Let’s just say guilt is weighing on me just as heavily as all the other emotions.
Hugging myself beneath the blanket doesn’t help, neither does wishing it washisarms around me instead. When I’mhurting, West is usually my comfort zone. I melt into him, borrow his strength until my own returns, but… that doesn’t feel like an option tonight.
Not with how we left things.
Broken. Awkward. Ugly.
Our security guys brought me home from the diner when it was too much to face everyone. West was about ten minutes behind me. We’ve been under the same roof for two full hours and still haven’t spoken to one another. But, apparently, he’s gotten bored with ESPN, because I hear his steps coming toward our bedroom.
The door creaks open behind me, and I’m silent, watching his distorted shadow slide across the wall as he comes closer.
“I… made you some tea,” he says with a hint of hesitation. Like, maybe he’s just as confused about how we navigate this as I am.
And maybe he’s just as fucked up about it, too.
“Thank you.”
He places the saucer and mug on my nightstand, and his expression is unreadable. He lingers, maybe deciding what to do next, and it reminds me of those quick, calculated decisions he makes on the field.
The bed shifts beneath his weight when he settles in front of me on the mattress. Fresh tears sting the corners of my eyes, because it hurts having him so close, but still feeling so distant at the same time. This isn’t us.
My phone sounds off again, but the notification is different—an actual text this time. Not more of the social media bullshit. So, thinking it’s safe to check, I reach for my phone, but the second I see April’s name pop up on the screen, I regret it.
April: Hey, you left so quickly, I didn’t even get to speak to you. I’m so, so sorry, Blue. Genuinely. There are no words to express it. Mine and Reed’s hearts are with you and West. If you need me for ANYTHING, don’t hesitate to call. And I know I asked for your help with the gala, but don’t even think about that right now. Just focus on being well. Love you, girl.
I sigh and let my phone fall to the floor, hearing it land somewhere near West’s feet. He doesn’t even question what happened, just lets me have my moment, lets me be in my feelings.
“You okay?” he asks. “Tonight was… a lot.”
I nod against my pillow. “I’m fine.”
My throat tightens from the lie. I’m far from fine. I believe we both are.
“This has to stop.” West lets out a breath, and I can practically feel his frustration filling the room. “What we’ve gone through isn’t some damn punchline.”
I imagine it, the entire city, the entirecountry,knowing how we’ve struggled.
KnowingI’mthe reason my husband has yet to become a father.
The pillow absorbs the tears that stream from my eyes, and I intentionally don’t make a sound, not wanting West to know how deeply I’m affected.
“I’m sick of being fucking quiet while this bitch, Pandora, does whatever the fuck she wants to.”
I feel the same way—have since we first set out for Cypress Pointe, and she sucked nearly every ounce of joy from the moment. West lets out another ragged breath, and I’m reminded of the rest of what Pandora hinted at. I reach to place a hand on West’s back but pull away when I remember the sting of our argument.
“I’m sorry she keeps threatening to bring up your past,” I say. “I know it’s hard having that hanging over your head all the time.”
He doesn’t speak, but I can see his silhouette when he nods.
He’s fought hard to get where he is. Now, to be here and have Pandora dangle exposure in front of his face, just so he never forgets how easily it could all be taken away. It’s a constant source of pain.
“We have to do something.Ihave to do something.”
I hear him, and I get it, but Pandora’s post isn’t all that’s on my mind right now. For a while, that overshadowed everything else, and yes, it sucks that she’s shared what should have been ours to share if we ever chose to, but… honestly? I’m not even sure that’s the worst part.
“We should probably talk. About theotherthing.” My voice is thin and small, cautious. The last thing I think either of us wants or needs is for this conversation to make things worse.
“Yeah,” he says, nodding again. “I don’t know how we got here—arguing, saying shit we don’t mean…”
