Page 53 of Golden Rule

“She say when she’s coming home?”

I shake my head despite neither of us having eyes on the other. “No, but maybe you can ask when you call her back.”

He says nothing, and I’m not sure this conversation is the soft entry point I hoped it would be, so I should probably just say what I have to say and put it out there.

“We need to talk about today.”

It’s like my words fall on deaf ears.

“West, you can’t just keep going like this. We can reach out to a new doctor, maybe do physical therapy again or…”

“Did Sterling put you up to this shit?”

My brow tenses as confusion sets in. “What? No! But if he’s trying to convince you to take care of yourself, I’m sure it’s for the same reasonIam. Because we love you.”

He sighs—deep, heavy, a sign that I’m treading on thin ice. But not speaking up would be negligent. I’m worried about him. Whether he likes it or not.

“I’m making an appointment first thing in the morning. It’s clear thatyou?—”

“Damn it, Blue!”

His voice booms, ringing in my ears as I’m startled into silence, heart racing. West and I have never claimed to be perfect, but once we put all our issues behind us back in high school, we don’t yell. Not at each other.

Not ever.

“Today was already fucked up enough without having to hear the same shit at home that I got at the gym. So, can we just… fucking drop it? Please.”

His tone is still sharp, and my body’s beginning to overheat as rage sets in. I’m not sure when he started thinkingI’mhis enemy, when all I’ve ever done is have his back.

Several minutes of silence pass, but the more I think about it, how he just snapped at meunprovoked, the more upset I get. I’m out of bed the next second, tucking my pillow underneath my arm. Then, West groans when I snatch our comforter off him with one pull, leaving him lying there naked, glaring as I exit our bedroom. Tonight, I’d rather sleep on the couch than beside my husband, Cypress Pointe’s first-string asshole.

Barefoot and stomping angrily across the marble tile, I feel my way down the hallway, pausing to grab a sheet from the linen closet beside the guest bathroom. Then, I make it through the darkness mostly by memory.

I don’t stop again until I’m in the living room, where I spread the sheet across the sofa, then toss my pillow on top of it. My emotions are all tangled and cranked up to a million as I drop down to sit, but I don’t question for one second whether my feelings are valid.

I’mnot the asshole here.

My cocky, stubborn-as-hellhusbandis.

Marriage is about partnership, being whatever your partner needs, wearing all the hats. Sometimes, that means being the voice of reason when your spouse lacks that for themselves. And from what I heard, West wasdefinitelybehaving like he lacked reason this morning, when he accepted Reed’s idiotic challenge.

So, yes, if I have to be the one to talk some fucking sense into him, I’ll never stop doing that. Not when it could save him a ton of pain and heartache in the long run.

Air puffs from my mouth when I fall back, letting my head plop down onto the pillow. I jerk the blanket over my shoulder, staring at the black screen of the TV as I try to get settled, but my thoughts are still on West. How, despite having just said otherwise, I’d rather be asleep beside him, hearing his breaths deepen as he dozes, feeling his warmth. I’ll especially miss that, seeing as how I’m wearing nothing but a thin, sleeveless nightgown.

I’m not inside West’s head, so I won’t pretend to know how he feels, but he’s under a tremendous amount of pressure. And at the top of his list is the fear that the world is watching, waiting to see if he’ll squander this opportunity. An opportunitysomefeel he stole from another player.

I want to be there for him, but I also think space is what’s best for both of us tonight.

But if I’m being honest, this sucks.

Royally.

In a sleepy fog, unsure how much time has passed, I’m completely confused when my eyes flutter open. This feels like a dream.

Most of me is still nestled underneath the blanket, but one foot has slipped out, the softness of the rug beneath my sole. The other is comfortably propped up on the back of the couch, and while I admit I can be a restless sleeper on occasion, I’m not typically this wild.

My first instinct is to shift onto my side, curling into myself for warmth, but at the first sign of movement, the palms of two broad hands gently press my inner thighs, keeping my legs propped open. Only now does awareness set in, and I’m no longer confused as to what jarred me awake.

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