Then it comes rushing back like a dream in slow motion. She has a gig.She reminded me. And I forgot.
I stare at the paper. The air’s too still, like I just stepped off a plane at a high altitude. My jaw’s tight, and my stomach drops into my loafers. Nausea hits, and it’s not from the alcohol or sun poisoning.
Nope.It’s the fact that I fucked up.
She can’t dump me.It’s not because of my ego. It’s because she’s my wife, and I made a mistake. A terrible mistake. I have to make this right with her. She trusted me, and I fucked up.
I run a hand through my hair, thinking. Then, I strip off my salt-stained shirt as I storm to the shower. I use cold water, as I don’t want to wait for it to warm up. I scrub fast, and fifteen minutes later, I’m on my way to the hangar.
I’ve got a jet to catch, and when I reach her, I’ll be groveling for the opportunity to make it up to her.
The second the wheels touch down in Georgia, I’m already unbuckling the lap belt. The jet rolls to a stop, and I’m out of my seat, pacing the aisle like I can outrun the guilt pounding in my chest.
I jog down the steps and hit the tarmac, phone in hand, scrolling through texts, nothing. I curse under my breath and dig into my inbox, searching for every update I ignored this week. There it is.
An itinerary Kate sent me days ago. Subject line:Kate’s Connecticut Schedule – UPDATED.
My stomach turns as I scan the dates, the times, and the venue. She’s there. Right now. And I’m thirty minutes late because I was playing fisherman of the year with Lord Stanley and a cooler full of cold beer.
I climb into the car service’s vehicle. The driver is quiet, superseded only by the silence of guilt pressing down on me. I press my head against the window.
Please still be there.
Please let me fix this before she decides she’s done pretending.
Because I’m falling for my wife.
23
FINN
EMPTY NET
Empty Net:An empty net happens when a team pulls its goalie late in the game, leaving the net wide open in a desperate attempt to score. It’srisky. It’svulnerable. Perhaps I am, too.
I’m finally arriving at Kate’s concert. Due to our conflicting schedules, Kate always has a backstage pass for me. I text the person in charge, and security ushers me into her show. I follow a man in uniform down corridors, and I’m relegated to an area behind the stage, but I see her.
I’m mesmerized. She’s confident, entirely in her element, and when she belts out that final line—the one that always hits me right in the chest—I can’t look away. “Every road leads back to you.”
She thanks the audience and takes a bow. She exits the stage, and the set changes. By the time I make my way around to her, she’s standing near the back wall, half in shadow, a bottle of water in her hand, and her head is tilted down like she is trying to regain her breath.
Her slinky dress shimmers under the stage lights, and her makeup is smudged. She takes a breath and lets her brunette hair fall off her shoulders, allowing the cooler air to hit her neck. Her hair is now a wild mess of sweat and defiance.
But to me? She is a goddamn vision. And when she glances up and sees me, she is at a loss for words. Neither of us speaks right away.
When I step closer, she doesn’t move. She doesn’t run, but her face is hard. Shelookedat me like she wasn’t sure if I were real or just another thing she’d have to bury later.
“You came,” she said, her voice hoarse from the set.
I nod. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of emotion she couldn’t quite hide. “That wasn’t exactly the best love song out there.”
“No,” I said, stepping into her space. “But it wasyou. And you’re amazing.” I step closer to her. “I’m sorry I forgot your concert. I came as fast as I could.”
She looks away like she’s going to blow me off. I don’t know what I’ll do if she does. I guess I’ll deal with it and work my way back somehow.
“You looked like you were born up there,” I mumble. “And I’ve never wanted someone more.”
