Chapter 10
Rhys
It’s never a good thing when your partner, who’s been distant all evening, quietly says after the kids go to bed, “We need to talk.”
We go into the bedroom. Jayne sits on the bed, her arms crossed, her face pale. Serious. The kind of serious that makes my pulse spike.
I sit in the armchair by the dresser—the one I always leave my clothes on, and she always puts them away without complaint.
“What’s going on?”
She looks at me for a long moment. Her eyes are tired, wet around the edges. That’s when dread starts to crawl up my spine.
“I came by today,” she says.
That’s not what I expected. “At Camden?”
She nods. “You forgot your bandana.”
I saw the bandana in my inbox. Thought someone had left it there after finding it on the floor. Everyone knows it’s my good-luck charm. Jayne gave it to me before my first solo surgery. I’ve worn it ever since.
“I wanted to drop it off before your first case,” she continues. “I was about to knock when I heard my name.”
Her words hit like a defibrillator shock, sharp and sudden. My stomach drops. I know where this is going.
“Jayne—”
“I heard you,” she says quietly. “I heard everything you said to Tory.”
The world stills.
I stand up, wanting to get close to her. “Jayne, I—”
She raises a hand. “Please. Sit.”
I sink back into the chair, every muscle tense.
“It wasn’t what it sounded like,” I start, weak even to my own ears.
Her mouth twitches, humorless. “You mean it wasn’t you telling another woman that your wife doesn’t appreciate you? That our home is hell? That maybe we should take time apart?”
“Jayne, baby.” I run a hand through my hair. “I was venting. I shouldn’t have said it, but I didn’t mean—”
“Did you not?”
“No. No, baby. I didn’t.”
“Are you sure about that?”
Her calm demeanor terrifies me. I almost wish she’d scream.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have said any of it. It’s been hard lately, and I—”
“You told her about us,” she cuts in. “You told her about me.”
I grip the arms of the chair, the truth of it sitting heavy in my chest.
“Tory was just…there.” Helpless, I spread my hands. “She asked, and I—“
“This isn’t about Tory,” Jayne speaks over me. “This is about you talking to her instead of me.”
There’s nothing to say to that. She’s right.
“I’ve been thinking,” she adds after a long pause. “About what you said.”
“What did I say?” I ask cautiously, like I’m threading a catheter through scar tissue. One wrong move and….
“Maybe you were right,” she says.
“Right about what?”
“I think…you’re right…. We need some time apart.”
It takes a second for the words to register. When they do, the air leaves my lungs. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Rhys—”
“No.” I stand. “No fucking way, Jayne.”
She meets my gaze. “You said it yourself.”
“I said something stupid.” My hands roll into fists. “Something I regretted the second it came out. Don’t give it value it doesn’t deserve.”
She exhales, shoulders sagging. “Do you know how often I feel like I have no value in this marriage?”
That guts me. I move to sit beside her, take her hands in mine.
“You have value.” I want her to know that my day starts with her and ends with her, even when I’m being an ass. “Always. You’re everything.”
Her chin trembles. “You think my job is useless.”
I let out a long breath, shaking my head slowly. “It’s just that my schedule’s insane, and when yours is, too, everything gets harder. That’s all.”
Even to my ears, it sounds hollow.
“Come on, baby.” I tighten my grip on her hands. “We’re worth it. Don’t you want to fight for us?”
Her gaze doesn’t waver. “I’ve been fighting, Rhys. Every day. Every minute. Just to keep this marriage standing. You’re the one who doesn’t fight. You just…leave.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
She’s right. I do leave. I say things like I’m too tired to talk about this or that. As soon as a conversation becomes hard, I check out. I don’t have the bandwidth for it.
Well, Dr. Prescott, you’re all out of oxygen and excuses now.
“I’m not saying this to hurt you.” Her expression folds in on itself, quiet and raw. “But what you said to her…it broke me. You gave her what I deserve. Your honesty.”
Tears sting my eyes. “Jayne, if I overheard you venting to Iris, would I—”
“Iris isn’t someone trying to get into my pants,” she snaps before I can finish.
“I don’t care about her or what she wants.” A chill runs up my spine at the thought that she thinks Tory and I—
“Tell me you know that.”
“I do know that.” She pulls her hands from mine. My relief at that is short-lived as she continues. “Rhys, I love you. I know you love me. But we’re both unhappy. I don’t want to keep living like this.”
“I’ll do better,” I promise urgently. “We can fix this. Therapy, whatever it takes—”
There’s a flicker of something broken in her eyes, and that silences me.
“I think we both need to clear our heads first. Figure out what we actually want. Then maybe therapy.”
I want to argue. Tell her she’s overreacting. But her face, which is resolute, stops me. She’s already made up her mind.
“So…what now?” I ask.
“I can’t think about the future,” she says, her voice reed thin. “Not tonight. I can’t do…thinking tonight.”
“Okay,” I say quietly.
“Can you…,” she hesitates, “sleep in the guest room tonight?”
I gape at her. “No. Hell no.”
“Please, Rhys. I need space. I can’t share a bed with you tonight. Not after hearing that you…hate our lives.”
“I never said that.” For all the times I shut down conversations she wanted to have, this is karma. Now I’m begging for her to talk to me, and she won’t, can’t.
The ache’s plain on her face. There’s no hiding it.
“Jayne, I was venting.” I’m desperate for her to understand. “People do that. It wasn’t about wanting out—it was about needing to breathe.”
Her eyes soften just a fraction. “I know. And my asking you to sleep in another bed tonight is me needing to breathe.”
How am I supposed to argue that?
I offer a small nod. “Okay.” Then I grab her hands again. “But only for one night, Jayne. Then we talk.”
She gives me a long, deliberate look. “Okay.”
I kiss her forehead. She lets me. It’s grace.
I head for the door. I pause, hand on the handle.
“I’ll do better,” I tell her again.
Her reply is barely a whisper. “Me, too.”
Downstairs, the house is dark and still. I pour a glass of water, but my hands are shaking too much to drink it.
She’s upstairs, probably crying. And I’m down here, pacing my own damn house like a stranger.
I didn’t cheat. I didn’t lie. I just…talked. Vomited bullshit. Like people do when they’re drowning.
But maybe that’s the problem. We’ve both been drowning, and instead of reaching for each other, we started thrashing in opposite directions.
I walk into the guest room and sit on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing.
Tomorrow, I’ll fix it. I’ll find a way to make her see this isn’t the end.
It can’t be.
Because I’m Rhys Prescott—the man who can bring a heart back from the edge.
And I’ll be damned if I can’t do the same for the love of my life.