Goalie (Texas Mutiny Book 3)

by M. E. Carter

  “Calhoun case?” someone calls out, and two people in suits stand up and walk to the front. They’re quickly sworn in.

  “So Mr. Calhoun filed for divorce a couple of months ago,” the judge remarks while reading through some papers. “Has mediation already been completed?”

  “For temporary orders, yes, Your Honor,” one of the suits bellows.

  The judge looks up. “Does that mean both parties don’t agree to the mediation permanently?”

  The other suit speaks up. “There is some information Mrs. Calhoun has run across since the mediation pertaining to possession of assets. She would like to meet again to renegotiate the terms of the divorce.”

  The judge nods. “That sounds reasonable. So today I’m ordering mediation be completed again to get this resolved. I would like to remind the parties that mediation is an effective process that will expedite this process and is less expensive. Good luck in mediation.”

  Both suits murmur in agreement.

  “Unless there’s something else?”

  “No, Your Honor.”

  “Ok. It’s so ordered.” She bangs the gavel. “I’ll see you both back here in a couple of weeks.”

  I raise my eyebrows. That was a lot faster and less dramatic than I expected for a court hearing. I anticipated someone to yell “You can’t handle the truth” and the judge threatening to sic the bailiff on someone for contempt. This is much easier than I assumed it would be.

  “DeLa… uh, DeLaGua… jardo? DeLaGuajardo?” A collective laugh goes through the room as I stand up. I can’t help but smile, myself. People have been butchering my last name since I changed it ten years ago, so it doesn’t faze me. But it does bring a little comic relief, which I need.

  I make my way to Cheryl and we walk through a short swinging door to stand in front of the bench. I look around and realize Santos isn’t here. And it appears, neither is his attorney.

  I’m quickly sworn in before the judge starts speaking to me. My hands are nervously clasped in front of me.

  “Mrs. DeLaGuajardo? Did I say that right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “It looks like you filed for divorce almost a year ago, is that correct?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “It usually doesn’t take so long to be finalized. Did you run into problems?”

  “Your Honor, the DeLaGuajardo’s decided to make one last attempt at reconciling their marriage.”

  “Is that so?” She sits back, making herself comfortable in her chair.

  “Yes. They attended the Rebuilding Your Marriage conference.”

  The judge nods. “Excellent program. I commend you on your effort. I always appreciate when people in my courtroom have taken the time to go through the program.”

  “Yes, your Honor. It was very intense but worth it. Even if it didn’t work for us.”

  She leans forward again and looks at the papers in front of her.

  “I’m sorry to hear it didn’t work. You filed for divorce under the pretense of irreconcilable differences.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And I see mediation has been completed. You’re comfortable with this agreement, Mrs. DeLaGuajardo?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Santos was very generous.”

  “Ok. Well, everything looks like it’s in order and since neither Mr. DeLaGuajardo nor his attorney are here to object, I am ordering the dissolution of your marriage.”

  I knew it was coming, but I wasn’t prepared for the shock that runs through my body when the judge announces it. I feel the tears build up behind my eyes.

  The judge points her pen at a box of tissues while she continues speaking and Cheryl grabs one, handing it to me.

  “There is a thirty-day waiting period before the dissolution will be filed and finalized. But barring any major issues, you are now officially divorced. I wish you luck, Ms. DeLaGuajardo.”

  The change in title isn’t lost on me and the tears begin to fall. “Thank you,” I whisper and we walk back through the short, swinging door and out of the courtroom.

  “You ok?” Cheryl asks quietly.

  “Yeah,” I say, as I wipe a tear and sniffle. “I thought I was prepared for the emotion, but I just wasn’t.”

  “I hear that a lot. It feels like you spend years working on your marriage and it just ends in two minutes flat.”

  “Yeah. That’s exactly how it feels.”

  “If it makes you feel better, I’ve been working on your case for months. So it wasn’t really that quick.”

  “Strangely, that does make me feel better.”

  “I’ll let you know when it’s all been filed and make sure you have a certified copy of the decree. If you need anything, let me know, ok?”

  “Thank you, Cheryl. I really appreciate it.”

  “No problem.” She looks at her watch. “I need to run. I have another hearing in about twenty minutes on a different floor. And you know how great these elevators are.”

  I smile at her. “Of course. Go ahead.”

  She turns away from me and leaves me standing in the hallway. Alone.

  For the first time in ten years, I am truly all alone. Sure, I’ve lived on my own with the kids for a while, but knowing I’m officially a single mom now feels foreign. I don’t like it, even if it is right for me.

  My entire life as I knew it is officially and legally over. Everything has changed. And Santos didn’t even care enough to show up when it happened.

  “Mmmm, mmmm, mmmm.”

  The telltale sounds that my orgasm is imminent make their way out of my throat. I look down at the red head with her hand wrapped around my cock and feel disgusted with myself, but I’m too far gone to stop now. Besides, I’m divorced now. Who’s stopping me?

  “Get ready,” I say just as the base of my spine begins to tingle. I come hard. I come long. And strangely, I feel nothing when it’s over.

  I look down again and see a playful look in the redhead’s eyes. As she begins to climb her way up my body, I know what she’s going to do, and Mari’s words slam into my brain.

  “It never occurred to you that you kissed these whores on the mouth, probably right after they got done sucking someone else’s dick without a condom, did it?”

  As the redhead goes to kiss me, I turn away.

  She pulls back. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  She pulls back even more to look at me. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “Besides blowing some douchebag you just met that you’ll probably never see again?”

  Her eyes widen and she looks pissed. “Excuse me?”

  I sigh, already exhausted and full of regret. “Just go.” I reach over to the end table and pour more scotch in my glass. The redhead stomps out of the room, not bothering to close it behind her. That’s my cue to tuck my dick back in my pants.

  The sounds of the party in the main rooms grate on my nerves. It makes me feel almost claustrophobic. I gotta get out of here.

  Grabbing the bottle of liquor and my glass, I make my way out the sliding glass door to the small patio overlooking the pool. The night air is cool, as it usually is in early December. It’s a huge relief from the normally hot and balmy temps. I sit and stare at the water, lit up with blue lights so the pool looks like it’s glowing.

  I’ve been to hundreds of parties over the years. Dozens, at least, at this particular apartment. But it feels different tonight. It’s not fun anymore. The blowjob didn’t get rid of enough adrenaline from today’s earlier game and just left me feeling dirty.

  Why do I continue to subject myself to this shit? It always ends up the same way, and I always end up hating myself.

  If it weren’t for the fact that it’s Nate Funderling’s last night with us, I would consider leaving. But since it is Funderling’s last night, I figure I owe the guy at least enough to stick around for a while. Even if I’ve isolated myself on the balcony.

  The door slides open, and I glance up at the intrusion.


  “Oh, sorry,” Tiffany sputters, not sure if she should come out or stay inside. “I, um…, I didn’t think anyone was out here.”

  “No, no,” I say, waving her over. “It’s ok. You can come out. I’m just avoiding the scene in there.”

  She freezes momentarily, as if deciding whether or not I’m going to yell at her again. I don’t blame her.

  “Oh. Ok.” She sits on the lounge chair across from mine and looks out onto the pool with me.

  “I’m surprised you’re not in there with the rest of the crowd,” I say, trying to be civil.

  “I was for a while. But the smell of the smoke was starting to really bug me. I needed to get some fresh air while Rowen hobnobs with all the new players.”

  I nod. That’s what I should be doing. But I’m not. I’m here. Feeling sorry for myself.

  “I’m sorry,” I finally blurt out.

  Tiffany looks at me quizzically. “For what?”

  “For the last conversation we had.”

  “Oh,” she says quietly.

  “I was really mad at everyone at that point and trying not to take responsibility for my own actions. I wanted to blame you so I didn’t have to blame myself, and… well, I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you, Santos. That means a lot to me.”

  We sit in amicable silence again, me nursing my scotch and her lost in her own thoughts.

  “Want a drink?” I hand my glass over expecting her to take it from me, but she doesn’t.

  “No thanks. I'm laying off the sauce for a while.”

  I shrug and take another swallow. “Smoke making you sick. Laying off the booze. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re pregnant.”

  I chuckle and look over at her. She’s not chuckling. In fact, she looks mortified.

  “Oh shit. You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

  She sighs and sits up in the chair, criss-crossing her legs. “Eight weeks.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  “Well don’t sound so excited.”

  She absent-mindedly rubs her stomach like pregnant women are known to do, even if they aren’t showing. “It’s not that I’m not excited. It just that it’s unexpected.”

  “So this wasn’t planned, huh?”

  She laughs. “Uh, no. We haven’t even been married a year. We’re young enough we were looking at being married about ten years before starting a family. Apparently, Rowen’s swimmers had other ideas.”

  “How is Rowen taking it?”

  “Rolling with the punches like only Rowen can. He’s already told his parents and his mother is coming down next weekend to go house hunting. She’s already said there is no reason to have daycare when the baby’s grandmother can be the babysitter.”

  I chuckle. “That sounds about right. Mari’s mom was ecstatic when we moved to Houston so the grandbabies would only be a few hours away. She loved it when I went out of town and she had an excuse to visit.” The laughter that had been bubbling up falters on my lips and pain of the memories rips through my chest, despite my attempts at rubbing it away.

  “You miss her, don’t you?” Tiffany asks gently.

  I swallow down the emotion I’m feeling. “More than she’ll ever understand.”

  “I’m so sorry, Santos.”

  I look over as she wipes a tear from her eye.

  “I’m sorry for the part I played in it. I watched you with her at Chance’s birthday party that one time. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone as in love with their wife as you were with her.”

  I have no response. She’s right, but it turns out my love wasn’t enough. But again, that’s all my fault.

  “Do you still love her?” she asks.

  I take another drink. “I’ll never stop.”

  The door slides open again and we both look up to see Rowen staring at us.

  “Everything ok out here, babe?”

  “Fine,” she assures and reaches for him. I have to look away. I don’t want to see them be affectionate. “Sorry. The smoke was getting to me.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tiffany scoot forward and Rowen sit behind her.

  “Babe, can I ask you a question?” Tiffany asks Rowen. I assume he nods, since he doesn’t answer. “How did you know I was done with this lifestyle. With the parties and stuff.”

  Her question surprises me, and I can’t help but look over to see the same emotion written on Rowen’s face. It seems like a personal conversation to be having with me sitting here.

  “Um, I… I don’t know,” he stutters.

  She nudges him. “Come on. I promise I’m not being girly and emotional right now. I need your honest answer.”

  He leans his head back and thinks. “Well, I guess it’s because we’d talked about being monogamous.”

  “And you just trusted me?”

  He cringes. “Well, not at first. But I guess the longer we were together and the more you proved good on your word, the more I trusted you.”

  She turns to look at me. “Did you hear that, Santos?”

  “I’m not sure what that has to do with me,” I say honestly.

  “You and Mariana just got divorced. But that doesn’t mean your relationship is over. If you want to be a different guy, be it.”

  I snort. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but she doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” She turns her entire body to face me. “She doesn’t want anything to do with the guy that cheated on her without a second thought. She doesn’t want anything to do with the pain that makes her feel. But if you are a different person, truly have that part of your life under control, there’s no reason you can’t get back together.

  I stare at her for a few seconds before I burst out laughing.

  “Are you kidding me right now? Tiffany, we went to a huge conference where we did the most intense therapy you can do. And that wasn’t enough. I promised complete and total transparency and to never, ever fall off the wagon again. That wasn’t enough. It’s over and done with. She made that clear.”

  “I don’t believe that,” she argues firmly.

  “How? How can you not believe that? She said no. She went to court and finalized the divorce.”

  “Because my cousin remarried her cheating husband.”

  I freeze with my glass halfway to my mouth.

  “Really?”

  She nods. “Really. They were divorced for two years before he finally pulled his head out of his ass. He went through another year of therapy, proved he was a different man, a better man, and they got back together. They’ve been happily re-married for five years.”

  As I digest the information she’s given me, the questions run through my brain. Have I really changed my patterns enough for Mari to trust me again? Obviously not since I just got a blow job from some random chick. But should I follow through on that therapy I promised I’d do? Could I follow through? And how long will it take to prove I’m trustworthy again?

  “I see your point,” I finally say.

  Tiffany smiles at me.

  “Good.” She pats Rowen on the thigh. “Now if you’ll excuse us, this baby mama is getting really, really tired all the sudden.”

  Rowen’s eyes widen. “Babe!”

  “He guessed.”

  I chuckle. “Don’t worry. I’m not telling anyone. I’ve done this before, remember? That first trimester… phew… it’s exciting and terrifying all at once.”

  “And exhausting and annoying,” Tiffany tacks on. She stands up and helps pull Rowen to his feet.

  “Hey, Rookie,” I say, using the nickname he hasn’t answered to in over a year. He stops and looks at me. “Congratulations, man. I’m happy for you.” I bump fists with him and a huge smile crosses his face.

  “Thanks, man. I just hope I’m as good of a dad as you are.”

  They head back into the party as I sit for a while longer. My thoughts are running hundreds of miles an hour, especially be
cause I know, I know I haven’t done enough. Not even close. There’s no guarantee I’ll get my wife back, but if what Tiffany is saying is true, I haven’t even really started trying.

  Maybe it’s time to try harder. Even if it’s only for myself.

  Dishes. Laundry. Diapers. Ugh. The chores are never ending. Today, it’s grating on my nerves more than normal and I have no idea why.

  I’ve been a stay-at-home mom since Myra was born, and I was a stay-at-home wife before that. So none of this is new.

  But in some ways, it’s all new.

  I knew when I left Santos life would change, but I think how much it changed is kind of jarring. I knew my life was wrapped up in Santos’s job, but I don’t think I ever knew how much until it was all gone.

  Not only do I not go to weekly games most of the year anymore, I don’t get invited out by my friends either. I understand why… it’s hard to include someone who is no longer part of the Mutiny family. What could I possibly contribute to party planning? I won’t be invited to any of the family events. Won’t watch the babies I’ve snuggled grow up. I won’t be part of the celebrations. I won’t be part of the losses. And how could I be? How would they be able to include Santos’s next wife, assuming he were to get married again. She would be the WAG, not me.

  I realize I’m scrubbing the pot in the sink a little too hard when I scrape my finger with the scrubbing pad and actually take off some skin.

  “Shit,” I say, dropping everything in the sink and putting my stinging finger under the water. It’s not bleeding, but it stings. I look out the window and sigh.

  I’m so tired of being angry. I’m tired of being angry about the situation. I’m tired of being angry at Santos. I’m tired of being mad at myself. Something needs to change around here and it starts with me.

  Realizing the kids are awfully quiet, I walk around the pass-through corner of the kitchen into the living room.

  “Where’s Theo?” I ask the girls. They’re engrossed in the preview of some new Disney Junior show and don’t acknowledge me. I look around the room again, this time looking for feet hiding under furniture. When I don’t see any, my heart starts to pound.

  “Girls,” I say again, “where’s Theo?”