Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
I sit cross-legged on our beige sectional, papers scattered across the coffee table. Bills, bills, and more bills. Red notices, final warnings, and payment plans—a paper trail of our financial disaster. My stomach knots as I add up the numbers again, hoping for a different result.
Reeves paces the living room, tossing a baseball into his glove with rhythmic smacks.
His tall frame casts a shifting shadow across our brick fireplace as he moves.
I can read the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightens with each catch.
The worn Rolling Stones t-shirt he's wearing—one I've stolen to sleep in countless times—stretches across his broad chest as he moves.
Even in his agitation, there's something sexy about watching his large hands work.
"Did you have fun with Liam?" I ask, trying to inject some normalcy into our evening.
He scoffs. "Kid's hopeless. He can't hear, and he can't catch either."
The words hit me like a sharp slap. "That's not funny, Reeves. He's trying his best."
"It was a joke, Jenna. Lighten up."
But I know better. There's an edge to his voice that has nothing to do with Liam's baseball skills. Something else is eating at him.
"What's really bothering you?" I ask, setting down my calculator.
He catches the ball one final time and holds it tight. "Greg told me Caine was all over you yesterday."
My heart skips. "He wasn't 'all over me.' He was showing me how to do a draw shot."
"I've tried to show you that shot a thousand times!" His voice rises. "But when Mr. Fancy Pants millionaire shows you, suddenly you're interested?"
"That's not fair." I gather the bills into a neat pile, buying time. "Nothing is going on between us. He was just teaching me pool."
The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. I think about Caine's breath on my neck, the electricity when his fingers brushed mine on the cue. The way his eyes locked with mine across the table. The memory alone makes my skin warm.
"I'm thinking about ending this whole thing," Reeves says, his voice tight with frustration. "Telling him to fuck off. Just walk away from whatever deal he thinks we have."
My stomach clenches at his words. Part of me wants to agree—to simplify our lives and go back to how things were. But another part, the part I'm afraid to acknowledge even to myself, feels a flutter of panic at the thought of never seeing Caine again.
"No!" I say too quickly. "We need the break, Reeves. You know we do."
"I know a guy who can lend us some cash."
"What guy?" My stomach drops like I've just missed a step on the stairs.
The familiar dread creeps in—I've been down this road before.
"One of your poker or horse betting buddies?
Because we both know how well that worked out last time.
" I wrap my arms around myself, feeling suddenly cold despite the warmth of our little living room.
Every time Reeves mentions ‘knowing a guy,’ it's never ended well for us.
The last loan put us behind on Liam's school payments for three months.
"Don't start with that." His jaw tightens. "At least I'm trying to fix this."
"By borrowing from loan sharks? That's not fixing anything!"
"And whoring yourself out to some rich asshole is better?"
I stand up, papers fluttering to the floor. "I am not whoring myself out! I'm playing pool!"
His face darkens—that look I know too well. I brace myself, and it happens so fast.
With a roar, he hurls the ball. It smashes right through my stained glass window, sending colorful shards raining down onto the window seat where I love to read.
I freeze, staring at the jagged hole where the jewel-toned glass once filtered the sunlight. Original to the house. Irreplaceable.
Reeves freezes once he realizes what he's just done. It's always like this. But this time it's worse — he broke something I really love, something I can't replace. "Jenna..." He drops to his knees beside me. "Baby, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—"
I can't look at him. Can't speak. I rise silently, step over the scattered bills, and walk out of the room.
My throat feels tight, constricted with unshed tears.
Behind me, I hear Reeves shift, maybe reaching for me, but I keep moving, one foot in front of the other, needing distance between us before I completely fall apart.
I sit in the speech therapist's waiting room, my fingers tapping an anxious rhythm on the worn armrest of a chair that's seen better days.
The room smells of old coffee. Motivational posters with faded messages about perseverance and hope cling desperately to beige walls.
A fish tank bubbles in the corner, the lone goldfish swimming endless circles – I know exactly how it feels.
Liam is busy playing quietly at the toy station — it’s not too bad as far as toy collections go.
My mind drifts to Caine again… the way he makes me feel when he looks at me.
It’s crazy how just one look can drive you insane.
I wonder what kind of man he is. Is he a narcissistic player?
Is he just entertaining himself with me?
Throwing the line to see if he can get a bite?
Does he get off on fucking with people? You never know these days what kind of people you'll meet, especially at the pool hall.
I shouldn't be thinking about him here, in this waiting room, but he slips into my thoughts as easily as breathing—unwelcome yet somehow necessary.
"Stop it," I whisper to myself.
I grab a tattered magazine from the stack on the table – anything to escape my phone and the endless notifications. The glossy cover promises "10 Ways to Embrace Life Fully.” I almost laugh. Embracing life? Is that what I'm doing with Caine? Playing a dangerous game I don't understand the rules to?
Smack in the middle of the page is a photo of a brunette drinking coffee at a quaint café, smiling blissfully at who knows what.
She's impeccably dressed. This woman obviously has her shit together.
She's definitely not in debt up to her ears.
She definitely does not have a husband who throws things around, and she definitely does not work herself crazy.
And I'm pretty sure she's not secretly pining for a man she can never have. I kind of hate her.
The words blur together as I try to focus on the article: something about taking chances and living authentically. I roll my eyes. My eyes scan the sentences, but my brain refuses to absorb them. Instead, I feel Caine leaning over me, his breath warm against my neck as he adjusts my stance.
I picture the worst possible outcome: me, falling completely under his spell.
Him, getting what he wants and walking away.
Reeves finding out and completely losing his shit.
Our family is shattered. Reeves is leaving, taking half our possessions and all of his charm, finding someone new within weeks, parading his new bimbo in front of me on a daily basis, while I'm left alone with Liam and a mountain of debt.
God, I can't even imagine. The thought makes my stomach twist into knots.
I'd be the villain in my own story — the woman who destroyed everything for a few stolen moments with a man who probably collects hearts like trophies.
And what about Liam? How could I explain to my sweet boy that Mommy broke our family because she couldn't resist a man?
A man who knows exactly how to push all her buttons.
I catch my reflection in the darkened screen of the television mounted on the wall.
God, I look terrible. My hair's thrown up in a messy bun that's more desperation than style.
My jeans have a hole forming at the knee that isn't the fashionable kind.
There's a splash of this morning's coffee on my t-shirt that I didn't have time to change.
My sneakers are frayed at the edges, the once-white now a defeated gray.
When did I stop caring? When did I become this exhausted, confused woman who can barely keep it together? I used to take pride in how I looked, how our house was kept, and how I showed up for Liam and Reeves. Now I'm just surviving day to day, moving through life like I'm wading through molasses.
Yet beneath the fatigue and worry, there's something else these days.
A flutter of excitement when I think about seeing him again.
A dangerous thrill I haven't felt in years.
It's like a pilot light that's suddenly been turned up, warming parts of me I thought had gone permanently cold.
I shouldn't feel this way. I have responsibilities, commitments, and a family that depends on me.
But God help me, I can't stop this electric current that runs through my body whenever Caine looks my way.
The receptionist calls Liam's name, and I stand, gathering my purse and the stack of medical forms I've filled out a thousand times before.
I need to be strong. For Liam. For my family. Whatever game Caine is playing, I can't play along.
I check my reflection in the small compact mirror one last time, fluffing my curled eyelashes with my fingertip. What am I doing? I never curl my eyelashes. Not for Reeves, not for anyone. Yet here I am, primping like a teenager before prom, all for a man who isn't my husband.
The door chimes, and my heart leaps into my throat.
Caine walks in, and dear God, he looks even better than last time.
The slim black leather jacket hugs his shoulders perfectly, dark jeans completing the look.
He pulls off his sunglasses as he enters, catching my eye and throwing me a wink that nearly stops my heart.
But what really catches my attention is the large gift he's carrying. It's wrapped in beautiful yellow paper with a white silk ribbon bow on top. I love surprises. Always have.
"What's that?" I ask, nodding toward the package as he approaches the bar.
"This?" He sets it on the bar top with a mysterious smile. "It's yours if you manage to win a game today."