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You’re making a mistake running after him, he replies.
I move over to one of the cozy chairs set by the bedroom window and sink into it. This indeed could be a mistake. I tap my finger along the edge of my phone a few times before responding.You’d run after Anna.
I can envision Malik rolling his eyes and I already know the gist of his answer before it chimes its arrival.Yeah, but she’s not an asshole. Van is. Don’t do it.
Sighing, I type out my reply.Leave it alone. He has his reasons.
None of which are good enough.
Malik might be right about that, but I’m willing to give my husband the benefit of the doubt.
Tossing my phone on the other chair, I lean my head back and rub at my temples. I’ve had a perpetual headache for the last two weeks, brought on by screaming matches, bouts of painful silence, tears wept in private so he’d never see how hurt I was and the never-ending barrage of texts and calls from my brothers threatening to kill Van.
I close my eyes and try to conjure something good. It’s hard to filter through all the darkness that’s enshrouded my life since Arco’s biography came out.
It shouldn’t be difficult. Van and I have had a storybook marriage. For three years, we’ve lived a beautiful life in Vermont and never once did he ever mention regret about not playing professional hockey anymore. It was his sole decision to leave after he won the Cup with the Cold Fury. He followed me north where I finished my last year of undergrad at Dartmouth, followed by a master’s, and Van took classes at Green Mountain College.
He proposed.
We got married.
I became a research biologist and went to work for Dartmouth after I graduated. He joined as a coach for their hockey team. We lived, we laughed, we loved, and oh God, how we loved. Not a day passed without Van looking at me as if I’d hung the moon and the stars that went with it. Every morning I woke up giving thanks to the heavens for bringing this man into my life.
We had it so good and it got better every day… no, every minute.
The best part was just at the beginning of this year; we finally decided to get pregnant. We’d held off a few years so I could finish school and establish my career. While I was adamantly opposed to medical school, which had been my original intention to follow in my dad’s footsteps, I couldn’t forget that I was damn good at math and science. I didn’t want to be a doctor, but I did love the thrill of research. It took me one semester to finish my undergrad and another two years to get my master’s in biology. It was more than enough to make my parents proud.
Life was settled and our next big adventure was a baby.
Christ, we already fucked like rabbits and I didn’t think we had any more room in our lives for sex, but Van proved me wrong. He was always pouncing on me and when he’d come deep inside me, he’d groan, “That’s it, baby. Take it all from me. Let’s see what we can make.”
My thighs press together because that memory leaves an ache not only in the center of my chest. My eyes flutter open. I miss my husband and he’s only been gone a few days. Pain lances my heart as I know he left with no intention of returning. Our last argument made it clear that my husband was broken and didn’t want to be put back together.
When Arco’s biography came out two weeks ago, Van spiraled rapidly. He went from horror at the revelations to anger to melancholy. I tried everything I could to reassure him, but he didn’t want to hear any of it from me. He was standoffish, mean and insulting. I’ve seen that side of Van before, so it didn’t shock me. Hell, that defined his core personality when we first met, but I was driven by the hope that I would break past those walls he erects when he’s scared.
I did it once before and I could do it again. I had faith and hope and I’m relentless when I want something.
Then came the day that changed everything.
“I don’t want kids,” he said in the middle of an argument, and it knocked the breath out of me. Not that we’d been having sex since the book came out. That essentially killed our libidos and Van was sleeping in the guest room.
“You can’t mean that,” I gasped.
“I’ve never been more serious about anything.” His glare locked on me was resolute and I heard the certainty in his voice.
“But… why?” My head was spinning. I couldn’t fathom how all of our joy in creating a new life could be doused so quickly.
When he responded, it chilled my bone marrow. His tone was mocking. “Little Arco. Killer. Rapist. Freak.”
“What?” I whispered, not understanding.
“That’s what they called me,” he sneered. “That’s what little kids do when they want to be mean. That book will ensure our kids hear the same. They’re going to be called names and vilified all because their father happened to be spawned by a sociopath.”
“No.” I shook my head adamantly. “You’re wrong.”
“I’m right and you know it,” he said quietly.
I railed against him, using logic, pleas, tears and flat-out tantrums to get him to see he was wrong. None of it worked and finally, I capitulated and abandoned my hope of having a family with Van. I decided it would be enough for me that I have him.
