Page 26 of Shoot Your Shot

“You need to visit with your friends. They just want to make sure you’re all right.” She smiles. “Fine, I don’t want to be your scapegoat. So, I’ll stay. Which means … so are you.” Clearing herthroat, she pulls her sweatshirt on. “Another thing … before you were discharged, I asked the cardiologist to explain your activity level and what you can and can’t do.”

“And he said we should have sex,” I say, raising an eyebrow. “I mean … I knew he seemed like a smart guy, but he’s even better than I imagined.”

“No, dipshit.” She shakes her head. “He said short walks would be good once you got your strength back. You’ve been doing great with your exercises. It’s a gorgeous day outside. I saw someone’s story on Facebook this morning that there are still a few leaves left on the trees. I’ve been so busy at the office the past month; I haven’t even gotten to go leaf peeping. Let’s go check it out.”

“Oh yay, leaf peeping!” I say, doing my best to imitate her voice. “Pumpkin spice season, y’all!”

“First off, pumpkin spice season was over at midnight on Halloween. It’s peppermint mocha time. Second, you know, you’re strong enough now to take an ass whooping,” she says with a shrug. “Hurry the hell up. It’s windy today, and I want to catch the leaves before they’re all on the ground in crunchy piles.”

“Making an absolute mess of my yard,” I grumble. “Good thing I got a new leaf blower a few weeks ago.”

“Yeah … you won’t be strapping a giant leaf blower to your back.” She shoots me a glare. “So, don’t get any ideas.”

“But it’s the most powerful one that’s made. And I haven’t even gotten to try it yet.” I pout. “And besides, it’s supposed to be lightweight. It’ll be fine.”

“No,” she says quickly before her eyes float to the heating pad and huge bottle of Motrin. “Are you hurting today?”

My eyes slide to look at the items before I relax. “No, I saw your Walgreens bag. The one you were trying to hide. I wantedto make sure you had what you needed. I know how hard your periods can be on you.”

Her eyes widen, and then her entire face softens. “You remembered that, sometimes, I need a heating pad and Motrin when I have my period?”

“Well, yeah,” I say matter-of-factly. “You’re my wife, Paige. I remember everything.”

It takes a few seconds, but finally, the corners of her lips turn up in a smile.

“That’s really nice of you, Kolt. Thank you.”

Some months, she’d be okay. But most months, she’d be bedridden for a few days. No matter what, I made sure the house had whatever she needed. ThermaCare patches for her lower back, plenty of painkillers, and of course, a heating pad for her to use whenever she needed it. I might be a dick to most people, but when it comes to my wife, I just want her to be okay.

The craziest thing about Paige is, even during her most painful episodes, she never wanted it to be about her. She’d pop some Motrin or Tylenol to attend an engagement, even though she was in absolute agony.

Hell, I remember a Thanksgiving when we were supposed to have dinner with her family, and she could hardly walk to the bathroom because her stomach hurt so bad. And yet she felt so bad about canceling at the last minute that she got up and tried to get ready. It wasn’t until I forced her to listen to me and understand that she needed to sit this holiday out and rest that she finally agreed. Even then, she cried for an hour because it was the first holiday she hadn’t spent with her family. And her tears weren’t selfish. No, she just knew her parents would miss us being there and it would be just the two of them.

We lay in bed all night, except when she took a few baths, and each time, I lifted her out of the tub and helped get her back into her pajamas. She told me I was making too much of a fuss overher and that she was fine, but I knew better. She just liked to be tough.

“Do you feel good enough to go for a walk?” I ask. “Because we don’t have to. I can go alone.”

“I feel fine. I’m almost at the end of my cycle.” She pauses for a second. “My periods have been better for a while now,” she says, and I can sense there’s something she isn’t telling me, but I don’t push it because I have my own secrets.

I try to get a read on her, to figure out if it’s a good thing or a bad thing that her cycles have suddenly changed. But when she gives me no indication, I nod. “That’s good, Buttercup. I’m really happy to hear that.”

Her expression looks slightly pained, but she quickly masks it with a small smile. “All right,” she says, jerking her head toward the door, “let’s go. Clock’s a-ticking.”

Letting out an annoyed groan, I follow her toward the door and get ready to go for a walk. When she lived here, she’d randomly decide that we should take evening walks to make us “healthier and happier.” It would last about a week before she moved on to something else. I’d never been big on going for walks, but because she asked me, I’d never say no.

Just like now.

Slipping my sneakers on, I clap my hands together. “Ok, Buttercup, let’s go see these leaves that are hardly going to be there because it’s November. I can’t even contain my excitement,” I say sarcastically, waving my hands around. “It’s gonna beahhh-mazing.”

Looking over her shoulder, she holds up her middle finger, but doesn’t try to fight her smile. And that’s a win, as far as I’m concerned.

We walk along, our arms swinging near each other, but never touching hands. It’s killing me not to grab hers in mine, but I know she’d pull away from me if I tried.

Stuffing my hands in my front pockets to keep myself from touching my wife, I glance over at her. “I know it’s not easy, being here, so thanks for doing it anyway.”

She hesitates to look at me, but eventually, her eyes find mine. “No matter what is going on between us, I want to see you healthy, Kolt.” She rubs her lips together. “And happy too.” There’s a long, awkward pause. “Are you … seeing anyone?” I know before she even does it that she’s about to overtalk because she’s uncomfortable. “You don’t have to answer that. Sorry, it’s none of my business what—”

“You’re still my wife, Paige.” I spare her from painfully stammering. “Why wouldn’t it be your business?” I shrug. “And, no, I’m not seeing anyone.”

---