“Yeah, I’m not sure Ryan’s aware.”
“Believe me, he’s aware. You don’t have to worry about anything with that idiot. Like I’d let him cross any kind of line. He’s a colleague, that’s it.” She huffs. “I’ve got you. Why would I want anybody else?”
I roll my eyes and try to keep my voice calm and even. “I’m not worried about you cheating on me. I just hate the way that guy treats you. And I don’t like him holding you in a photograph like you’re his and not mine!”
Okay, so I’m losing the calm battle.
“Iamyours. Always and forever, remember?” Mick tries to mollify me.
All I can do is grumble, “Yeah, well, doesn’t look that way in the fucking photograph.”
She grunts, and I can feel our argument escalating. I’m doing this. I’m fueling the fire, and I need to quit it and end this call on something nice, but I’m too riled for sweet sentiments. Instead, I clench my jaw and go quiet, willing myself not to say anything dumb.
“Ethan, you’re the guy I married, okay? Don’t read into one stupid photograph like it means everything. Ryan is a douche, but for now, I work for him, and I won’t risk losing a great opportunity because you’re feeling jealous. I’m sorry this photo is pissing you off, but you have to trust me.”
“It’s not just the photo. I tried calling you after the game and?—”
“I was in the middle of a conversation and couldn’t take your call right then. Jeez, I have a life outside your hockey career, Ethan. I’m not some hockey wife who can follow you around the country, like my only goal is to live off your wealth and be a pretty face by your side when you’re leaving the arena.”
“I’m not asking?—”
“That would kill me, okay? And you knew that when you married me. I thought you wanted me to have a career of my own.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch my nose. “I do.”
“But only if I can still be at your beck and call, right?”
“No, Mick, of course not! I just…”
“You just what? What do you want from me?” Her voice is getting snappier by the second, and I can’t see things deescalating unless I wrap up this call.
I’d usually fight this out like we always do—get a little explosive and then work through it—but I don’t think there’s anything I can say right now that will get us moving forward.
So, I go for an easy out.
“Nothing,” I murmur. “I guess I just miss you.”
She sighs. “I miss you too. But you’re home on Friday, right?”
“Yeah.” I scrub a hand down my face. “I’ll see you then.”
“I love you.”
“Yeah, love you too.”
We say it, but it doesn’t really sound like we mean it—two grumpy-ass voices muttering the L-word before hanging up.
Is she still feeling as pissed off as I am?
Slumping back on the bed, I drop my phone and stare at the ceiling, a flash of worry coursing through me.
Fuck.
I feel like I’m losing my wife, and I don’t know how to stop this thing from falling apart.
CHAPTER7
ASHER
