. I’m grateful for this midnight confession in the dark. I’m grateful he’s letting me in.
I turn onto my back then reach over under the covers to take his hand in mine. I lace my fingers through his, and I squeeze. “You’re a fighter, Luke. If you want to come back, you’ll find a way.”
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “But I don’t know how much fight I have left in me.”
“How come?”
“It’s everything. You know? It’s my age. It’s Calvin making me feel like I’m not good enough, and it’s Michelle and this baby trapping me into things I don’t want with her. It’s my family and the lack of support. It’s feeling like an asshole for lashing out at the people I care the most about.”
I hope he means me...but I’m not going to assume anything at this point.
“Let’s start with your boss. How has he made you feel like you’re not good enough?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” he says. “He just does.”
“Any chance you’re projecting your fears onto him?”
“Maybe,” he mutters.
“Okay, what about the thing with Michelle?” I ask, moving onto the next part of his speech. “What if the baby isn’t even yours? We should find out any day now.”
“Right, but what if it is?”
“Then you’ll be an amazing father. You care so much, and you’re so kind and giving. You’ll roughhouse and play and provide.” I realize I’m telling him everything that’s been flashing through my own mind since I took that test. I amend my thoughts to include the whole point of what we’re talking about. “And you and Michelle will figure things out. You’ll build a bridge for that baby. Maybe in different houses, though.”
“I guess,” he murmurs.
“When you mentioned lashing out at people...” I say, not sure how to ask if he meant me.
“I was talking about you. I didn’t mean to push you away in the shower,” he says, and I can’t help but wonder whether he’d be confessing to these same truths if we were face-to-face in daylight rather than lying beside each other in darkness. “I just...I’m not in a place where I’m ready for that. Believe me, I want it. I want you. I love you. That hasn’t changed, but like I once told you before, I become a different guy during the season. I have to. I’m focused on the game, and I can’t afford distractions. But when I’m hurt, well, that becomes the center of my focus. I might be a different guy during the season, but I know I’m virtually unrecognizable when I’m hurt.”