The Good Wife (33 page)

Now it was morning and he’d come downstairs, and entered the kitchen.

Sarah asked if he wanted coffee. But instead of answering, he walked past her and poured a cup for himself.

“Don’t ignore me,” she said, more sharply than she intended.

He just looked at her as he reached into the refrigerator for cream.

“I don’t know why you’re mad at me,” she said, watching him add cream and sugar to his coffee.

One of his brows lifted. “You don’t?” he drawled sarcastically.

She swallowed hard. He was still angry. Well, fine. She was still angry. They could both be angry, then. But he really had no right. He was the one who’d messed things up by having the affair. He was the one who sent that lady all those goddamn messages about how much he wanted her—

“I’m not cheating on you, Sarah,” he said, setting his spoon down hard. “I told you I’d learned my lesson—”

“But how do I know that?”

“Because I’m telling you, Sarah. I’m telling you to trust me.”

“And if I can’t?”

“Then we’re not going to make it. We’re just not.”

“Why not?”

He gestured, the sweep of his hand moving back and forth between them. “This,” he said, gesturing again, “isn’t working. This, isn’t good.”

“I’m having a hard time with your career right now.”

“Why? What have I done?”

“It’s what you did.”

“Three years ago?”

“Yes.”

“Sarah, I can’t undo the past, and I’m sorry for what I did, but you have to believe me when I say there’s no other woman in my life but you. You are my girl. You’re it.”

Her eyes searched his, wanting to believe him, needing to believe him, but there was a brittle part of her and it had broken off inside and was rattling and humming really loud. “I want to believe you,” she whispered.

“Then do.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

He opened his mouth to say something else, then closed it, shook his head, looking away. Sarah studied his profile, seeing all the beautiful lines had gone hard and tight. Closed.

She was pushing him away.

She knew it, felt it, and yet felt helpless to stop it when she couldn’t feel anything but anger and despair.

He’d loved someone besides her.

He’d made love to that woman, touching her body, exploring it, pleasuring it, the way he’d pleasured hers.

How could he do it? Their love had been sacred. Their love had been beautiful. Their relationship had been special . . .

“I don’t understand how you could be with that woman,” Sarah whispered. “I don’t understand how you could tell her those things, and text her those things, and then come home to me.”

Boone’s jaw jutted. His shoulders shifted. “I was stupid and wrong.”

“It still hurts, Boone.”

“I’m sorry.”

She looked at him sideways, wondering if he meant it. “It kills me that you’d do things with her . . . that you’d do with me.”

“I love you. I never loved her.”

“But the idea of you with her—”

“Stop going there. Stop thinking about it. You’re torturing yourself. Torturing me. I’m not proud of what I did and I hate that I hurt you, Sarah. I hate that I’ve caused you so much pain, but you have to help us get through this, too. You have to help us move forward. You have to forgive me and move on.”

“And if I can’t?”

“Then maybe we stop trying to make this work. Maybe face the fact that we’re not going to survive this, and then we move on.”

Separately
.

He hadn’t said that last word, but it hung there between them, unspoken.

Sarah swallowed hard, suppressing the lump in her throat. “Would you like me to make you something for breakfast?”

He shook his head. “Not hungry. Just want coffee now.”

She walked out, heading for the stairs, to go make the kids’ beds and tidy their rooms.

In her next life she was coming back as a man, with a big dick, too.

* * *

A
n hour later, Sarah rapped lightly on the master-bathroom door and then opened it. Boone was naked, save for the towel wrapped around his lean hips, and leaning toward the mirror, shaving. He almost always shaved before games.

“Leaving soon?” she asked.

He nodded, drawing the blade down his cheek and over his jaw in a clean, smooth stroke. “Meeting up with some of the guys from the Rays for breakfast.”

She watched him shave another section. “Will Jeff be there?”

“Probably.”

Sarah crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t like him.”

Boone tapped the razor in the sink before moving to the next section. “He’s never done anything to you.”

“You watch your friends’ backs. Why can’t I watch mine?”

“I don’t want to fight with you right now.”

“You want to fight later instead?”

His gaze met hers in the mirror and held. “I don’t want to fight at all.”

Sarah bit her lip, struggling to contain her anger. She kept thinking about what a man’s world it was. At least Boone’s world was. She despised it. And him.

Because he didn’t have to take Jeff’s side. He could have taken Alyssa’s. He should have taken Alyssa’s.

“She was going to come here for this series,” Sarah said, chin lifting. “We’d planned for her and the boys to be here.”

“You discussed it, back in June, before you moved,” Boone retorted, rinsing his razor, “but you never discussed it since. It was just talk.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do.” His gaze met hers again, and she saw the anger in his eyes. He’d been hiding it earlier, but it was there now. He was still pissed off with her. “And I’m not going to discuss Jeff and Alyssa’s marriage anymore. I’m sorry they’re having problems. Marriage isn’t easy. Now I’ve got to finish shaving, so if you’ll excuse me . . . ?”

Sarah didn’t budge. She wasn’t going anywhere. She wasn’t about to be dismissed like a naughty child. “You can’t shave with me standing here?”

“I can’t shave and argue.”

“So let’s not argue.”

“Great. Let’s not argue.”

She watched as he drew the razor down in another long stroke before running the blade up the other direction, beneath his jaw, making sure the right side of his face was smooth.

He didn’t even glance at her as he finished shaving the left side. Nor did he glance at her as he took a hand towel and wiped off the last foamy bit of shaving cream.

“Can you put the kids and me on tonight’s pass list?” she blurted, not even sure why she asked since she hadn’t even thought about attending the game until this very moment.

Boone dropped the towel into the hamper and faced her, expression incredulous. “You’re not going to the game tonight.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not a good idea.”

“Why?”

“It’s where I work, and I don’t need you making a scene.”

Sarah’s hand clenched. She could have smacked him just then. “Why would I make a scene?”

“Because it’s what you do.”

“What?”

“I know you’re going through my things, checking up on me. Digging through my pockets, reading my e-mail—”

“I don’t read your e-mail!”

“You do, too.”

“I don’t. How could I? I don’t even know your password.”

“But if you did, you’d be snooping there.”

“Probably,” she flashed, defensive and pissed. “And yes, I check up on you. Why shouldn’t I? You didn’t even tell me about Jeff and Alyssa and you knew. You knew how much I liked her and yet you never once said anything—”

“What was I supposed to say? Make an announcement that your friend’s husband was screwing around on her?”

“Yes!”

“And what would you have done?”

“Told her! Protected her. She deserved to know, Boone.”

“But it’s none of your business.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Friends look out for friends.”

“Exactly!” He was in her space, in her face now. “Jeff wasn’t just a friend of mine, he was a teammate. We worked together, and we’re paid to win.”

“So?”

“So creating controversy isn’t part of my job description. Creating controversy creates conflict that hurts the whole team. And I’d be one hell of a selfish player if I didn’t try to protect my team.”

“I think it’s selfish not being honest.”

“I do not—repeat do not—condone Jeff’s behavior.”

“So why didn’t you tell me?”

“That he was cheating on Alyssa?”

Sarah nodded.

“Because, Sarah, I knew you’d react like this, and it’s not good for either of us. It’s not healthy. And I love you. So I try to protect you the same way I try to protect my team.”

“By glossing over the truth.”

“By minding my own business and focusing on what’s important to me—which is you. And our family. And keeping our family intact.”

* * *

W
hen Boone returned from the park that night, Sarah was in bed. She’d tried reading but couldn’t concentrate on the words and ended up putting the book away before Boone entered the room.

“Sorry about earlier,” he said gruffly, seeing that she was still awake with the light on.

“I hate that we’re fighting so much,” she said.

“Me, too.” He peeled off his shirt, dropped it on the chair in the corner, and stepped out of his pants, leaving him in his snug athletic boxers. He was such a beautiful man, and a genuinely kind man. She knew that. She knew he didn’t mean to hurt her. But it had happened and she was beginning to realize it would never get better.

She might not be able to forgive him. She might not be able to let them move on . . . together. Which meant they’d have to move on apart.

“You okay?” he asked, standing there, gazing down at her, expression troubled.

Her eyes stung, gritty.

No, she wasn’t okay. She was far from okay. But there wasn’t anything either of them could do about it.

He wanted her to be happy. She couldn’t be happy. She didn’t trust him. And the inability to trust him was pure poison.

Their relationship had become toxic. She had no idea how to stop this . . . fix this . . .

Was it time to get help?

Time to go to counseling . . . see a therapist?

Did she need something for her anxiety and depression?

What would make her okay? What would make everything okay?

“I don’t know,” Sarah answered.

How strange that you could love someone so much that it made you . . . hate . . . them.

Or yourself, for allowing yourself to care so much in the first place.

“What’s going on?” he asked, sitting down next to her on the side of the bed.

She shook her head once, tired, conflicted. Confused. And really tired of feeing conflicted and confused. “I don’t like myself,” she whispered.

“I don’t—” Boone broke off, frowned. “What does that mean?”

There was so much tension in her. The pressure felt unbearable. “I think I’m going crazy.”

“You’re not.” He reached down, stroked her shoulder and then her back. “You’re tired and stressed. We’ve had all these changes, and then this last year with your mom . . . that was really, really hard.”

She nodded halfheartedly. She
was
tired and stressed. And there had been changes, too many changes. She was good at weathering storms, but there had just been too many lately.

“It’s just temporary,” he added, now smoothing the hair from her face. His thumb followed the line of her cheekbone, up toward her brow. “It’ll pass. You’ll get your mojo back.”

Her mojo. If ever an expression owed its roots to sports, there it was.

Sarah wanted to smile, but her eyes were burning and tears were forming. “You’re right. Everything is fine. Everything will be fine.” She said the words, wishing that by saying them, she could make them true.

His thumb followed her brow bone. “Maybe you need to go on vacation . . . do something for yourself. Have a girls’ weekend, perhaps. You’ve certainly earned it.”

“Trying to get rid of me?” she asked, attempting to laugh but failing, her voice breaking.

“No. Never. Why would I want to do that? You’re my best friend, my wife, and the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

“But we’re fighting constantly.”

“We’re fighting a lot,” he agreed.

“You don’t like fighting.”

“I don’t. I’m not good with negativity. Never have been. I work hard to stay positive and focused.”

“It’s my fault that we’re having so many problems, isn’t it?”

Boone chose his words carefully. “You seem tired. But I’m not surprised; you’ve had a lot to deal with these past couple of months, and most of the pressure of the move has fallen on you, right when you’ve lost your mom. I’m sorry about that. The timing sucks.”

She struggled to smile. “I just want you happy.”

“I am.”

“I just want you happy with your career, and your kids—” She drew a breath. “And me.”

His gaze met hers, held. “Don’t I seem happy?”

She searched his eyes, trying to see shadows in them, secrets. Trying to see if he was honest. True.

The fact that she had to search his eyes terrified her. She should know these things. She should have confidence in him, in them. She should feel safe.

But she didn’t.

And so she constantly monitored her marriage, patrolling the perimeter of her yard like a high-strung dog.

“Yes,” she lied, hoping to protect him, just as he wanted to protect her.

He turned out the lights, and in bed, he reached for her and they started to make love. But Sarah felt numb as he touched her. Normally she could relax into it, but the panic was there, and the pain and fear . . .

She wasn’t young and fun anymore. Didn’t laugh as much. Didn’t tease and giggle. Didn’t bat her eyes and work to make Boone feel like a million bucks.

“Not into it, baby?” Boone asked, kissing the side of her neck, feeling her detachment.

No, she wasn’t into it, but she also didn’t want to shut him down or reject him in any way. If he thought she wasn’t willing, if he thought she wasn’t into him, then he really might feel entitled to look for satisfaction some other place.

“Let’s change position,” she whispered. “Change it up a little.”

He braced his weight on either side of her head, and his teeth scraped along her neck. “What do you want?”