After I dropped off my game day bag, took a piss, washed my hands, and changed into shorts and a tank top, I met Skyy in the kitchen. She had my plate ready. The grilled chicken, roasted potatoes, and strawberry and pecan salad looked good. I took a seat at the island. After saying grace, I dug into the food while Skyy filled a glass with ice and coconut water.
“Thanks,” I told her as she placed the glass beside my plate.
“You’re welcome.”
The room fell silent. Skyy squirmed.
It was probably wrong of me to purposely ice her out, to purposely make her feel uncomfortable in her own home, but I honestly felt some kind of way. I was patient forever. Proved myself time and time again. Fought for her damn trust. Finally thought I’d earned it, and she was secretly pulling it back again. All because some other couple was having problems. I didn’t have it in me to rebuild trust that I didn’t break.
The room was quiet, except for the sound of the tines of the fork periodically hitting the plate. I didn’t look up.
“Are you mad at me?” I could hear the concern in her voice.
“Are you mad at me?”
“No.” The word came out quickly. “I love you, Jay. I’m not mad at you. I don’t have a reason to be mad at you.”
I kept eating.
“I have some work to do.” She stood from the island and left the kitchen.
Later that night, Skyy finally came into our bedroom. I hadn’t seen her since our . . . encounter in the kitchen earlier. I’d taken a nap, gotten up, and eaten again. Took a shower and got back into bed. I figured she’d stayed in her office.
She walked into the bathroom. I turned up the volume on the television and continued to binge-watch my show. About twenty minutes later, she reentered the room. Her hair was piled on top of her head, in the most haphazard way. She was dressed in a sleep shirt, and she smelled like heaven. It took every ounce of self-discipline I had not to toss her little ass on the bed and make her pussy my dessert.
We beefing, I reminded myself.
“Can we talk?” She sat down on the edge of the bed.
“Yeah.” I muted the volume on the television and threw the remote onto the nightstand. Then, I gave her my attention. Again, I kept the expression on my face as blank as possible.
She looked at me, with her eyes pleading for me to give her a clue about what I was thinking or feeling. I kept my expression blank. She was too used to me rescuing her and letting her off the hook. She was going to have to thug it out this time.
“I feel like you’re making this hard for me, Jay.”
I felt that shit in my heart, because the last thing I ever wanted to do was make something hard on her. I’d spent the entirety of our friendship making things easier on her. But she was the one keeping secrets. At some point, I had to stop savingher from herself and from ways and habits that would hurt our marriage in the long run.
“I need to tell you something.”
“Speak ya mind, wife.”
She took an audible breath. “While you were at training camp, I made an appointment to get on birth control.”
“Wow.” The word slipped out without my permission. Her confession caught me completely off guard. Travis hadn’t shared that piece of information with me. All of a sudden, my head got real foggy, and my heart started to palpitate. I was confused. The blank expression on my face dropped and was replaced by a frown. “What?”
“I-I-I mean,” she started to stutter, “I didn’t get on birth control. I just went to talk to my doctor about the options.”
She was trying to play word games with me. She wouldn’t need to talk about options if she didn’t plan on making a decision about which one she wanted.
“You went to talk to your doctor about getting on birth control, but you didn’t talk to your husband?”
“Jay, I?—”
“Why?”
“I, uhm?—”
“Why?”
