It’s never a good thing when your partner, who’s been distant all evening, quietly says after the kids go to bed, “We need to talk.”
We go into the bedroom. Jayne sits on the bed, her arms crossed, her face pale. Serious. The kind of serious that makes my pulse spike.
I sit in the armchair by the dresser—the one I always leave my clothes on, and she always puts them away without complaint.
“What’s going on?”
She looks at me for a long moment. Her eyes are tired, wet around the edges. That’s when dread starts to crawl up my spine.
“I came by today,” she says.
That’s not what I expected. “At Camden?”
She nods. “You forgot your bandana.”
I saw the bandana in my inbox. Thoughtsomeone had left it there after finding it on the floor. Everyone knows it’s my good-luck charm. Jayne gave it to me before my first solo surgery. I’ve worn it ever since.
“I wanted to drop it off before your first case,” she continues. “I was about to knock when I heard my name.”
Her words hit like a defibrillator shock, sharp and sudden. My stomach drops. I know where this is going.
“Jayne—”
“I heard you,” she says quietly. “I heard everything you said to Tory.”
The world stills.
I stand up, wanting to get close to her. “Jayne, I?—”
She raises a hand. “Please. Sit.”
I sink back into the chair, every muscle tense.
“It wasn’t what it sounded like,” I start, weak even to my own ears.
Her mouth twitches, humorless. “You mean it wasn’t you telling another woman that your wife doesn’t appreciate you? That our home is hell? That maybe we should take time apart?”
“Jayne, baby.” I run a hand through my hair. “I was venting. I shouldn’t have said it, but I didn’t mean?—”
“Did you not?”
“No. No, baby. I didn’t.”
“Are you sure about that?”
Her calm demeanor terrifies me. I almost wish she’d scream.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have said any of it. It’s been hard lately, and I?—”
“You toldheraboutus,” she cuts in. “You toldheraboutme.”
I grip the arms of the chair, the truth of it sitting heavy in my chest.
“Tory was just…there.” Helpless, I spread my hands. “She asked, and I?—“
“This isn’t about Tory,” Jayne speaks over me. “This is about you talking toherinstead ofme.”
There’s nothing to say to that. She’s right.
