Page 132 of Their Greatest Strength

My wife brings her eyes to me, the question in them obvious.

“He was cleared, Bandit. There are no signs of a concussion,” I promise.

She holds my stare for a beat longer before letting it go. “Alright. In that case, you don’t need me to linger and baby you. I’m going to head to bed.”

“Already? It’s only nine. I was hoping we could play someMaddenor something for a bit,” Nate says.

I squeeze his shoulder, stepping in. “How about you get some sleep tonight, and we’ll play in the morning before I head to the stadium?”

“Are we invited to your game tomorrow?” he asks, almost nervously.

“You’re invited to every one of my games, buddy. We’ll talk about it tomorrow. I think we’re all just tired. Tonight was big.”

Nate nods, half of his mouth tugging up. “Yeah, okay. We’ll play tomorrow. Good night, Lake. Night, Jamie.”

“Good night. Love you,” Blakely murmurs, lingering.

I ruffle Nate’s hair and move to Blakely’s side. “Night, Nate. Don’t forget to take a shower. You reek.”

He laughs, waving me off. “Whatever.”

Blakely pulls away once I get to her and starts down the hall. I follow, slowing my pace to give her some room to breathe. Now that we’re alone, I expect her to finally allow herself the chance to feel and register everything that’s happened tonight.

She was expertly closed off once we got back to my family and watched the game as if nothing was wrong. I saw right through her and knew we’d face it once we got home.

Not just her. But us. Together.

I trail after her, bypassing her old bedroom and going into the one we share. She collapses on the bed, staring blankly at the wall. The air goes taut as I shut the door and peel off my jacket. I sit beside her, preparing for the building storm to erupt.

“Talk to me, baby,” I coax, risking having my hand bitten off when I reach for her thigh.

“What do you want me to say? Surprise! That was my mom, and yes, she is as terrible as she seems. Worse than. That was only a preview of what I dealt with my entire life. If we hadn’t been in public, I guarantee she’d have said far worse things. It wouldn’t have mattered that you were there to hear.”

“Yeah, Blakely. That is what I want you to say. I want you to say whatever you need to so that you don’t bottle it up. You’re safe here. Scream, shout, cry. Punch the wall or me, even. Just let it out.”

She shoots onto her feet and shakes her head, jaw straining. My sweatshirt hangs off her shoulders, falling to cover herthighs. It’s a common outfit for her to wear now, and I’ve been enjoying watching my sweatshirts disappear from the closet one by one. Slowly, she’s fully integrated herself into my life and my space, and I can’t get enough.

I’m so completely head over heels in love with this woman, and all that’s left now is for her to accept that and let me see the parts of her she hasn’t yet.

Starting here.

“That’s the thing, Jamie. This house is my safe place. This room is sacred to me. Why should I have to stain the walls with talks of her?”

“They won’t be stained because I’ll help you repaint them.”

Staring down at me, she blows out a long breath and curls her fists. Rage morphs into pain, and then her shoulders drop. I push back on the bed and motion for her to come closer, knowing that drop was heavy.

She moves in front of me and gently braces her hands on my shoulders before crawling onto my lap and closing her eyes to hide the devastation there. I pull her further up my body and hold her thighs, keeping her in place.

“Talk to me, Blakely. Please,” I beg.

There’s a heavy pause as she brings her hands up to play in my hair, searching for comfort. “My dad was a scaffolder. He worked long hours every day of the week besides Sunday to make sure we were taken care of. Mom didn’t work at the time and was more interested in pretending that she was a good mother than helping contribute to the family. She was a great actress in front of Dad, and I think he saw through her but never outright said anything about it because of me and Nate.”

Her swallow is loud, and I palm her back, encouraging her to lean forward against me. When her face moves to the curve of my shoulder, I prepare for the worst of her story.

“He had a stroke eight years ago. It wouldn’t have killed him had he been at home and not on the side of a building without being properly hooked up.”

“Fuck. I’m sorry, Blakely.”

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