The Sweetest Game (7 page)

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.