Tutoring the Delinquent

I can’t answer. There’s an invisible hand around my throat stopping me from taking it all back. Begging him to drive me home, despite the fact that I know it’s wrong. That letting him go is for the best, right? No way I can be what everyone expects the wife of a famous athlete to be.

“Right,” he says, the light going out of him. Like a candle being doused.

He stands up, turns, and walks straight into the ocean.

It takes me a moment to piece together what is happening. I watch dazed as he wades farther and farther into the water. First, his hips vanish beneath the inky black surface. And then his huge shoulders. Gone. Followed by his head. Several seconds pass and he doesn’t come up. What is he doing?

I don’t realize I’m crawling toward the water until my knees protest the fine sand and rocks digging into my injured skin, but I keep going. Then I push myself up onto shaky legs and start running, throwing myself into the ocean. He still hasn’t come up. It has been at least twenty seconds. The shockingly cold temperature of the water barely registers, because my insides are much colder. I’m a block of ice and chattering teeth cutting through the water, screaming his name, trying to keep my eyes on the spot where he disappeared so I can dive down.

It's a terrible time to realize I’ve been foolish. Utterly silly. I love this man and I know he loves me. These are truths beyond a shadow of a doubt. His explanation about what happened with his teammates is not only plausible, it’s likely. Teddy is possessive of me. Jealous. Protective. He would lie to his teammates to divert their newfound interest in me. And it turns out, he was sort of right to do so. Didn’t that receiver hit on me within a minute of making my acquaintance after the game?

What have I done?

I let my hurt feelings own me. I lashed out, let my insecurities win…and now?

Could he die? Could he die because of me?

Sobs wrench up and out of my throat as I flail around, searching for his solid body in the water. I take huge breaths and dive as deep as possible, unable to see anything in the jet-black ocean—

My hand knocks into something smooth and I lurch forward, running my hands over shoulders, a neck, his face. “Teddy,” I scream into the water, pulling him with all of my might toward the surface. When we reach the top, I slug down oxygen and so does Teddy—thank God—but his eyes remain dead. Like if I let go of him, he’ll sink right back down to the bottom. “Teddy, stop this,” I demand through shattering teeth. “I’m sorry I doubted you. I love you and I just want to go home. Please, I just want to go home.” He continues to stare off into the distance until I say, “I’m freezing cold. I’m so cold.”

Those words are like shock paddles to my comatose boyfriend. All at once, he seems to realize I’m in the ocean, shaking, my skin turning blue and he makes an anguished sound, tucking me against him beneath one arm and kicking toward shore. “Iris. Iris, you’re cold.”

It’s not long before he is able to touch the bottom with his feet. He crushes me into his arms, leaping over waves until we hit dry sand. And then he begins to run, his breath loud in my ears. All I can do is cling to him and issue mental prayers of gratitude that I reached him in time. I don’t think he would have ever come up. Oh God. Oh God.

The magnitude of what might have happened hits me all at once and I start crying. Loud, pitiful sobs into the crook of his neck. I cling to him tight, so he can’t go anywhere. I hurt him so much, he wanted to die. How could I do that? How?

Teddy’s steps grow uneven. “No. No crying. Please.”

His animosity toward my tears only makes me cry louder.

I hear the tinkle of metal and recognize the sound of his keys. We’ve reached his truck. Quickly, Teddy unlocks the rear cab and sets me on the seat, leaving me there long enough to start the engine at the front of the truck and crank the heat. In a flash, I’m being gathered back into his arms, his hoarse breaths bathing my forehead. He cups my cheek in a hand, tilting my face up and scrutinizing me frantically. “Be okay. Be okay. Please be okay.”

“I-I’m okay.” Not very reassuring when I can’t unclench my teeth.

He issues a broken sound. “I’m going to strip you down. Body heat will help. It has to help.” His hands are shaking violently as he peels off my sodden shirt, tearing off my bra when he can’t undo the clasp right away. Then I’m against him again, his arms wrapped tightly around my body. He rocks me, wheezing, praying, cursing. “Come on, honey. Come on.”