Chapter 23
Gabe
JOSS
Do you need a Cohen Special on the way home?
I don’t understand it at first, but then I glance over and see that despite this being our worst loss of the season so far, Drew Cohen’s got an absent grin on his face. I remember what Joss told me Mel does to make him feel better after losses.
Joss just offered to give me a blow job on the drive home tonight. Not going to happen, because I’ll be stressing way too much to enjoy it, but that means she’s feeling okay. I can’t see her from the field anymore, not in the new seats she’s in, and Cora’s out of town, so I got tickets for Rose and Iris. I’m sure they had a blast, but they aren’t quite Cora. This gives me some breathing room.
We’ve got an away game for Thanksgiving next week and then another home game before we’re both going to Minnesota for the game there and my family’s holiday party. By the time we’re back, Tilly will be in town and able to go to the games. I wish there was someone younger and more able-bodied to hang out with Joss during the first December game, but Joss keeps reminding me that I stress too much.
I stress about whether my truck with its extended cab is good for a baby or if I need to trade it in for an SUV. I stress that Joss wasn’t taking folic acid before she got pregnant. I stress over whether she’ll like the engagement ring I’m picking out. I stress she’s going to miscarry. I stress about my fears and greed and stupid lies hurting her all over again.
I stress about the ghost of Brian Edgars haunting her to this day and how little control I have over that.
But I do have a little control.
I glance over my shoulder.
Evan’s staring right at me.
I quickly look away, only to remember he’s literally the guy I was going to talk to. I look at him again, and he shoots me an uncomfortable smile.
“Joss is pregnant,” I tell him.
We’re in this great big locker room, and yeah, everyone’s shuffling in and out of clothes, slamming their doors, talking to each other. The showers are running full blast around the corner from us. But Evan and I are a couple yards away from each other, and I just kind of blurted that out.
To the entire team.
The room goes still. Plenty of the guys around me are married with kids. Or divorced with kids. Or never married with kids with three different women and child support so high that he didn’t have a choice but to move into what Joss described, accurately enough, as a frat house. Pregnancy announcements aren’t all that unusual, unless they are. Unless there’s a reason to think this might not be a happy announcement.
Everyone turns to me, assessing me with scrutinizing eyes.
And then on one side of me, Blaise slaps my shoulder and says, “You have been banging her, rock on!” while Merrick rolls his eyes with, “There are condoms everywhere in the house.”
I shove them both off with a laugh that gets the team moving again, several guys giving me congratulations and praising Joss, plenty grabbing their phones to fire off texts to make sure no one else has a bun in their partner’s oven. This is the sort of thing that spreads like wildfire with the WAGs. Morales and Allore both had babies last season, Huang’s newborn is absolutely the chunkiest of monkeys and made his debut at Monday night team dinner last week, now I’ve got one on the way? Men are scared.
Once everything quiets back down, I look back to Allore. He’s the first to take a step forward, but I meet him in the middle.
“Congratulations,” he says after a beat, nodding to himself like he’s satisfied with how it felt saying that. “You deserve it, man. You’re great with kids.”
“I don’t deserve it.” I shake my head to clear the thoughts that come with that. I didn’t earn anything; I lied and manipulated and got so fucking lucky that it worked. I could never admit to Evan what I did, so I clarify with, “I don’t deserve Joss. She’s amazing. Amazing.”
Evan frowns and glances around the room nervously. “Look, I don’t know her. What her husband did—”
“Her husband. Not her.”
Evan holds his hands up for peace. “I know. If she had left Wilmington, I’m sure that she’d be the most popular person wherever she landed—”
“She couldn’t.” Whether it was because she’d lost everything else and couldn’t sell the house or if she couldn’t let go of that nursery, it’s all the same.
“I know. I’m trying to tell you I’m glad you two found each other. I’m sure she’s a real nice lady because you wouldn’t be with her otherwise, so I’m glad she has you to protect her.”
“She’s not allowed to sit with the other wives.”
“Aw, man.” Evan scratches his head helplessly, fluffing up his red-tipped mohawk. We all thought he’d grow out of that after joining the NFL and having a kid, but he just changed the color from Wilm State navy to Jugs red. “I didn’t ask for that. I know Keira didn’t either.” But the way his face reddens to a shade closer to his hair makes me think they had a hand in it.
I’ve been catching on to the fact that Joss hides stuff from me. I get it, she’s her own person and has dealt with so much on her own already. But I’m going to need to talk with her about transparency. It’s not just us now; it’s a baby, too. And not that she wasn’t more justified in keeping stuff from me before, but now I’ve got the best reason ever for why I need to know these things.
So now I’m wondering what Keira has done. I believe Evan that neither of them asked for Joss to get kicked out of the section, but I’ve got three sisters. I’ve seen Mean Girls. I know how skilled women can be at manipulating situations to ostracize others.
But I’m not going to make accusations.
“I know you didn’t. This came from upstairs. Joss is bad PR. But she’s all alone right now, and her friends travel a lot. She had to bring two grannies with her today. And obviously I’m not going to expect Keira to be friends with her, but I need Keira to not be driving the other wives away from her, okay?”
There’s no way for me to say this without it being an attack on Keira. Keira’s a mama bear. She’s telling the other wives because she thinks she’s protecting them.
I don’t care.
I push harder. “I can’t watch her every second of the day, and I’m scared. You get that, yeah? You get that I need to protect her. She’s carrying my child, and I need her here so I can protect her. But I can’t protect her if I can’t see her, and I can’t go against Coach, so I need everyone else watching out for her, just checking in. And that’s not going to happen if everyone thinks they’re picking a side simply by walking down a couple sections and saying a couple of nice words to my girl.”
Evan sighs. He swallows a lump in his throat, thinks on it a moment longer, and nods. “I’ll talk to Keira.”
December rolls in with a frigid snap that leaves the morning lawn frosted in white. I pour myself a cup of coffee from the coffeemaker I upgraded Joss to after her obstetrician assured us she could continue to have her morning and late-morning coffee. Joss is still asleep, but I set up the espresso pod and pour milk into the little pitcher for her to make her cappuccino when she wakes up.
I yawn and stretch as I stare out her kitchen window at her crystallized back lawn, glittering in the scant dawn sunlight. It seems darker than it should be, but that’s December.
I frown, though, when I realize that it is darker than it should be. Across the lawn, the barn is dark in a way I can’t immediately put my finger on. I can barely read the words painted on the window inviting people to come on in, words I’ve stared at in the dark on so many nights.
It must be reflective paint, but there’s no light for the paint to reflect. There should be, even in the middle of the night. Joss has a soft light over that window. The bulb must have blown.
I know Joss has no plans on going downstairs until at least midday. She’s changed her schedule to make sure we have Tuesdays off together, and the first trimester is kicking her butt. She assures me that by the New Year, she should be vomiting way less and back to full energy, but in the meantime, she doesn’t argue over the chores I’ve quietly taken over for her.
I wedge my feet into the pair of boots I have stashed in the closet at the top of the stairs, warily eying the lack of door there for the millionth time. I throw on my hoodie, grab a box of lightbulbs, and shuffle down the stairs.
Harsh winds hit me as I step outside. The buildings make a wind tunnel. This place needs so many renovations — like that missing door — to make it what I’d consider baby safe that I wonder if it’s worth it when there are perfectly good houses nearby we could buy. But the more I think about it, the more I know deep down in my gut that Joss is going to want to stay here. She’s a phoenix; this is the site of her demise, but it’s also the site of her resurrection.
Around the corner from the current entrance to the house is the footprint of a demolished deck, the rectangle of out-of-place wall marking where an exterior door once was on Joss’s apartment. We could rebuild the deck and add that door back in, make safer stairs or even a ramp. A little cubby for the raccoon to nest in since Joss promises me it’s had a rabies vaccine.
I flip the collar up on my flannel and pause there next to her house, sending a quick text over to Merrick telling him he needs to come help me clean up the mums that are going to wilt now that winter’s hit. He’ll piss and moan and refuse, but he’ll make everyone else come over, and then he’ll get lonely and show up an hour later.
I nudge at the mum next to me with the toe of my boot, shaking the surprisingly heavy frost off it, except a bit of it shatters loudly when it hits the concrete path. It’s not frost at all.
I glance back at the house, at the light fixture next to the door. It’s been smashed.
It’s outdoors and not well protected; a bird could have flown up into it and accidentally shattered it. A lot of people pass by here with tools of the quilting trade stuffed in bags, and some of that stuff is big and unwieldy. It wouldn’t surprise me if a particularly clumsy customer accidentally shattered it. With the wind tunnel, it wouldn’t even be so outlandish for some bit of debris to get kicked up and hit it just right.
But this isn’t the only light that’s out.
I jog down the path to the barn and find another pile of glass beneath the light fixture. Around to the front of the shop, the two lights next to the front door and even the lamppost in the lawn have all been shattered. The worst damage is that post, the entire fixture having been knocked off.
Light is security. Criminals knock lightbulbs out before they commit far worse crimes, sometimes well in advance so it’s not so obvious. This could be the preamble to a big problem, one I might not be around for. I can’t take her with me on trips, not other than the upcoming Minnesota game because of the special clearance I got for it since we’re staying in town, so I won’t be able to protect her.
Just like that, my heart’s pounding again. I’ll stay here every night I can. Start those renovations, finally replace her bed so we’re not sleeping on the floor on that tiny mattress anymore. When I’m not here, she’ll have sleepovers with Tilly. She could stay at my place, but no one will be there, and I’d rather she have someone with her.
I’m rounding the corner of the house to head over to the shed to get a thick pair of gloves and some pliers when I hear, “Gabe? Are you out here?”
“Don’t come out!” I yell, hustling to stop her, but by the time I reach her, she’s already stepped outside, right into that glass.
She yelps and hops back on one foot. She’s got slippers on, but I know they don’t have anything except a bunch of padding and some rubber anti-slip nubs on them. I’m on her in two seconds, carefully scooping her up even with the box of bulbs in my one hand, flipping her over my shoulder to navigate the narrow, awful stairwell.
“Was that glass?” she asks, her voice watery. The way she’s leaned over me with her knees bent, I can see the bottom of her slippers, dusty from picking up the usual detritus off the floor. Blood is already blooming around the large sliver of glass skewering it.
“Lightbulb. Someone’s smashed all your lightbulbs. Let’s get you bandaged up and call the cops. Get a report filed.”
Joss’s huff isn’t one of fear so much as irritation. Maybe even resignation. “We don’t need to do that.”
I set her down on that platform that’s where a dining room table should be. More work to be done if we’re going to have a baby here. “We absolutely do. You’ve got tens of thousands of dollars of merchandise.”
She sighs and leans forward, attempting to take hold of her slipper. “They didn’t take anything, right? The store wasn’t broken into or anything?”
I slap her hand away more firmly than I should, but she’s going to end up doing more damage and seriously hurting herself. It’s in her heel, so she’s probably not feeling too much right now, but she’s about to slice her foot open. “No, but that’s—”
“It’s a prank, then.”
I grip the sole of her slipper on either side of the glass and give it a sharp tug to split it wide open.
“Gabe!” she gasps in irritation.
Not apologizing for that, either. I’m angry she’s acting so calmly about this. “It’s not a prank. This is what home invaders do when they have actual marks. Whoever did this wants to hurt you.”
“They don’t!” She’s the one slapping now, knocking my arm back and pulling her foot in, lifting herself up on the other foot.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“Oh my god, I’m just getting tweezers,” she huffs. “So you don’t cut yourself, too. And trust me, they’re not going to break in. They never break in.”
“What do you mean by that?” I keep my voice low, as passive as I can, knowing that I’m going to lose my temper in about half a second if I’m not careful. I let her hop down the hall to the bathroom, but I wrap an arm around her rib cage.
She gives in enough to lean into me until we can get her butt onto the closed toilet lid and I can dig out the first aid kit. “It means . . . this happens sometimes.”
I clench my fist and release it a few times, carefully take hold of that first aid kit. “What exactly happens sometimes?”
“Just stuff. Vandalism. They’ll knock down my mailbox or throw garbage in the lawn, mess with my plants.”
I select the tweezers from the kit, find a disinfecting wipe and some antibacterial ointment. I breathe. I clutch the edge of the counter and breathe again. I think about her replacement mums.
I sit down on the edge of the tub and take her foot, waiting to say anything until I’ve already got the glass pinched in the tweezers. I know I won’t do anything to hurt Joss, so I’ll be steady with this. “How often does this happen?”
Joss’s toes curl minutely, tensing up. She makes a humming sound she tries to pass off as casual. “Sometimes,” she says lamely.
Sometimes. Hell. “When did it happen last?” Her immediate silence has me adding, “And I noticed when you redid the mums, so please don’t say you don’t remember when.”
She’s still silent. I ease the shard out from her foot, pressing a wad of cotton against it to staunch the bleeding, but it only trickles. Not too big, not too deep. She won’t need stitches. She’ll just need to be careful going up and down the stairs.
Which means she’s moving in with me for the next week.
I glance back up then, and she’s chewing up her bottom lip. I’ll be absolutely shocked if she doesn’t break skin. “How often, Joss?” I ask more gently.
“Last week was the trash. There have been a couple incidents, but it started in September. It happened a lot the first couple years after Brian and then again when I opened the shop. And now . . .”
“Because of me.”
She attempts half a smile, her eyes damp but hopeful, filled with love. She loves me. I love her. That’s the most important thing. I need to figure out how to stop this for my own sanity, but that’s the most important thing. “It’s worth it, though.”
I get her foot situated in my hand so that when I lean forward, I don’t hurt her. Her soft blonde hair is loose, falling in gentle waves, the ponytail bump prominent. Fatigue from the pregnancy has made her forget to put her hair up first thing in the morning, and I love it that right now, I can dig my fingers into the warm, silky strands and kiss her as gently as possible, lingering there, savoring the moment, knowing that I will protect her.