Page 17 of The Forever Game

“Yeah, I’m not sure Ryan’s aware.”

“Believe me, he’s aware. You don’t have to worry about anything with that idiot. Like I’d let him cross any kind of line. He’s a colleague, that’s it.” She huffs. “I’ve got you. Why would I want anybody else?”

I roll my eyes and try to keep my voice calm and even. “I’m not worried about you cheating on me. I just hate the way that guy treats you. And I don’t like him holding you in a photograph like you’re his and not mine!”

Okay, so I’m losing the calm battle.

“Iamyours. Always and forever, remember?” Mick tries to mollify me.

All I can do is grumble, “Yeah, well, doesn’t look that way in the fucking photograph.”

She grunts, and I can feel our argument escalating. I’m doing this. I’m fueling the fire, and I need to quit it and end this call on something nice, but I’m too riled for sweet sentiments. Instead, I clench my jaw and go quiet, willing myself not to say anything dumb.

“Ethan, you’re the guy I married, okay? Don’t read into one stupid photograph like it means everything. Ryan is a douche, but for now, I work for him, and I won’t risk losing a great opportunity because you’re feeling jealous. I’m sorry this photo is pissing you off, but you have to trust me.”

“It’s not just the photo. I tried calling you after the game and?—”

“I was in the middle of a conversation and couldn’t take your call right then. Jeez, I have a life outside your hockey career, Ethan. I’m not some hockey wife who can follow you around the country, like my only goal is to live off your wealth and be a pretty face by your side when you’re leaving the arena.”

“I’m not asking?—”

“That would kill me, okay? And you knew that when you married me. I thought you wanted me to have a career of my own.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch my nose. “I do.”

“But only if I can still be at your beck and call, right?”

“No, Mick, of course not! I just…”

“You just what? What do you want from me?” Her voice is getting snappier by the second, and I can’t see things deescalating unless I wrap up this call.

I’d usually fight this out like we always do—get a little explosive and then work through it—but I don’t think there’s anything I can say right now that will get us moving forward.

So, I go for an easy out.

“Nothing,” I murmur. “I guess I just miss you.”

She sighs. “I miss you too. But you’re home on Friday, right?”

“Yeah.” I scrub a hand down my face. “I’ll see you then.”

“I love you.”

“Yeah, love you too.”

We say it, but it doesn’t really sound like we mean it—two grumpy-ass voices muttering the L-word before hanging up.

Is she still feeling as pissed off as I am?

Slumping back on the bed, I drop my phone and stare at the ceiling, a flash of worry coursing through me.

Fuck.

I feel like I’m losing my wife, and I don’t know how to stop this thing from falling apart.

CHAPTER7

ASHER

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