Page 109 of Wild Hit
It’s like I’m mourning the Audrey who could consistently close off her heart no matter what. Because the moment to really bare it is here. I can’t run away from this conversation, not today or tomorrow, or the day after that. I have to be honest with Miguel.
And then Ihaveto pick up the pieces.
By the time he joins me in the car, taking the passenger seat, I’ve already calmed down enough that I can drive. I wait until he straps in before getting us in motion. The radio is off, all that fills the silence is the engine and the dampened sound of traffic. Miguel is large enough that his left arm has no choice but to take up most of the space of the console between us. He’s turned away to the window, watching the lights go by as I drive us through downtown.
“We need to talk,” I say, finally breaking the silence. Even as my attention stays focused on the road, I feel him shift to watch my profile.
“I’m all ears,” he says softly. His voice raises goosebumps on my skin, and I’m glad to be wearing a sweatshirt.
“I think…” I trail off, swallowing hard. “That we should stop this.”
Miguel doesn’t fill my pause with questions, but I gather my nerve to answer them anyway.
“It really struck me in there, at the clubhouse,” I explain, my voice steady but only as strong as a whisper. “You deservesomeone who genuinely worries for you, and puts you and Marty first. Right now, and if we continue playing this marriage game, I’m just getting in the way of that. We should… we should get a divorce. For real.”
Still, he doesn’t say anything. We’re stopped at a red traffic light and I can’t face him. I keep my eyes firmly on the license plate of the car in front of us.
“Marty’s already settling into her new school with new friends, and Consuelo is there for her. But she deserves a proper mom. Someone who can be a good example to her, who even knows how to be a good mom. And you…” The light turns green, and I struggle to find my voice. It takes a few tries to finish with “you deservethe world.”
He does. Gosh, Miguel deserves the absolute best. At least someone who can give him back as much as he gives. Someone mentally and emotionally healthy and confident and full of love. Someone who is entirely the opposite of me.
Finally he joins the conversation. “Is that what you meant back there? When you said you were just worried for our postseason?”
A stab of pain crosses my heart, breaking it in two halves.
My hands squeeze the steering wheel, keeping me from falling into a pit of my own making.
That’s not what I meant at all. It was just a diversion. The depth of my own fear of losing him numbed my wits. And now it has become the perfect exit strategy so that I can protect him from myself.
But I will never treat him like he’s just another player, some figure on TV that makes anchors and watchers lose their minds.
“Of course,” I say, no longer managing to hold the wobble in my voice. “But we’re friends, Miguel. I also care about what happens to you.”
The words taste worse than candy infused vomit in my mouth. I’ve never hated myself more than in this moment.
“I see.” He turns back out to the window and takes a moment. He sounds calm as he asks, “Do you want to divorce right away?”
“No!” I exclaim, unable to hide the truth for a quick second. I clear my throat. “After the postseason. I don’t want to invite drama into it.”
“Makes sense. That’s the most important thing.”
No, it’s not. It’s you—you. Only you. And you’re better off without me.
My chin trembles. “Right.” And that’s the last word for the rest of the drive home.
CHAPTER 40
MIGUEL
It’s the bottom of the ninth at the fourth game against the Longhorns. The past few days have been a slog between not playing, so the medical team could run all the exams they wanted—including measuring the diameter of my eyelashes and shit—and the weird dynamic at home.
Audrey and I can’t seem to find a way to talk to each other anymore. Either I freeze when I find her suddenly in front of me, reaching for a cup or for the fridge or about to leave at the same time as me or…
She runs. Once, she almost slipped to near death in her rush toward the guest bedroom.
Marty has obviously picked up on the weirdness. She continues treating Audrey as usual, hanging out, joking, and spending time together. But my own daughter is ignoring me like she knows that deep down, I’m the one who screwed up.
She’s right. I shouldn’t have pressed Audrey for an answer. That was selfish of me. Maybe I really was loaded up on adrenaline and just used that as an excuse to satisfy my own craving for her. I could tell that I screwed up the second I asked with how Audrey immediately shut down. The concern wipedoff her face, and every line carefully turned to reflect absolutely nothing. Not even annoyance.
