I flip over onto my stomach and stare at her through the screen. “I’m just gonna call West and apologize, take the high road.”
She arches a brow. “Okay, but what brought on the sudden change of heart?”
I shrug. “Between the prognosis from the doctor, and the team winning without him, he had a shit day today. Trust me, I’m not giving him a pass for being an asshole. I just… think we need a do-over. And if apologizing can break the ice, I’m willing to do that.”
“I’m proud of you,” she teases, throwing my words back at me. “But seriously, that man is lucky to have you. If he’d tried to walk out on me? Shit, I would’ve been on his back before he got to the door.”
She laughs, but there isn’t a doubt in my mind that’sexactlyhow that would’ve played out.
“I just—”
My words cut off when I hear someone pulling into the driveway, knowing it can only be West at this hour.
“Call you back tomorrow. He’s here.”
“K, good luck, girl.”
“Thanks, I might need it,” I say with a laugh, then end the call before placing the phone back on my nightstand.
I lie there in the darkness, going over what I’ll say when West makes it up to our bedroom, but I’m nervous. Our talk a couple hours ago didn’t go all that great, but I have to think positively.
This time will be different. I’ll just apologize, give him room to speak, then we can hopefully get back to feeling more like us.
And less like my parents.
I shrug off the chill that comes with that thought, reminding myself that West and I are nothing like them. We have a solid foundation. We’ve just gotten off track. There’s still time for correction, still time to repair what’s been broken for far too long.
His steps in the hallway are quiet and measured, and I get the feeling he’s trying not to wake me. I checked his location, and I know he was only at the bar with the rest of the guys, so I’m only angry abouthowhe left. Not that he went to hang out. Still, he’s tiptoeing like he’s walking on eggshells.
Or at least that’s the case until he bumps into the table in the hallway, knocking over the lamp.
“Shit. Fuck.” His whispered words come before I hear him fumbling with the lampshade, trying to stand it back up, I’m assuming.
I sit up, my brow furrowing as I stare at our bedroom door, waiting for him to enter because… something’s off.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I glance at it.
Dane: I’m sorry.
Dane: We took our eyes off him for one sec, and by the time we got back to him, the damage was already done. If we’d known he was having such a hard time with everything, we would’ve kept a closer watch on him.
I’m frowning at my screen, confused as I try to read between the lines, but the text isn’t making sense.
But then a tall, broad figure staggers through the doorway of our bedroom, and things start adding up.
I watch West, silent as he ambles toward the closet, tripping over absolutelynothingas he makes his way. He curses under his breath again, probablythinkinghe’s being quiet, but I’m clocking his every move, putting the pieces together.
He makes a commotion in the closet for a few minutes, then steps back out in nothing but his boxers and his sling. He makes it to our bed and slips beneath the covers before I turn on my lamp.
“You’re drunk? Are you fucking serious right now?”
Those words tug at my heart as they leave my mouth, making me feel things toward my husband I’ve never felt so strongly.
Disappointment.
Distrust.
Anger.
