Page 56 of The Marriage Game

“What did y’all decide?” Rhett calls back.

Jill gives me a questioning look beneath her cowgirl hat. She looks so pretty sitting there. My baser instincts take over as I think of one thing I’d like to do with her that would definitely be fun.

“Sounds like a plan, Rhett,” I call back, then lower my voice back down to ask her, “You sure you don’t want to try and lose this guy?” Her eyes pop wide.

“Max,” she chastises, cheeks pink, “you heard Dorothy—we could easily get lost out here. Remember the bears. No offense, but I don’t actually think you could wrestle one.”

Oh right. The bears. I temporarily forgot about those. “Oh and you think Tucker could?” I comment, then freeze. I should not have said that.

Jill laughs. “Um, what? No, I don’t. He’s a quarterback, not a linebacker. And not a very mobile one, at that. Without his guys to protect him, the man would go down quick.”

“That’s right he would,” I agree, cheering considerably.

“Speaking of Tucker,” Jill goes on, and I glance over to see her hands tightening around her horse’s reins, “I noticed you told him you were running for attorney general.”

“Oh, yes. I guess I did,” I confirm, straightening in my seat as I prepare for a conversation I know will be difficult.

Jill darts a glance my way. “So, you’re still planning on running then?” she asks far too casually to actually be casual. I can feel the tension emanating from her body all the way over on my horse.

I weigh my answer carefully. “I’m not sure,” I finally pronounce. What I’m really not sure about is whether or not I want to admit that I only ever said that because he’s Tucker freaking Campbell. He might have retired from the game years ago, but he’s still a big deal. I didn’t want him to think Jill got the short end of the stick marrying me.

No, I didn’t wantJillto think she got the short end of the stick marrying me.

Then again, she’s the one who doesn’t want me to run for attorney general. So that’s sort of confusing.

“I see,” Jill says coolly.

“I thought youwantedme to work in politics,” I tell her. “That you liked being a senator’s wife.”

Jill huffs out a laugh. “Wow, way to make me sound shallow.”

“You know what I mean,” I correct. “You seemed well-suited to the role, that’s all. You were always meant for big things.”

Jill shoots me a look of surprise. “What? Why would you say that?”

I sigh. “Are you joking? You’re one of the most driven people I know, Jill. When you decide something is going to happen, it happens. People these days think they can just manifest things into happening, but, Jill, you don’t just sit around trying to think your dreams into reality–you go out and make your dreams happen. How could you have anything but an amazing life?”

Jill is quiet for a minute, and when I dare to peek over at her I see tears shining in her eyes. Great, I’ve upset her even more.

“Jill–” I start, but she sniffs loudly, interrupting me.

“That was really sweet, Max,” she croaks, “but don’t you get it—” she turns her face to look at me, leaning forward slightly on the horse, as if trying to get closer to me, “I always thought I did have an amazing life simply because you were in it.” She swallows, but her voice is still thick as she continues. “Only lately, you haven’t been in it much at all. I miss you, Max.”

My heart wrenches in my chest. Earlier her accusations about me working too much made me feel defensive, but this simple statement unravels my defenses and leaves me holding a giant white flag.

“I miss you too, Jill,” I say, my voice husky with emotion. I swallow thickly, taking a second to focus on the reins in my hand and the horse beneath me. Dorothy might have been right about us skipping the horseback ride to talk. Not that I would ever admit that to her.

Jill would kill me if I did.

Still, I really wish we weren’t on two giant horses while having this discussion. I want nothing more than to hold my wife, but I barely know how to stay on this thing, let alone make it move closer to Jill. I attempt to tug the reins to the left, but Wilma continues to march resolutely forward. Agreeable, my butt.

“You could’ve told me all of that sooner,” I tell Jill. If Wilma isn’t going to cooperate with the whole moving closer thing, then we might as well keep talking, try to get to the heart of some of the issues between us.

We’re long overdue for that.

Jill blows out a long breath. “Yeah, I guess.” She doesn’t sound convinced. And now I’m annoyed. How do I get Wilma to stop so I can turn and look at my wife? I attempt to pull the reins back, but Wilma simply sputters her horse lips, then continues forward.

I know it’s not logically possible, but I suspect Dorothy has something to do with this horse’s refusal to cooperate.

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