by Layne Harper
It’s a gorgeous November day in Dallas. The sun is shining. I have my windows rolled down, enjoying the breeze blowing through my truck. Old Pat Green is singing his heart out through the truck’s speakers. Life is good.
I let my mind wander. Maybe I should get a convertible for days like this. I donated the Corvette that I won for being named Super Bowl MVP to my charity. They raffled it off, and someone bought it for almost three-hundred thousand dollars. Shocked the hell out of me. The winning bidder asked if I’d sign the leather seats. Umm… sure. You just paid three times what the car is worth. I think that I could be bothered with my signature.
When I drive through the open gates of our neighborhood, my left leg begins to bounce up and down with nervous energy. I find myself trying to see around trees, and through shrubbery. I want a glimpse of what Charlie calls The Tank. Then I know my girls are home.
The closer I get to my house, the tighter the knot becomes in my stomach. Unfortunately, what my brain realized was obvious before my heart is that my girls aren’t here yet. I check my watch, knowing they should’ve arrived two hours ago.
I grab my phone, and hit Charlie’s number.
“Hello?” she sounds harassed. I flood with relief. At least they’re okay.
“Hey, baby, it’s me,” I say, sounding like an idiot. Of course it’s me. Who else has my George Strait ringtone?
“Look, Colin, the doctor will be in any second. I’ll call you when we’re done here,” she says, clearly annoyed with me. I’m not sure what I’ve done, but it’s something that’s pissed her off. Then the meaning of the words that she’s said register in my head. Doctor? In any second? That means she’s not on the road.
“Wh… What?”
“The voicemail that I left you.” She pauses for a heartbeat. “You haven’t been home yet, have you?”
“No. I’m just pulling into the driveway. What’s going on?” I ask as my heart starts racing. I park Bertha in the driveway. Fuck the neighbors if my truck doesn’t fit in with their pristine community.
“I think Ainsley has an ear infection. Brad and I were in the process of loading the tank when she just started crying, and wouldn’t quit. I called her doctor, and she said to bring her in. Brad and I are in an exam room now.”
“Poor baby. How is she?” I’m flooded with worry. My baby hasn’t had more than an upset tummy. I can’t imagine her crying, and Charlie not being able to console her. Just the thought makes my stomach clench.
“Brad’s bouncing her while they look at animal artwork that lines the halls. She’s at least calm now.”
Then it dawns on me. How can Ainsley be at a doctor’s office in Houston? Her pediatrician is here, in Dallas. Charlie and I interviewed numerous doctors before we chose Doctor Kaufman. Charlie clearly said that she called Ainsley’s doctor. “Who’s seeing Ainsley in Houston?”
“You mean what doctor?” She keeps talking before I can confirm that yes, I mean what doctor are you taking my daughter to that I don’t know. “She came well recommended by one of the nurses at the office. I haven’t met her yet. Oh, Colin, she’s coming in. I have to go.”
The phone disconnects before I can even tell her goodbye. I sit in my truck, and stare out the window at my empty fucking house for longer than I care to note.
Helpless. That’s a good word to describe how I’m feeling. Motherfucking helpless. My baby girl is in pain, and I’m not there to kiss the ache away. It’s my fucking job. My wife’s assistant is holding my daughter and bringing her comfort, and I’m paying him for that privilege. My wife is frazzled, and I’m not there to hold her hand, and stroke her hair, telling her that everything is going to be okay even if I don’t know that it will be. The two most important people in my world are four hours away from me, being comforted by Brad. Fuck my life.
I let Pancho out with zero enthusiasm, and sink into the living room couch while I grip my phone. She’s got exactly thirty minutes to call me back before I do something really stupid like drive to Houston when I have to be at the stadium at seven-thirty tomorrow morning.
I sit there in my quiet, still house, smelling the wonderful dinner that Chef prepared for us. Too bad it’ll go to waste. In the corner are some of Ainsley’s favorite toys. It’s even more depressing, seeing them piled up neatly instead of strewn all over the living room rug. I check the time. Charlie has ten more minutes.
Should I do a NASA countdown clock? I remember watching the space shuttle launch when I was in school. They had this huge digital clock that would tick down the seconds until launch. A space shuttle launch and football game are both very similar in a lot of ways. Most importantly, ten minutes on the countdown clock, and ten minutes left in a football game both don’t really mean ten minutes. There are a lot of time-outs and clock stops. What I mumble to no one in particular is, “Ten minutes now really means ten fucking minutes.”
Five minutes…
Four minutes…
Three minutes…
“How is she?” I ask when I answer before the phone has a chance to complete a ring.
Charlie lets out a sigh. “Double ear infection. We have numbing drops, and an antibiotic, because she also has a stuffed-up head.” Before I can say anything, she continues. “Colin, she’s fine. She has a cold. She’s not the first kid to have an ear infection, and she will not be the last.” Charlie’s using her “I’m the doctor, and everything is fine” voice.
I growl. It’s probably not the correct response, but I can’t help it. “I don’t care. She’s my daughter, and this is her first time sick. I. Want. My. Baby.” I open and close my fist, knowing that this is so much more than not being with my sick child. This is the frustrating month of not seeing my family but once since the funeral. This is the disappointment of not having them waiting for me when I arrived home from practice. This is every time that I talk to Charlie, hearing what Brad’s doing with MY daughter. This is my loneliness and frustration that I can’t get in the car and drive to them because I have to toss a ball in twelve hours.
Charlie begins to cry, which makes me feel like a dick, on top of my frustration and disappoint. “Look, I’m going to put Ainsley to bed. We’ll get up early tomorrow, and drive straight to Dallas. I think that I can still make it to your game.”
I stand up and walk around the living room, running my hand through my hair. In a much more resigned voice, I sigh. “If you can make it, then that’s great. If you can’t, or if you have to drive fast, don’t worry about it. There will be other games.”
She sniffs. “I miss you.”
I reply very quietly, “I miss you too. Kiss A for me.”
“I will.”
We both linger, not wanting to say goodbye. It makes me feel marginally better that she’s missing me also. Finally, I tell her, “Put Ainsley to bed and call me back. I just want to talk to you before I go to sleep.”
“Okay,” she whispers.
Then, I hear Brad in the background mumbling something. “What did Brad say?”
“He’s telling me that he has her bathed and in PJs. She’s ready for her night story and Mommy time.”
The words “Mommy time” open the gaping wound back up in my chest. I want to scream, “What about Daddy time?” Little girls need their daddies just as much as they need their mommies. It should be me that bathed her, and put her in her jammies.
I found a new book at the bookstore to share with Ainsley. It has a dog in it that looks like Pancho. There’s this battle raging in my head between being grateful that Charlie has Brad to help her out, and being insanely pissed that some other man is doing my job. I tell her bye before I say something that I’m going to seriously regret.
The images of Charlie, Brad, and my daughter, shopping and having lunch, pop to the forefront of my brain. The tabloid speculation is like a brush fire burning out of control that our marriage is over because Charlie is living with Brad in Houston. The pictures of Brad pushing Ainsley in her stroller through a park near Carmen’s home. Cha
rlie and Brad having sushi together at a restaurant in Houston. Brad pushing Ainsley in a toddler swing in Charlie’s mom’s front yard.
I laugh ruefully at myself. I’m fucking jealous of Charlie’s gay assistant. He may not be fucking my wife, but he’s stepped in and taken up my jobs in every place but the bedroom. That’s bullshit. Ainsley has one father. Charlie has one husband. Brad needs to step back, and figure out his place.
My heart is attempting to beat its way out of my chest. Sweat starts pouring off of my forehead. It’s difficult for me to breathe. My dream, the one where Charlie tells me that I’m not good enough for her and Ainsley, floods my mind in crystal clarity.
“It’s coming true,” I say out loud. “My dream is coming true. The vines are carrying her away from me. Charlie is leaving me for Brad.”
I flop back against the couch, and stare at the ceiling. When that does nothing to calm me, I lean forward, putting my head in my hands, trying to take a breath. “Why does she even need me? She has her toys. Brad doesn’t have a mistress job. Brad is there to take care of every one of her needs. Brad is her protector. Brad is her partner. I’m just the motherfucker who brings home the paychecks.”
Here’s the best part. I’ve paid the asshole to take over my role. I handed him my daughter and my wife on a fucking silver platter.
I grip the arms of the sofa, willing my lungs to expand. The tightness is about to overtake me. Fuck Colin. Calm down.
I try to push the pain out of my heart and think good thoughts…
The day that Charlie and I got married.
The night she told me that we were pregnant.
Hell, seeing her on that elevator for the first time in eight years.
Our kiss in Clay’s brag room.
Dancing with her at the George Strait concert.
She loves you. She wants and misses you.
Slowly, slowly, I begin to take in air, and my heartbeat returns to a non-sprinting rhythm.
I fall back against the couch, and turn my head to stare at the first family picture that we took right after Ainsley was born. Charlie is dressed in a white blouse, and black pants. I’m wearing a vibrant blue shirt, and nice jeans. My gold Super Bowl ring gleams in the light.
We’re sitting on the fireplace hearth. She’s holding Ainsley, who is dressed in a long ivory gown, in her arms, and I have Pancho on my lap. Just a hint of his Dallas Cowboy’s dog collar is visible. We look so happy. Charlie has a contented smile, and her eyes are bright lavender. She’s wearing her infinity necklace, diamond earrings, wedding band, and past, present, future ring that I had given her about a year prior. Ainsley’s eyes are closed, and she looks to be dreaming of angels. Even Pancho appears to have a smile on his face. Our house was so calm and peaceful that day. Charlie is looking at the camera, but my eyes are cut to the side; I’m staring at my girls.
When the photographer showed us the proofs, Charlie immediately grabbed this picture and said, “That’s the one.”
I’d raised my eyebrow, questioning her choice. “I’m not looking at the camera.”
She’d leaned over, and kissed me on the cheek. “Yes, but the devoted look on your face says everything that I choose to remember about the birth of our daughter.”
It struck me for the first time that maybe Charlie had to forgive me as much as I had to forgive her.
She has to end this living apart bullshit. It’s been almost a month since her dad passed away. It’s time. Hire a new doctor, sell the practice, do something, but I’ve been a supportive husband for long enough. I’ve offered to give her money, if that’s what Carmen needs. The world is hers if she’d just move back home. It’s time to reclaim my family.
Chapter Twelve
Charlie
The Tank is loaded down. My well-drugged baby is secured in the backseat. Brad is DJing from the passenger seat, and I’ve got the cruise-control set. Barring any issues, I should be able to make it to the second half of Colin’s game.
Jenny is waiting for me at our home. Miguel is going to drive me to the stadium so I don’t have to worry about parking. Carter is anxiously waiting for Brad, and a little reunion time.
The sun is shining, and it’s another gorgeous late fall day in Texas. In two short hours, I should see my husband in his very sexy football pants and tight jersey. Yum! Five or six hours after that, I might get to actually kiss him, and say hello properly.
Colin must have been a miserable SOB lately because Jenny offered to stay at our house tonight and take care of Ainsley for us. When we announced that we were expecting, we were informed that Jenny’s job description did not include nanny responsibilities. I can only think that Colin’s been such a bear that she feels like she’s taking one for the team by giving us some time away from parenting.
Brad checks the clock, and finds the game on the local radio station. We hit the outskirts of Dallas right when I was expecting. I do a mental fist bump with myself. The Cowboys are about to kick off.
Everything goes as planned. Brad stays to get Jenny and Ainsley settled while Miguel and I race to the stadium. I flip down the mirror and check my appearance, just in case the paparazzi are waiting for their high-dollar picture of me arriving at the game.
Then, I send Colin a text.
Me: The eagle has landed. Pulling into the stadium lot now. Love you to infinity.
As I flash my ticket and have my bag checked, the butterflies in my stomach begin beating their wings in time to the fan noise. It’s been fourteen days since I’ve seen him. I want my husband. Desperately.
I enter our suite to the shrieks of Liza and a couple of the other players’ wives that I’ve become friends with. This feels so normal. I did this every home game for two years. Normal is such a foreign feeling that I’m not sure what to do with it.
Then it hits me. Nothing since my dad passing away has felt right. Gosh, I could even go all the way back to becoming a mom, or finding out I was pregnant. My life has changed so much in a year and a half. Right now, in this second, I feel like the old Caroline. The one who attended every one of her husband’s games. The girl who lived and breathed Colin Fucking McKinney.
I’m the girl who’s practicing the kind of medicine that I love again. The one who walks through the practice doors every morning, and feels alive. I’m no longer just biding my time, keeping my medical license active. I’m developing relationships with patients—watching them heal because of my care.
The feeling of normalcy is so foreign to me that it almost barrels me over. I grab the granite countertop in the suite to steady myself. Since I dropped Ainsley off, I haven’t thought about her once. I’ve only been focused on getting to my husband. I let out a sigh, realizing that this is what the old Caroline felt like, and the best way to describe this sensation is right.
“You okay?” Liza asks. Her face is tight with concern.
I smile, and it’s not forced. “Yes. I think that I am.”
“Read your card. Our curiosity has almost gotten the best of us.” She motions to a vase filled with mixed colored roses that I honestly hadn’t even noticed.
I grab the envelope that reads Charlie in Colin’s script.
Carefully, I remove the card, and read his awful left-handed penmanship. “My heart only beats for you.” Then he drew the sideways number eight, and signed it CFM.
I’m smiling like an idiot as I bring the card to my chest, pressing it against my heart. Dear God, my whole body tingles with love for that man.
I pour myself a glass of wine, and say hello to Colin’s parents before I settle into the open seat next to Liza to watch my man play football.
****
“Hey handsome, care to join me in the hot tub?” I ask my gorgeous husband, who’s already ripping off his clothes as if they’re on fire. I’m wearing nothing but a smile. I’d advised Jenny earlier that she should probably not look in the backyard tonight. I couldn’t promise that Colin and I wouldn’t be making a porno. I also told the two security guys in the pool
house to turn off the backyard cameras.
This is our first time seeing each other in a couple of weeks, and I want and need my husband. I’m craving his touch on my skin, his warm breath on my neck. I want all of him. I want to bask in his attention.
I’ve got an old country Pandora station playing on the outdoor speakers. The hot tub is bubbling at a fantastic ninety-nine degrees. Our Waterford crystal champagne bucket is filled with bottles of water for Colin. I’ve an open bottle of Malbec wine sitting next to the champagne bucket, and a halfway empty glass in my hand. It’s just like old times, except we’re parents now, and my dad is dead.
Colin leaves his clothes on a sun-lounger so I get to watch him walk towards me in all his naked glory. My nipples tighten into sharp points, and it’s not from the chilly night air. His body is perfectly sculpted as if he’s been carved from a block of solid marble. His abs ripple as he moves closer. Involuntarily, I lick my lips, wanting a taste of his full lips, pec muscles, and the very hard cock that’s standing at attention. That’s my husband, and he wants me just as much as I want him. I’m so aroused I’m even able to ignore his limp.
“See something you like?” he asks as he flashes me my half-smile. Those green eyes of his twinkle in the moonlight. Dallas won. He played an inspired game. Ainsley and I are home. Colin’s happy.
He climbs into the hot tub, sinking into the bubbling water, and lets out a very contented sigh. His long, muscular arms rest outside of the hot tub on the brick surround. I scoot next to him, snuggling up to his side, noting that we fit together perfectly after all this time. Two halves making one whole.
His pec muscles beg me for attention, so I bring my tongue and lips to his nipples and begin to suck and nip the one closest to me while I pinch the one furthest away. Colin’s groans of appreciation bathe my insides with hot liquid lava. I long to feel his pulse against my lips so I kiss my way up his toned chest to his heart. His rhythm tells me that he’s as turned on as I am.
