Page 34 of Bound and Blitzed

Chapter12

Valentina

I hatethat my feelings are hurt.

A heaviness shrouds my frame, pressure pushing down on all parts of my being. My chest aches and my stomach twists. Fatigue sneaks through my limbs, and my head throbs.

I’m sleeping eight hours each night and waking up exhausted. I eat when I’m supposed to, at natural intervals, but hardly taste the food.

The only thing sustaining me is my work. Now that my papers are sorted, Dr. Mendoza welcomed me onto the team wholeheartedly, and assigned me tasks and research that have consumed my mental energy.

But every morning, I look around at Avery’s condo and wish he was in it. Instead, he’s practically living at the Honeycomb, traveling for away games, or hanging out with his teammates. Even when he’s in town, I barely have face time with him.

We’re two ships passing in the night as our schedules never align. I wake up at 7 a.m. every day, but he either sleeps in or is running before dawn. When I slide into bed at 11 p.m. after hours at the library, Avery is already passed out.

Our conversations consist of scattered text messages, sticky notes on the kitchen island that remind the other about recycling or other mundane things, and an occasional greeting if we pass each other while one of us is hurrying out the door.

At this point, we’re roommates. Not even the friendly kind but the convenient type. The man I said vows to, the one with the glimmering gray eyes and considerate perspective, has disappeared. In his place is a dedicated team captain, a driven football player, and a focused man. There’s no leftover mental bandwidth for his wife.

And I can’t blame him because I’m not supposed to be his wife in anything but name. Try explaining that to my stupid heart, which feels like it’s been through the wringer. I wonder if this is what it feels like to be some variation of lovesick. I’m obviously not in love with Avery Callaway, but I do care for him. And I miss him.

“Morning, Valentina,” Dr. Mendoza says as I enter the biology department.

“Good morning.” I manage a smile as I place my notebooks down on the table I claimed nearly three weeks ago.

I’m flipping through a chart when I note her shoes next to my worktable. When I look up, Dr. Mendoza is studying me with a shrewd assessment.

“Can I help you with something?” I offer.

She tilts her head, considering me. “Are you doing okay, Valentina?”

I glance around the office but other than a few admin, most who are typing with headphones on, the space is relatively empty.

“Yes, of course,” I answer quickly, feeling the blood drain from my face. Did I do something wrong? Is there more I should be doing? Am I not meeting her expectations? “Is there something?—”

She holds up a hand and I fall silent. “This has nothing to do with your work performance,” she says kindly, noting my distress. “You just haven’t seemed like yourself lately. You’ve been quieter, more withdrawn. I noticed you haven’t joined the rest of us for any of the lunches or happy hours. You do a wonderful job at managing your professional and academic responsibilities. Your work is impeccable, your research well documented. But you’re a newlywed, Valentina, and I’ve rarely seen you smile, or laugh, or even get lost in thought since you showed up with that ring on your finger.” She tilts her chin toward my wedding ring.

My thumb runs along the edge of the band, tracing it. When Avery placed it on my finger, I couldn’t contain the joy that rushed through me. I was proud and happy and…expectant about what our future held.

I never would have pictured this. Barely speaking, hardly seeing each other, a couple of text messages.

I sigh and nod my agreement to Dr. Mendoza. “It’s been a transition,” I admit quietly.

Her expression softens. “Marriage is hard. It takes work from both people. Compromises and sacrifices and communication.”

I bite my bottom lip, considering her words. Avery and I are failing at all three. Neither of us has given an inch in our routines to accommodate the other’s schedule. We hardly speak. And other than physically getting married and living in the same space, there haven’t been sacrifices.

It will never be rainbows and magic, Lena.

Avery was honest with me from the beginning. And he was right—he does provide. He left me a credit card on the kitchen island along with a sticky note telling me to buy whatever I wanted. His condo is warm and inviting. A cleaner comes twice a week, and groceries and hot meals are delivered on rotation.

He cleared out half the closet and drawers in the bathroom. I received an invitation to a Christmas party from West Crawford’s fiancée, Nova Marten, two days ago.

Life is exactly as he predicted it. So why does it feel harsh and hurtful? Why do I yearn for him at night and think of him in the mornings?

Why does my work—work that used to fulfill every part of my being—feel rote and mundane? When did I start falling for my husband, a man who would never want me if he wasn’t trying to prove a point to himself?

Tears burn the back of my nose and sting my eyes. I look up, hoping to keep them at bay and not embarrass myself further by crying in front of Dr. Mendoza.

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