Alie’s voice drops for the final blow. “Last question. How would you feel if Saint moved on? If, after the divorce, he found someone who wasn’t as guarded. Someone who told him every single day that he was the center of her universe.”
“Jeez, Alie, way to lay it on thick,” I choke.
She ignores me.
“Someone who has his babies and sits in that suite at the Plaza and looks at him like they can’t live without him. Someone else who calls him husband.”
The jealousy is instantaneous and … violent. Like there’s a hot coal in my throat. The thought of another woman touching him, of another woman hearing and making him laugh, of another woman he reaches for in the middle of the night, of another woman being the one he protects. It’s … unbearable to imagine. To the point that I feel like I might actually throw up.
“I would hate her,” I say, my voice shaking. “I would absolutely hate her. I wouldn’t be okay. I would hate her, but I’d hate myself more for letting him go.”
“There’s your answer, Pres,” Alie says, a small smile playing on her lips. “You’re not just in a marriage. You’re in love with your husband.”
I lean back, the weight of it all settling in. “I did marry him for the kids. I did. And, yeah, the trust fund was a benefit—I’m not gonna lie about that. But somewhere through it all, it changed. The house, the kids … became our home. And Saint …”
I look at the photos on my desk from this summer at the beach house, the one where he’s holding me and we’re both laughing, and the kids are looking up at us like we hang the moon.
“He’s it for me,” I say. “I never really felt like there was a clock at all. I never felt like we were playing toward a finish line. I just thought I’d be in the game with him … forever.”
“Then you need to tell him,” Alie says.
“What if he doesn’t believe me?” I cry. “If I go to him now, after he’s brought up divorce, I don’t want him to think I’m just saying it to avoid a divorce. I don’t want him to think I’m performing. So how do I show him it’s real? How do I make him feel it?”
Alie reaches across and squeezes my hand again. “Saint is a man of action, Presley. He’s spent his whole life proving himself on and off the field. He needs you to stop being his best friend and be his wife. Strip the armor and let him see exactly how much power he has over you. Because right now, he thinks he has none.”
After Alie leaves, I stay in my office for a while longer. I think about the kids. I think about Rhyan’s question. I realize that by trying to keep things safe and logical, I’ve created the most dangerous situation of all. A life where the person I love the most feels unloved.
I don’t want to just say the words.I love youis easy to say when you’re scared. I need to show him that I’m his. Not just for the year, not just for the kids, but for him.
I stand, my resolve hardening. I’m not going to let him sleep in that guest room for one more night. I’m not going to let him believe that his heart is an unwanted gift.
I walk out of my office and down the hall with determination, not bothering to look into the weight room to see if he’s still here, because I know this needs to happen at home, and I might be tempted to walk in there and blurt it out.
I need to do this the right way. The kids deserve a family built on truth and love. And Saint? He deserves a woman who’s brave enough to love him back. I need to show him that I’m still here.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Saint
The engine of the truck quiets when I turn it off, and for a long minute, I just sit in the driveway, resting my head against the steering wheel. Did I take my time coming home? Yep. Because everything hurts. My body feels like a wreckage of old injuries, plus fresh bruises from today’s practice, but the ache in my heart is worse.
But I can’t sit here in the silence of the cab imagining what my life would be like without her. Because it terrifies me.
I haul myself out of the truck and walk inside. The house is dark except for the light of the TV in the family room and the glow of the light on the hood of the stove. I see Rhyan curled up on the couch with Presley, and Remy on the floor with some Legos. When I walk into the room, Presley’s eyes meet mine, and my stomach does a slow roll.
“Hey,” she says softly, looking … nervous.
“Hey,” I say, walking around the couch. “Whatcha working on, Rem?”
“Spider-Man Mech versus anti-Venom.”
“Very cool,” I say, ruffling his hair.
I move to Rhyan and kiss the top of her head, smelling the scent of her strawberry shampoo.
“I was just about to take them up,” Presley says.
“Okay, I’ll be right up. I’m just gonna grab some water.”
