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Forever.
After my profession of love—Imade love to Gigi. Soft, slow, and gentle.
It had felt incredibly—profound. Like our world was forever changed.
And I liked that—no, I loved that. And her.
The timer for the potatoes had gone off. Luckily both of us had already gotten off. So, Gigi had slipped on my shirt and rushed to go check on supper.
I laid in bed, trying to remember a time when I’d ever felt like this.
Never.
Not once in thirty-five years.
There had been a lot of women, but none like G.
Even when we slept, she fit so perfectly into my side.
She wasn’t scared of telling me her opinion and when she disagreed, boy did she let me know. That made me smile—thinking about how passionate we were together.
With everything.
I noticed the closet door was open. There was something blue on the top shelf that caught my eye. From here it looked like it could be a photo album or memory book.
I should wait and ask G about it. Let her show it to me.
But she was all the way in the kitchen.
Curiousity got the better of me. I got up and slipped my shorts on before I shuffled to the closet. Taking great care not to ruin anything, I pulled it down off the shelf.
Right there on the front cover was an old picture of me. God, I was young. I meandered out into the hall to ask Gigi what it was. When I opened the cover, the first page came into view.
“G, what’s this—” was all I got out before I realized it was indeed a memory book.
About me.
“Holy shit,” I said, before I peered up to see her face.
Pure and utter shock.
“No, put that down!” she screamed, dropping the stirring spoon on the floor.
Pure instinct kicked in. I hightailed it to the bathroom. It was the only door with a lock on it. Just in case, once I slammed the door, I leaned my back against it and braced.
“Stop! Beau, please, don’t look inside!” Gigi bellowed as she pounded on the door. I paid her no mind even while my entire body shook with the force of her blows.
Junior league. The hockey card she’d promised to give me. Newspaper articles about my career that I’d never even seen before. I skipped ahead to the last page, for some reason, having an immediate compulsion to know when she’d stopped keeping track.
The last entry was a photo from our game last week.
She’d never stopped.
Christ, that gutted me.
“Fine, I’m taking the kids and leaving you!” she shouted, giving the door one last wallop.
I wanted to call out to her, but my throat constricted—much like my heart. For the first time in forever, I felt a wetness at the corners of my eyes that I had to wipe away.
