The Sweetest Game (The Perfect Game 3)

“Yeah, it’s pretty awful,” I admitted.

“You let me know when you want me there, and I’m there. ”

I breathed out in relief. “Thank God. I’ll take care of all the details. Just e-mail me your schedule and I’ll do my best to book around it. ”

“Ryan and Marc will let me take off whatever time I need. Book whatever and I’ll be there. ”

“Thank you so much, Dean. I’ll see you soon. ” I ended the call, then got up and opened the bedroom door and walked out into the darkening house.

When I switched on the kitchen light, I heard, “Finally come out to get me that beer?” Jack’s voice broke into the room, cutting the sliver of hope that was weaving its way within me clean through.

I bit my tongue so hard it almost bled. I wanted to be the bigger person, but he made it really damned hard.

At my silence, he called out, “Who knew it was that hard to get your broken husband a beer?” He was relentless.

“For Pete’s sake, Jack, you’re not broken. It’s not like you can’t get up and get it yourself. ” I leaned on the kitchen table and breathed deeply, willing myself to stay calm.

“I am broken!” he shouted, his eyes turning around to meet mine, the fire in them blazing. “You think I don’t know what you think of me?”

What?

I stood in the small space between our room and the kitchen, stunned at his outburst. I honestly had no idea what Jack was talking about, and wasn’t sure how to respond without this turning even uglier than it had already been.

His gorgeous face twisted into a sneer. “See? You can’t even admit it! At least say it to my face. ”

“Jack,” I said carefully. “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about. ” I shifted my weight uncom

fortably from one foot to the other.

“Don’t lie to me, Cassie. The least you can do is not lie to me. ” His voice took on a desperate quality and it caused my heart to ache for him, the pain so real I was certain it could be seen on an EKG.

Turning to face Jack where he still sat on the couch, I let out a sigh and my shoulders slumped. “I’m not lying to you, Jack. I love you. ” I longed to cross the space between us and close it, wrap my arms around him and reassure him that it would all be okay, but I was too scared. I couldn’t make him that kind of promise and we both knew it.

Emotions flitted across his face—yearning, distrust, then his expression settled into an angry mask. “But it’s not enough to love me when I’m broken like this, right? You love a baseball player, not just a man. And I’m not a baseball player anymore. I’m worthless on the field and I’m worthless at home. I know that’s what you think. And I don’t blame you, but at least admit it. ”

My heart twisted as I looked at the torment evident on his face. I wanted so desperately to lock that pain and insecurity in a box, and then burn that box to ash and dust so he’d never feel this way again. Seeing my confident husband reduced to this shell of a man crushed me.

I stepped toward him and he snapped, “Don’t! Don’t come over here and look at me with pity in your eyes. Don’t pity me, Cassie! I don’t deserve your pity. And I don’t want it. Just leave me the fuck alone. ”

“That’s enough!” I cried out with a sob. “I can’t do this anymore!” Clutching one hand to my mouth, I broke down, tears of frustration falling without warning.

Jack narrowed his eyes and spit out, “I knew it! I knew you were weak. ”

His voice burned me like venom from a snake bite, and I steadied my shaking body against the counter.

He doesn’t mean it.

He doesn’t mean it.

He doesn’t mean it.

It was easy for your head to know the truth, but try telling that to your heart when it was too busy shattering to hear.

Trembling, whether from heartbreak or anger, I wasn’t sure, I swiped at my wet cheeks and said, “I just meant that I can’t deal with your attitude anymore. Dean is coming out here, so you’d better get your act together. ”

I’d wondered how I was going to tell Jack that Dean was coming out. Thankfully, he’d just given me the perfect opportunity.

“What the hell do you mean, Dean is coming out here? When did you two plan this little bullshit charade?” he demanded, slamming his unopened beer down on our coffee table.