Steele (Arizona Vengeance 9)

I spin on my heel and walk out the door, afraid to even glance back at Ella. If she were to show the slightest bit of emotion or tears, I might be tempted to call Coach and tell him I can’t make it.

But I also realize I’m doing the right thing for my team. In this one instance, I have to ask Ella to take a backseat. I can only hope at some point, she’ll realize that, too.

Regardless, I won’t let her sit on any indecision. She’ll either accept my career and the times I’ll have to be called away, with my assurances she’ll always be my first choice in all other situations, or she’ll ask me to retire.

Or she just might say we should go our separate ways.

After all, that was a reasonable choice for her six months ago.

As I get in my car and drive away, I feel sick to my stomach knowing my future is up in the air right now.

And there’s not a fucking thing I can do to control the outcome.CHAPTER 18Ella“I’m home, Mom,” Lucy yells as she bursts in the front door. I’m in the kitchen chopping vegetables for a stir-fry dinner.

Brody is lying by my feet, and his head rises with interest as he hears Lucy bounding up the stairs as she normally does upon arriving home.

Brody at my feet in the kitchen is a constant source of terror for me. I’ve tripped over him probably a dozen times this past week, and I’m terrified I’m going to hurt him.

Regardless of my fumble footing over his little furry body, he still likes to be near me when Lucy is gone.

That will change as soon as Lucy comes back down, where she’ll take him out back and romp around with him for a while.

It takes her no time at all to stow her bag in her room before she’s running back down the stairs. She comes to a sliding stop in the kitchen next to me, then plops a kiss on my cheek. “Hi, Mom. Bye, Mom.”

And with that, she grabs up Brody, who is now jumping on her legs in excitement, and heads into the backyard. The minute I hear the door close, my shoulders slump and tears well up in my eyes. I wipe them away, sick of crying.

It’s all I’ve been doing since Jim left earlier after a huge fight that feels like it left an insurmountable chasm between us. I had texted Lucy at school to inform her that something came up with the team, so Jim and I had to cancel our trip. I gave her a choice if she still wanted to stay at her friend’s house. To my surprise, she said she wanted to come home.

On one hand, I was glad, knowing her presence would make the emotional loneliness I was feeling so much better. But I was also afraid I’d break down into a sobbing mess in front of her, and that’s something I just don’t do with my child. I’m the strong one, and I don’t like her seeing me vulnerable.

I finish a batch of broccoli, scraping it from my chopping board into a large silver bowl, and start on a julienne of the carrots. My mind can’t seem to stop replaying our fight and the flush of guilt I feel every time I think about it tells me that I said some really awful things.

I hurt my husband, no doubt.

But damn it… I’m hurt, too.

And yes, realistically, I know Jim is just doing his job, but I think my expectations had been built up so high over the last few weeks that when I was finally let down—regardless of whose fault it was—I wasn’t able to take the tumble without feeling the hurt in every square inch of my heart.

The door flies open again, and Lucy comes back in. “Brody was such a good boy. Practically dropped on command to pee and poop.”

I smile, not turning to face her. I’m sure my eyes are red and my face blotchy. I smile even more when I hear her praising the puppy in a sing-songy baby talk voice rich with an affirmative tone. “Who’s the goodest boy, ever? You are—that’s who. Brody, the best pupper in the whole world.”

God, my kid is awesome, and she’s done an amazing job with Brody. She’s also so kind and caring with him, and it warms my soul that she has such a way with animals.

“Not going to be long before we have to take him back,” I remind her softly, feeling my eyes start to mist again. Not just about my fight with Jim, but in preparation for handling my daughter’s heartbreak over relinquishing Brody.

“I know,” she says glumly. “But he has a duty to fulfill. Don’t you boy?”

I still don’t dare look back, but I can imagine her on the floor, giving him belly rubs.