Page 41 of The Marriage Rebound

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“Because why? Finally have you in a place where you can’t just run off when you wanna end shit and you still tryin’.”

I blew out another breath, my frustrations growing and my patience waning. “Because I don’t want to have this conversation in front of my sister,” I snapped. “So, can this just fuckin’ wait?”

Sasha relaxed her posture for a moment and glanced in the back seat, almost as if she’d forgotten Mya was with us.

“Courtney.” My sister’s voice grabbed my attention. She pulled one of her earbuds free. “Look, I don’t want to be in this and I’m trying to not listen, but there’s nowhere I can go.”

“Sorry, My-My.” I cut my eyes over at Sasha, who said nothing.

“I don’t want you being stressed because you have to take care of me. I can get a part-time job or something. Or . . . or ask Mom and Dad for help. They send me money every so often.”

My heart squeezed listening to her say that. I scratched a hand down my face. “Mya, you’re fine. And your only job is keeping your grades up and your ass on the Dean’s List.”

I caught the reflection of her eye roll. “Yeah, yeah. But all I’m sayin’ is you’ve been takin’ care of me since . . . well, always. You shouldn’t—”

“Girl, what I say?”

“You know I’m twenty, not twelve.”

“What’s that supposed to mean to me?” I flicked my attention to the rearview again, making brief eye contact with my baby sister.

“I’m just saying, you have a family, and that needs to be your priority.”

Her statement was a fucking gut punch. I never wanted Mya to feel like she was a burden to me because she wasn’t. It pissed me off she’d heard any part of our argument and internalized she was a problem in any sort of way.

“I’m sorry, when did we suddenly stop being related?”

“You know what I mean.”

“The fuck if I do. You have never not been a priority to me, and that is not about to change. The fuck!”

Neither one of them said anything else. Sasha pulled her earbuds from her purse and the two of them melted into their own worlds, leaving me even more pissed. I couldn’t win with anybody, it seemed. The rest of the ride was quiet, but the tension remained a fourth passenger all the same.

When we got home, Mya mumbled something about being tired and escaped to the guest room. And I felt that, because I was drained as well. Sasha took Vuitton out and I headed up to our room. A nice long relaxing shower was calling my name.

The first holiday I’d spent at home in a while, and it’d turned into a shit show. I wiggled my fingers as much as I could in my cast, the whole reason I was here and dealing with this instead of being on the court. I was going stir-crazy. Made worse by the fact that sitting around meant I wasn’t making any money.

As I stood under the spray, my mind replayed her announcement over and over, and a ball of frustration and anger and hurt grew in my chest. It pushed, taking up space until I couldn’t breathe. I squeezed my eyes shut as everything was too loud, yet muffled at the same time. I leaned forward, bracing my good hand on the cool tiles, and did my best to take in slow deep breaths. My head throbbed. I could hear the whooshing in my ears. Everything felt jittery as if I’d consumed way too much caffeine.

What the fuck was wrong with me? Was I having a stroke?

I took a few more breaths, needing to get it together. I was an elite fucking athlete, I could not—would not—fall apart in the goddamn shower. Or at the very least, if I was having a medical emergency, I would not be naked when found.

After a few more stabilizing breaths, I eased down onto the built-in bench then rested my head against the shower wall. I was drained. The water splashed around me as I sat, trying to pull myself together. I knew I couldn’t stay in the shower all night, but the undercurrent of jitteriness remained, and it was different than game day nerves; it was an uneasiness I couldn’t place and didn’t like.

When I finally stepped out of the bathroom, Sasha was sitting on the bed, sipping on something, and if I had to guess, I’d say it was probably Hennessy.

“It’s later,” she said.

I wanted to go to bed and be done with this day, but it was clear that was not in the cards for me anytime soon. “It is,” I replied as I strolled over to my dresser. I slipped on a pair of basketball shorts and a tank top before sitting on the other side of the bed to lotion up.

“When were you planning to tell me you were trying to get pregnant? After you were successful?”

“Whatever, Courtney. Don’t act like you give a shit about how I spend my time since yo ass can’t be bothered. Everybody’s needs and wants are a priority over mine, you damn near said so in the car, so don’t be gettin’ mad when I do somethin’ for myself.”