Safe at Home (1Night Stand) (1Night Stand series)

by Wendy Burke

  Charly put her face in her hands, disgusted. Casey stroked her back, silently trying to convey to his friend’s wife everything would be all right. Casey Rupp, the former ballplayer, now with a “doctor” in front of his first name, was Andy’s longtime friend and had been the best man at their wedding. He happened to be in town consulting on some physical training for a couple of the Milwaukee-area college teams. The two spoke quietly while they waited for Paul.

  “It’s different this time, Casey. I’m accustomed to him being home half the summer. We’re just so…um…disconnected, like being a couple is so hit and miss.”

  “You knew a trade someday would be a possibility, there aren’t many career-franchise players anymore. You must trust him. You know there’s no reason not to.”

  She straightened in her seat. Taking a deep breath she turned to her friend, looking straight into his eyes. “I don’t know, this morning he actually yelled at me on the phone.”

  “C’mon, Charly.”

  “I’m not blind, I’m not stupid. He’s not here, so who knows what he’s doing?”

  “Maybe he’s in a museum trying to understand what you and Paul inherently know. Maybe he’s shopping for something special for you and the girls. Maybe he’s working out or most likely, sitting in his hotel room missing you.”

  “And, maybe he’s not. The whole trade, how it happened, Andy being okay with it, the situation seemed wrong, Casey. Then that photo spread in New York Magazine.” She dug into her voluminous bag and yanked out the offending photo, tossing it on the table in front of Casey.

  “Oh shit.” Damn, what the fuck was he thinking? Say no to the front office media machine, bud!

  “Yes, oh shit.” She paused for a moment, lost. “I don’t know what to do.” She tossed back what was left of her second brandy old-fashioned and waved at the barkeep for another.

  Witnessing the velocity of her slamming her drink, Casey knew there was nothing he could say to get his old friend out of the dog house with his wife in her current state.

  At the same time, he could empathize with her, being away from the one he loved. There’d never been much of a discussion with his fiancée, Abby, but if two people were in love and committed, what was there to discuss? Trust was a given and inherent. Wasn’t it? He could all but see his logical fiancée raising her eyebrows at his truly masculine way of thought. Still he had to ask, “Have you told him how you feel?”

  “Really, Casey? You’re a man. You know how men react when a woman ‘tells you how she feels.’ Puh-leeze. I can see his brown eyes rolling up into his head, and he’s thinking, What fucking hormone train did she get on this morning? And then a bunch of nodding and uh huhs, and we get nowhere.”

  “I think you’re being a bit harsh, he’s not that way.”

  Her acidic tone bordered on straight-up bitchy. “How do you know? You’re not married, and you’re certainly not married to him.” She snatched her purse from the table.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To pee and cry. Is that all right?”

  Casey just nodded. He vowed he’d never become that complacent with his relationship. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he opened a text to his fiancée. Hello, baby. Will try to call you later. Out right now with Andy’s wife. She’s having some separation anxiety – long story.

  A ping replied a moment later, Hi! As much as I miss you, if she needs your help, you’re there. Need to meet them both sometime. I think it’s ridiculous I’m getting better at texting, but my bro says I’m a natural because of my good hands. LOL.

  Casey smiled. He knew Abby loathed texting. Good, strong hands. And I miss them right now.

  Stop! Love you, babe, but gotta run, just sat for 5 mins. Got a kid I have to keep my eye on. Pray for no amputation.

  Will do, hon. Good luck with the kid. Kissing you in my mind. Nite.

  Love you, Casey. See you tomorrow my hot fiancé!

  He shook his head thinking about Dr. Abigail Lewis, his fiancée, eight years his senior. He wondered what he’d seen in dating women his own age or younger. He’d had second thoughts about using a dating service, but Madame Eve and her 1Night Stand had fulfilled his every wish in a woman, and before the year ended, he’d be married to that woman.

  Seeing Paul wander in the bar, Casey waved him over. He had to hold back a slight snicker watching the art dealer precisely remove his Yves Saint Laurent leather motocross jacket. Casey was sure this man had never been on a bike, much less a motocross cycle or crotch-rocket.

  “Mr. Rupp,” the gallery owner put out his hand. “How wonderful to see you again!” He sat, smiling. “I see Charly took the liberty to order me a….”

  “I did, Belvedere and tonic,” Casey replied, shaking Paul’s hand. He swore the man winked at him and squeezed tighter.

  Releasing him and waving his hand a little too lightly for Casey’s taste, he touched the former ballplayer on the wrist. “You remembered! Such a kind man you are, Casimir.”

  And, he remembers my given name. I am in such trouble here! “It’s the least I can do for the man watching over my best friend’s wife.”

  Paul leaned forward, a bit too close for Casey’s liking, but he didn’t flinch. “She’s a mess, isn’t she?”

  “I’ve never seen her like this, and I’ve known her probably as long as you have. She’s usually so with it, and takes Andy being away in stride.”

  “She hates New York, you know,” he mentioned, sipping. “She had a bad experience there when she was in art school. She doesn’t talk about it much.”

  “She never mentioned anything to me, but it always struck me as odd that she never would go to New York when Andy would play there.”

  “They broke up there,” Paul whispered.

  “Seriously?” Casey’d never heard that story.

  “It was before they were engaged. He got caught up in some I’m-a-young-hot-studly-baseball-player nightlife, got drunk, forgot all about meeting up with her—until she found him in his hotel room….”

  Casey watched as the man arched his perfectly trimmed eyebrows. “He didn’t.”

  “That’s never been made clear, but it broke her heart—broke his, too.” Quickly he touched his index finger to his lips and cocked his head toward the back of the bar, “Shh!”

  “Pauly!” Both men rose, and Charly pecked her boss’s cheek.

  He slid over, putting his arm about her. “Have I told you, Casey, this woman makes more money than a fresh, tight-pussied whore walking through Times’ Square during Fleet Week?”

  “Stop it, Paul,” she nudged.

  “But it’s true, honey.” He leaned forward to mask a huge financial secret. “She sold three million dollars’ worth of art in the past month and a half.”

  “Well, at least I’m good at something,” she sighed.

  Casey watched, concerned, as she took a long sip of her old-fashioned, and then “tasted” half of Paul’s vodka tonic.

  He took the glass from her, but not before she drank the remainder of it. “Self-pity is not good color on you, honey. Cut this shit out.”

  “Leave me alone, you old queen. How could you possibly understand.”

  Neither man had ever heard this caustic, accusatory, and plain mean tone before. It spewed from her lovely mouth in a much more acerbic manner than the usual playful, sarcastic banter between employer and employee at the gallery. Paul was a good man, with an amazing work ethic, kind, generous, and forgiving, but even Casey wouldn’t tolerate name calling, especially when Paul was Charly’s employer, confidant, and good friend. Her tone and self-wallowing belied more than just missing her husband.

  With good reason, Paul snapped. “Listen here, you smart-mouthed, untrusting little twat. If anyone would know what the fuck you’re going through, it’s me, your friend. Your gay-as-the-day-is-long confidant whose man isn’t nearby all the time either.”

  Casey watched as the woman put up a hand in apology and to interject, but Paul cut her off.

&nb
sp; “Sure Josef’s here now, but like your Andy, he’ll be gone at the end of the week. To where? A tropical garden ripe with opportunities to fall off the fidelity wagon. So, don’t talk to me about how I couldn’t possibly know what you’re going through. I might not have a ring on my finger, and haven’t spit out two gorgeous little girls, but love and trust, honey, is just that, whether it’s two dicks, or a dick and slit, love and trust…either you believe it, ascribe to it, or you don’t. And for some reason, right now, you’re not.”

  Even Casey had to take breath after that monologue, which, regardless of its sincere honesty, obviously didn’t have the effect Paul had hoped.

  Her face in her hands, she leaned forward, resting on the tabletop, her body shaking with sobs.

  Both men leaned in, ready to comfort, but at the same time anxious get to the bottom of the destructive behavior. “What the hell is wrong with you, Charly?” Casey insisted.

  “You have no idea.” Tears streaked her pretty face. She snatched her purse and coat from the booth seat and started for the door.

  “Go, go.” Paul waved at Casey.

  ***

  Charly rested her head against the cool glass of her car window. The seat beneath her felt strange, like she didn’t quite fit in it.

  “You all right, Charly?” Casey asked.

  She nodded, her head making the tiniest of squeaking noises against the window. Now I know why this feels so odd! I’m never a passenger in my own car.

  Closing her eyes, she focused on taking a slow, deep breath. Doing so scattered the vertigo caused by the blacktop of I-43 flying by below her.

  “We need to get you something to eat. Drive through?”

  She shot down the idea with a quick shake of her head. Bad idea. Now the whole car is spinning. Again closing her eyes, she embraced the disequilibrium. Maybe centrifugal force will fling all these bullshit thoughts from my head!

  A few minutes later, the car slowed. Raising her head, Charly saw her garage door in front of her.

  “Your button doesn’t work, Char.”

  “It’s not programmed. Andy was supposed to take care of it before he….” Before he fucking left for New York! “And, I must’ve left the spare opener in the other car.”

  “C’mon.” Casey put out his hand, to help her from the vehicle.

  Damn, I didn’t even notice he got out. “I’m perfectly capable of getting out of my car, Casey. Geez.” Waving him off, she insisted her body find balance and focus. She kept her hand on her car as she made her way around the vehicle to the garage keypad. “If you would’ve let me drive home, I wouldn’t have to break into my own house.” She poked at the numbers.

  “No way that was going to happen! Not with all the liquor you put away today.”

  Her number poking turned to number pounding. “What the hell is the code!”

  “Why don’t we just go around to the front door?” Casey asked.

  Without bashing her finger against another digit, the garage door started going up.

  A young woman’s voice came from inside the garage. “Mrs. Knox? Charly?”

  “Kristen! It’s me. Thanks for opening up.”

  “Well, three bad tries and the alarm peeps. Thought I better check.”

  Charly saw the babysitter give a concerned look to the stranger hitting the garage door Close button. “He’s an old friend. He drove me home.” She put her hand to her mouth, holding back a hiccup. “Been one of those days.”

  “Uh, looks like it. You want me to stay, I’ll call my mom.”

  “Could you?”

  “Sure.”

  She put her arm about the girl’s shoulders. “The little sister I never had.”

  Turning her toward Casey, she introduced them. “Kristen, if I hadn’t married Andy, this guy would be the father of my children. Kristen, Casey. Casey, Kristen. I gotta pee.” She wandered into the house, her babysitter and guest following behind.

  ***

  Charly weaved her way back into the kitchen and plopped herself at the table next to Casey. “My two angels are asleep, Kristen is staying the night, and here we are.” She stopped for a moment, looking at her friend. “What?”

  He shrugged, “Nothin’.”

  “Nothin’ never means nothin’ coming from a man’s mouth.”

  Casey snickered and shook his head.

  “You’re laughing at me because I’m a little tipsy, right?”

  “No, Charly, I think you’re flat out hammered, and if you had driven home, you never would have made it.”

  She leaned against him. “Then it’s a good thing you’re in town.” She rose from the table and headed toward the refrigerator. “Unlike some people,” she mumbled.

  “What did you say?”

  She turned to him, holding a bottle of wine she’d taken from the fridge. Straightening her posture, she lifted her chin and enunciated as clearly as possible, considering the alcohol-induced slur. “Un. Like. Some. People.”

  “That’s Andy’s job, Charly, you know that.”

  She placed the bottle and a corkscrew in front of him.

  “You’re kidding, right? You’re actually going to drink some more?”

  “Hey, I’m home, you’re here, I have an overnight babysitter. What difference does it make?” She felt his warm hand around her arm, gently bringing her back into her seat. “Just open it, Case.”

  “What’s wrong with you, Charly?” he asked, starting on the cork. “You have the world by the ass, and you’re unhappy.”

  “I’m not unhappy, just concerned and lonely.” Casey slid a glass in front of her. “Thank you.” She held hers up to him. “To good friends who listen.”

  They clinked and drank.

  Charly took her time returning her glass to the table. She stared into the pale liquid and sighed. Her concentrated interest broke when a box of bear-shaped graham crackers slid into her view.

  “I hate seeing you like this.”

  “Like what, drunk?”

  “No, sad, wallowing. Unsure, I guess. It’s not like you.”

  “You don’t know me very well then, Casey.” She felt a choke forming in her throat. I am not going to fucking cry. She pulled a paper napkin from the holder on the table and hid her face in it.

  “Then tell me, kid, what the hell is going on?”

  She wiped her face and turned to her friend. Tears ran down her cheeks and she let them. “I’m lonely, Casey. I know that’s part of the ‘deal’ in this profession, but now Andy is gone the entire season, not eight-one games. Bree and Chloe don’t understand why he’s not home. And when he is home, we’re so hit and miss.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What I mean, we seem like strangers to one another. I couldn’t get to spring training with the girls—the flu ‘round robin’ at their preschool.” She stopped for a sip of wine and to collect her thoughts. “We talk on the phone and it’s like his mind is constantly elsewhere, preoccupied. He’s not himself. And,” she continued quietly, “we haven’t done our ‘marital duty’ since before spring training. Yes, add it up…three months plus.” Her face reddened with the admission.

  “There’s more to life than that.”

  “Not when you’re trying to have another baby.” She sighed, resigned, “Right now, there’s no time for us, he’s in New York, running with a completely different crowd, one I don’t fit in. He’s a different person now that he’s with the Titans.”

  “Changing a uniform doesn’t change the person, Charly.”

  “The hell it doesn’t! He goes to New York, and the next thing I know, he’s changed his looks, his clothes, and has naked women draped all over him! We both know how many marriages went south after a trade to that organization and that city.”

  “But you went to art school there.”

  “One semester, then I had to leave. I went to Florence for almost a year.”

  “Why did you have to leave?”

  “Does it matter what happened how many years ago?”


  “If it has some bearing on—”

  “I’m afraid I’m losing him, Case. This has never been so hard. Sometimes I wonder if he even loves me.”

  She felt the alcohol and gravity of her words take over. Leaning into Casey, she let the sobs come. Anger, concern, sadness all left her as she wept. The close hold of a dear friend helped to stabilize her condition, leaving her with one last emotion—spite.

  What happened years ago consumed her. Not a vengeful person, she’d never found a way, or actually wanted to get back at Andy. Well, not until now, when alcohol-fueled irritation emboldened her. She snaked her arms about his neck and shoulders, hoping for a meaningful embrace, one she could hold on to in her darkest moments—a memory of a hug she could revisit when she needed it most, when she felt most forgotten and unloved.

  “It’s all right, Charly.”

  She allowed herself the wallowing. Crying into his shoulder, she reveled in his strong arms. When she hid her face in the curve of his neck, the scratch of his short-cut auburn whiskers against her skin forced her emotions in another direction.

  Charly took a deep breath. Casey’s spicy scent calmed her tears, replacing any sadness with a stirring she only felt in very quiet intense moments with her husband. The devil on her one shoulder flipped its middle finger at the angel on the other. She rubbed her face on his skin, taking a moment to kiss his neck in a way any man would understand. “I always thought you were so hot, Casey.”

  “Stop.”

  He clutched her upper arms and returned her to an upright sitting position. His large hands surrounded hers, sending a clear message that he was only willing to allow her so much physical comfort.

  Charly felt the red of embarrassment flooding up her neck.

  “We’ve been friends forever. I’ve known you nearly as long as I’ve known Andy. I know you hurt right now, but doing something rash, like making a move on me or anyone else, is, number one—not you, and number two—would only cause you and him more hurt.”

  Unable to look him in the eye, she stared at her hands, slowly turning the diamonds and platinum on her left ring finger.