But that wasn’t the point.
The point was the way he spoke about her like she wasn’t a full person — like she was a prop, an accessory, something to pat on the head and manage.
I took a slow sip of my wine, trying to cool the wildfire in my chest as I bided my time. We all eventually stood, Nathan guiding us to the back patio for a cigar. Ariana still hadn’t returned, but I heard the soft sound of water running from the kitchen.
“I think I’m calling it a night, fellas,” I said, grinning wide and hoping like hell no one could see through me as I shook hands and clapped backs in firm hugs. “Morning skate will come too early.”
“And we all know you’ll be there hours before the first player shows up,” Coach Timberland added fondly.
“You know me well. See you all in the morning.”
I made sure to thank Nathan profusely for the night, inflating his already swollen ego as much as I could before I quietlymade my exit. The conversation picked up the moment I turned, Nathan showing off his selection of cigars.
I slipped inside the house, shutting the sliding glass door behind me. For a moment, I looked around at the house Ariana shared with Nathan, looking for signs of life. Other than one photo from their wedding, I didn’t see much. My eyes snagged on a camera in the corner of the living room, and my heart stuttered.
I made a beeline for the kitchen.
Ariana was at the sink, her back to me, scrubbing away at the pan she’d cooked the chicken in. She yelped a little when she scrubbed too hard, letting the pan fall into the dishwater and holding her wrist.
I wanted to run to her.
I wanted to whip her around, grab her by the arms, and demand she tell me what the fuck was going on.
But I knew better. I knew the last thing she needed right now was more aggression, or another man telling her what to do.
Wordlessly, I slipped up beside her at the sink. She turned to me in surprise.
She’d been crying.
It felt like swallowing acid as I held back what I wanted to say. Instead, I reached into the soapy water and grabbed the dish. Then, my hand found hers.
I wrapped around her slowly, gently, our soapy, slick fingers gliding along one another. I took my time, savoring her warmth, heart racing in my chest as I grabbed the sponge she held fast to.
For the longest moment, she didn’t let go. Her eyes trailed from where our hands touched up my arm, my shoulder, catching at my neck before they snapped to meet my gaze.
I squeezed her hand, letting her know I was there to help.
She released the sponge.
And we got to work.
For twenty minutes, not a single word passed between us. She brought in the rest of the dishes from the table while I washed the ones already piled in the sink. She wiped the counters. I dried the heavier dishes and put them away for her.
Eventually, there was nothing more to do, and I leaned a hip against the counter, wiping my hands on a dishtowel with my eyes on her.
“Thank you,” she muttered quietly, her gaze on the floor between us. She tucked her hair behind her ear and folded her arms tightly across her chest like she wanted to disappear.
I couldn’t let her. Not after tonight.
“I’m going to ask you this once,” I said carefully, schooling my breathing as much as I could. “And I’m going to beg you not to lie to me.”
I heard her swallow over the sound of the piano jazz. Her eyes stayed glued to the floor.
“Is everything okay between you and Nathan?”
Her eyes welled in an instant, two big fat tears sliding off her cheeks and down to the tile.
She wouldn’t look at me.
