Page 78 of Bound and Blitzed

I smirk. “Newlyweds.”

Carla laughs. “You two are so annoying but you’ve got nothing on Raia and Cohen.”

As if she heard her name, my sister appears at the bar. Cohen’s arms are wrapped around her waist, and she looks perfectly at ease. In fact, she’s glowing, clearly happy by his arrival.

I wish I could say the same about my wife who won’t meet my gaze.

“Ah, there they are,” Carla jokes.

Cohen introduces himself to Alejandro before waving down the bartender. “We’re going to the playoffs, baby. Let’s get some celebratory shots!”

We’re huddled around the bar, an odd mash-up of a blended family. I wish I could relax and enjoy the moment, but Valentina’s body is stiff under my touch. It’s as if my proximity is making her uncomfortable when I’m used to her body melting into mine.

What the hell changed? Why does she seem disappointed to see me?

I look at my sister again, noting the excited patches of red on her cheeks. She’s over the moon that Cohen arrived in Chicago to surprise her. Why isn’t Valentina giving me a similar reaction?

I watch as Valentina withdraws into herself. She sips her margarita, her eyes darting around the bar, as if looking for an escape. Does she want to leave because she’s tired? Or does she want to leave because I showed up?

I hate that I can’t figure out where her head is at.

As another round of shots is poured, I take Valentina’s hand. “You want to head out?”

Her eyes meet mine and she nods.

“Okay,” I say. I let her brother and Carla know that I’m taking Valentina back to the hotel.

Ale’s eyes swing to his sister’s. “You good, Vale?” he asks in Spanish and I hate that he doesn’t trust me enough to know that I have her best interests at heart. Instead, he wants to hear it from her.

Sighing, I give Valentina a second with her brother to let Cohen and Raia know that we’re leaving. Then, I take Valentina’s hand and escort her from the bar.

I’m frustrated that I don’t understand Valentina’s reaction, but I’m also worried. She has an aloofness to her expression, as if she’s desperate to put distance between us when we’ve spent weeks trying to grow closer.

Add that frustration to the exhaustion of today’s game and the flight to Chicago, and I’m in a piss-poor mood by the time we make it to our hotel room. My anger is palpable, rolling off my shoulders, but my wife doesn’t seem to notice.

She’s lost in her own thoughts.

“Valentina,” I say, moving to her side. “What’s going on?”

She walks toward the closet, pulling out a pair of pajamas and a robe. “I’m exhausted, Avery. Can we talk tomorrow?”

“Seriously?” I stare at her. “I just flew here from Chicago to surprise you, and you’re acting like you don’t want to see me.”

“It’s not like that,” she says quickly.

“Then what is it like?” I press.

Valentina sighs. “The past few weeks with you have been magical. And being away from Tennessee, being with my family?—”

“Being away from me,” I cut in.

She holds my gaze but doesn’t refute my words. “What if we’re fooling ourselves?”

I tip my head back and groan. “We’re back to this?”

“I’m just saying that everything has been rushed. And we’ve been trying, and it’s been great. It’s been wonderful.”

“But?” I prod.

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