I fucked my wife last night and then cleaned up and went to sleep without a word. I can’t explain why I behaved that way. All I know is that I was tired, frustrated, and needed to take it out on someone.
So, like an idiot, I chose the one person I shouldn’t have taken it out on.
And she let me.
When I woke up this morning, she was already gone. She left a note saying she had to meet the local internet provider at our new house. I’m almost positive that was a lie because why would we need the internet so soon? We won’t be able to move in until after this series is over. We don’t even have movers scheduled until the middle of the month.
I don’t blame her if she’s upset with me—I’m upset that I behaved so badly.
But she’s hiding something. I can feel it. And I can’t think what it would be.
She has no reason to keep anything from me. Our arrangement requires us to tell each other almost everything so we can keep up appearances, make sure no one catches us off-guard.
Except nothing about our marriage feels like a business arrangement anymore.
She’s my wife in every sense of the word and the truth is, I don’t want her to leave me. Not now, not a year from now, not ten years from now. I haven’t given much thought to the future, but the plan that’s been loosely forming in my mind has been to show her how I feel and make her fall in love with me. Instead, I fucked her like a casual one-night stand last night. We didn’t even cuddle afterward.
And now I’m back at the arena trying to focus on hockey.
After I let my team down last night.
I know they don’t believe that, but it’s how I feel.
One more save and we’d be ahead in the series. Instead, we lost a game at home and statistically, the team who wins game one wins the championship seventy-five-percent of the time.
I don’t like those odds. Not even a little.
I really need to de-stress, get out of my head, and I don’t know how. My brain and my heart are at war, and that’s a dangerous place for me to be during a championship series.
“Hey. What happened to you this morning?” West asks as I get my locker. “You left the house like a bat out of hell.”
“What did you and Serena do last night?” I demand, gazing at him intently.
His brows knit together and I can almost see the wheels turning as he tries to read between the lines because normally, I would never ask something that’s borderline rude so bluntly.
“I mean,” I add quickly, “how did you deal with the loss?”
He’s still looking at me funny but luckily, he’s willing to give me the benefit of the doubt. “If you’re asking if I took my bad mood out on her, no, of course not.”
“Did you talk about the game?”
He shakes his head. “No. I have you guys for that. I don’t need her to talk shop. Instead of asking me all these vague questions, why don’t you tell me what you and Holly did last night so I can potentially help with whatever it is that’s bothering you.”
I stare at him.
I can’t tell him I basically used my wife to get off and then turned my back and went to sleep.
“I was…frustrated,” I say.
“Did you fight?”
“No.” I can’t look at him.
“Did you say something to hurt her feelings?”
“I didn’t say anything. I did something.”
He’s quiet for a few seconds and then his eyes darken as he scowls. “You better not be telling me you put your hands on her.”
