Playing Dirty

by Jamie Ann Denton

  “No.” She shook her head. “You don’t understand.”

  Concern deepened the intensity of his eyes. “Understand what? Tell me. What aren’t you saying?”

  Shame bit into her. Hard. How did she explain that the darkness had swallowed her and she hadn’t been able to find a way out of it? Worse, she hadn’t wanted out, and instead had welcomed the heavy shroud of nothingness and the sweet promise of ending the excruciating pain. “I almost succeeded.”

  She knew the instant he understood, because he pulled away. Slowly. Inch by hurtful inch.

  He released her hand and stared at her. Shock preceded hurt, followed by abject disappointment as her words sank in and he realized exactly what she was telling him. He stood and walked to the floor to ceiling windows, putting distance between them as if he couldn’t bear to be near her.

  She wanted to cry.

  He dragged his hand down his face. “Jesus, Mattie,” he said, his voice rough and tortured.

  “I gave up,” she admitted, still ashamed that she’d just stopped caring—about everything. “Nothing mattered. Without you, nothing made sense to me any longer.”

  He let out a long slow breath, then turned to face her. “You’re telling me you tried to kill yourself?”

  She winced at the harshly spoken words, at the anger and hurt, the accusation in his voice. “Not consciously. It wasn’t something I’d planned. I hurt. I hurt so deeply I couldn’t breathe. I just wanted the pain to stop.”

  He looked at her as if he were seeing her for the first time since coming home. He shook his head, went to the bar and poured himself another shot, then downed it before he walked out of the room.

  Tears burned her eyes and clouded her vision as she watched him climb the steps to the foyer, then disappear from view. She understood he might need time to process what she’d told him, but she hadn’t expected him to walk away from her. Not like that. Not without a word.

  As she finished her wine, hurt eventually gave way to annoyance. She swiped at the moisture in her eyes. Disappointment settled over her. How dare he judge her? She wasn’t proud of her fall from grace, far from it, but she had found her way back. That had to count for something. She just hadn’t expected him to turn away from her as if he couldn’t stand to be near her.

  Fine. She’d give him time, more for her own benefit than his, because she needed a few minutes to pull herself together and get her head on straight. If she went to him now, they’d fight. This was a fresh wound. Raw. Open and bleeding. She knew enough about herself to know she’d lash out like a wounded animal, protecting itself from more hurt.

  Her glass empty, she gathered up the mostly untouched fruit and cheese platter and went to the kitchen. After tucking the leftovers in the refrigerator, and snagging herself a bottle of cool water, she considered going in search of her husband, but decided they both needed some space. Until she went to the staircase to head upstairs to the bedroom, and a gentle breeze blew in from the opened glass doors, bringing with it the remnants of the heat of the hot summer day. Against her better judgment, she walked out to the deck and found Ford, his hands on the railing, his head down, shoulders slumped. He looked...defeated. Dejected. Knowing she was responsible, made her heart hurt.

  She sat in one of the wicker love seats and tucked her legs beneath her. For a moment, she didn’t think he was even going to acknowledge her presence, but then he straightened and turned to face her.

  “What about Phoebe?” Feet braced apart, arms folded over his chest, he was every inch the warrior prepared to do battle. “Did you think about her?”

  She didn’t appreciate his tone. “Don’t judge me,” she said, wishing he’d continue to ignore her. Or better yet, that she’d listened to her instincts and had gone up to bed to give him time to come to terms with what she’d told him.

  “Answer the question,” he demanded, his tone rough.

  She lifted her chin. “You weren’t there,” she said, her own tone defensive. “You don’t know what I went through.”

  Even in the moonlight, she could see his eyes had turned glacial. He wasn’t just angry with her, he was livid. “Answer the fucking question, Mattie.”

  Her eyebrows rose at his language. “Yes,” she said a tad too snappish. “She’s…” She looked away because she couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in his furious gaze. “She’s what saved me.”

  “You know what? You’re right,” he said, his tone as cold and hard as the look in his eyes. “I don’t understand.”

  She had enough self-loathing over the situation to go around, she didn’t need him piling on top. “Look, I get that this is a shock, but—”

  “What I don’t understand is how you could throw your life away like that. I was fighting to stay alive every fucking day and you gave up. You fucking quit,” he repeated his voice rising.

  “Yelling at me isn’t going to change anything.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Yes, you are,” she said, forcing her tone lower, hoping for a calm she was far from feeling. “I know you went through hell. I get that. But what you aren’t getting is, so did I. I didn’t just lose you, I lost my way of life. I lost who I was supposed to be. Then I lost my will to live. It didn’t happen right away, either. It’s not like Paul came over, I spit Phoebe out and downed a handful of pills. Between the overwhelming grief I couldn’t crawl out from under, and the post-partum depression that went undiagnosed, it was all just too much.”

  That calm she was searching for evaded her. She stood, her insides quaking with her own anger. “So don’t you dare judge me, Ford Grayson. Because you don’t know what I went through. I barely remember giving birth to our daughter. Do you have any idea what that feels like?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. I wasn’t there, either. Remember?”

  She walked up to him and faced him down. The angry warrior didn’t scare her, and she let him know it. “And whose fault is that?” she asked, sarcasm intentionally dripping from her voice.

  His eyes narrowed. “I had a mission.”

  “And that’s your excuse for everything, isn’t it? You had a mission and the rest of us are just supposed to stand down and wait until it’s over. Well, guess what? You didn’t come home, so fuck you.” Tears burned her eyes and clogged her throat, making her want to throw something out of sheer frustration. She poked him in the chest with the tip of her finger instead. “You didn’t come home, and I was incapable of going on without you. I fell apart. I broke.” She jabbed him with her finger again. “You broke me, dammit.”

  He grabbed her hand. “Mattie—”

  She twisted away from him. “Don’t touch me.” Because she’d really start bawling if he pulled her into his arms, and she was sick to death of shedding tears over him. “It took me a year and a half before I was strong enough to even mourn your death. For a whole goddamned year, all I did was function, and I did a piss-poor job of it, too. I worked. I took care of our daughter. I lived on Prozac. I operated on auto-pilot like a fucking zombie until I was eventually strong enough to get over you.”

  “I’m—”

  “Tell me you’re sorry, and I swear, I’m gonna lose my shit,” she threatened. “For years you put yourself in the path of danger. I didn’t like it, but I dealt with it, because it was your job and you loved it. Not once did you ask me how I felt about any of it. You made the decision to join the SEALs, Ford. You did. All by yourself. You didn’t even discuss it with me, you just came home and told me you’d been accepted for SEAL training and you’d be gone for twenty-four weeks.”

  He had the decency to at least look mildly contrite. “I’m no longer part of a SEAL team. You know that, so don’t turn this on me. This is about you.”

  She laughed at that, the sound caustic and bitter, and a little bit fragile. “No, Ford. It’s about you. It’s always been about you.”

  “Bullshit,” he said angrily.

  She took a step back. “I’m done,” she said and turned and walked to
the door. “I’m going to bed.”

  “We’re not finished.”

  “Yeah. We are,” she said. “I’m tired. Tired of arguing, tired of defending myself because the fall out was more than I could handle. I’m sorry you’re disappointed, but that’s on you. I’ve battled my demons. I spent four months in a psychiatric facility, learning how to cope with the fact that my husband had died. And you know what I learned? I learned shame on me for putting myself on the back burner because I believed you were the universe and it was my job to make you shine.”

  “I never asked you to do that.”

  “No, Ford. You didn’t. You just expected it.”

  Sixteen

  FORD DIDN’T KNOW how long he sat on the deck after Mattie had stormed off and left him alone with his thoughts...and his guilt. He’d long suspected she’d suffered because of him. Hell, she’d been telling him since he’d come home that she’d barely survived losing him, he just hadn’t listened. Not really. Because if he had, then maybe the fact that she’d tried to end her life wouldn’t have come as such a shock.

  He couldn’t help but feel responsible. He’d done that to her, and it killed him to know the only woman he’d ever loved had hurt so badly she hadn’t wanted to go on without him. That was a guilt he didn’t know if he could ever reconcile.

  He wanted to know what had happened to her, how it had happened. And how had no one noticed until it was almost too late? She said Phoebe had saved her, but Phoebe was an infant at the time, so she had to be referring to her presence more than anything else. Still, he needed answers. He needed to understand, and he couldn’t do that without Mattie filling in all the blank spaces.

  He supposed he could call Griffen, or even Thomas, and they’d tell him what he wanted to know. But that’d be too easy. He wasn’t a complete Neanderthal. This was a hurdle he and Mattie needed to clear together. She needed to trust him with the truth, but he hadn’t exactly been open to her truth, had he? No, he did what he usually did, bulldozed his way through and expected her to follow along without argument.

  God, he was an ass. The way he figured it, after his behavior tonight, it was a miracle she’d chosen to stay with him at all.

  But she had, and now he’d not only disappointed her, he’d hurt her again. That hadn’t been his intent, but he’d been so rattled by her confession, he’d reacted badly. Knowing that she’d been in such severe pain and despair that ending her life had been preferable, tore at his own heart. How did he make something like that up to her?

  He could start by giving her his word that he would do everything in his power to remain stateside. That for as much as he missed being in the thick of the action, his place was with her and Phoebe. He was done putting not just himself, but their future at risk. He owed her at least that much.

  With a sigh he rose and walked into the house. After checking the locks and making sure all was secure, he climbed the stairs and found Mattie in the blue bedroom. He considered that she might have moved into the purple bedroom, and left him to sleep alone. Seeing her now, gave him hope.

  She sat on the bed, her back cushioned by a pillow resting against the headboard, her attention on her iPad, either texting or playing a game. He hoped she was playing a game. When she wouldn’t look at him, he feared the worst and figured she was telling her sister what a dick he’d been. He didn’t want to think about the names Griffen might be calling him, either. Not that he didn’t deserve them.

  He circled the bed to her side. “Is that Griffen?” he asked, nudging her with his knee as he sat on the bed and faced her.

  She shifted closer to the middle. “No,” she said, still not looking at him. “Candy Crush. I’ve been stuck on level two-forty-six for two weeks.”

  “Want me to try?”

  She continued to watch the screen. “Get your own game, sailor.” She made a few more moves, then finally looked at him. Her earlier irritation had abated, sending his hope up one more notch.

  “I guess we’re no longer going to bed angry” She slapped the cover on her iPad closed, then plugged in the power cord before she set the device on the nightstand. “Do you realize this is going to be a very long night?”

  “It doesn’t have to be.” He settled his hand on her thigh and gave it a light squeeze. “I’m going to make it real easy,” he said. “I’m sorry, Mattie. I’m sorry I judged you. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you. But mostly, I’m sorry you suffered. It kills me to know that I could’ve come home and you wouldn’t have been here. It was selfish of me not to realize what you went through. And for that, I’ll do my best to spend the rest of our lives making it up to you.”

  Moisture glistened in her eyes. “Thank you.” She placed her hand over his. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, too.”

  He tangled his fingers with hers. “I do want to know what happened to you. But only if you’re ready to talk to me about it.”

  She looked at him long and hard. For a minute, he thought she’d simply accept his apology and that would be the end of the discussion. He could hardly blame her, not after his initial reaction. But she surprised him by patting the mattress next to her.

  He stood and went to his side of the bed, kicked off his shoes, then settled onto the comforter beside her. She reached for his hand and urged his arm around her shoulders, then snuggled against him. Her hair smelled like wildflowers with a hint of warm vanilla, the same warm vanilla that scented her skin.

  “You sure you want to do this?” he asked. Yes, he wanted answers, but if she wasn’t willing to share that part of her life with him quite yet, then he’d try to be patient.

  “I do,” she said, and settled her arm over his stomach as she curled into him. “If we’re really going to get over it and move on, then there are some things you should probably know.”

  He agreed, but also understood how painful the truth would be for her. “Tell me about that day,” he suggested, giving her the opening he hoped she needed.

  She drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Mom and Dad brought Phoebe and I to their place. I was a wreck and had called Mom in a panic, because I couldn’t stand being in the house on Maple Street. It was the place where ‘we’ were, you know? There were too many memories. Granted, they were great memories, but I foolishly thought if I could forget everything about us, I just might survive losing you. So I stayed with Mom and Dad, and Mom essentially took over Phoebe’s care. I’d either cry myself to sleep, would sleep for hours and hours, or I’d sit on the back porch and stare into the back yard. Griffen and Dad tried the tough love route, but I only shut down more. There was nothing anyone could do to console me, not even the sight of our daughter. I’m so ashamed to admit this, but all Phoebe was to me those first few months was an excruciating reminder of what I’d lost.”

  He shifted his position and held her tighter, wrapping both of his arms around her. He held her to him, silently offering her what strength he had to give. Inside, his own heart was breaking with each word she spoke. God help him, so long as the choice remained his, he’d never leave again. No way would he put her through that kind of pain again.

  “Phoebe was probably three months old,” she said. “Mom had left her with me because she needed to do the grocery shopping for Sunday dinner. There was some sort of celebration for Ross, a promotion or whatever. Griffen was supposed to be there with me, but she’d been held up at Antiquities and was running late, and Dad was stuck at the hospital with a patient. So there I was, sitting in the kitchen at the breakfast bar, and I spied the prescription bottle for Xanax, sitting on the window sill.”

  “Were they yours?”

  “No. They were Mom’s. I hadn’t realized it at the time, because I was so self-absorbed in my own grief and pain, but taking care of me and Phoebe was hard on Mom. The Xanax was actually for her, but she rarely took any. She was in her late fifties. She’d raised her children, and here she was, caring for a newborn and a daughter mired so deeply in her own grief, she could barely function. />
  “Anyway, there they were and without a single thought other than ending the pain, I opened the bottle and downed them with a big ass swig of water right out of the tap.”

  “Where was Phoebe?”

  “She was in the bassinette in the family room. It was frilly and frothy and pink, and she looked like a little dark-haired angel, sleeping on a pink cloud. I did check on her. I remember standing over the bassinet, thinking she looked like you, and I started sobbing and couldn’t stop. I remember the darkness swallowing me, and it was so warm, so inviting. It pulled me down. It promised me an end to the pain if only I’d let go. So I did.

  “The next thing I knew, there were strangers pawing at me, forcing me back to a place I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay in the darkness. I fought them, or at least I thought I did, but then I heard her. In the middle of all the chaos, I heard Phoebe wailing. In my muddled mind, she was calling me, begging me to stay and take care of her. And just like that,” she said with a snap of her fingers, “I knew I couldn’t leave my daughter. I couldn’t do to her what you’d done to me. She deserved better.”

  He struggled to remain silent. She didn’t need him pitching a fit, or behaving like an ass. Again. She needed him to understand, so he tried.

  “So,” she continued, “After two days spent in the ICU at Dallas Memorial, Mom and Dad convinced me to admit myself in Las Encinitas for an extended stay.”

  While Las Encinitas was a licensed facility, it was also a privately owned hospital, located on twenty acres that looked more like a high-end golf course than a psychiatric hospital. Because it was far from the limelight and exclusive, Las Encinitas was sometimes a celebrity destination for self-imposed rehab.

  “Mom and Dad kept Phoebe during the week, and on the weekends, she stayed with Griffen to give Mom a break. For the first four weeks of my stay, I saw no one and had no contact with my family. I was officially diagnosed with severe depression complicated by post-partum depression. My hormones were off the charts, which one doctor claimed was exacerbating the grief I was feeling. Low dose hormones and Prozac helped put me back in balance. Individual and group therapy helped, so did grief counseling, but the painting classes were really interesting.”