give her so much more than she asked for. The other part of me wants to shake some damn sense into her and beg her to come home.
Which is pretty damn impossible considering she won’t answer a single phone call. Hence why I’ve called her dad as soon as our plane landed back from a ten-day-long stretch of away games.
I figured calling in the big guns and talking to her dad would get me somewhere.
“Ben—”
“I can’t do it, Sebastian. And it kills me. Kills me seeing you two going through this hell, hiding it, not telling us what’s going on, but Maddie, she’s a mess.”
“Because she’s not with me.” My eyes burn and fuck. I can’t stand this. “If she’s in pain, it’s because she knows she’s doing wrong, here, Ben. Come on.” I don’t give two shits at how I’m begging. The quiet pain in Ben’s voice is worse. He’s torn up, torn between the two of us.
I’d feel bad about that if this wasn’t my last shot.
“Yeah, but right now, she just wants her mom and dad and as much I think what she’s doing isn’t right, I also want to do right by her and give her what she thinks she needs.”
I scan the hangar to make sure no one can hear me, but fortunately, everyone else on the team is still getting their bags.
“She’s my wife,” I grit out.
For the first time, that word seems to mean a whole hell of a lot less than it once did. We’re supposed to lean on each other during hard times. She’s supposed to let me give her strength. She’s supposed to love me, damn it. Better or worse. All of that shit. Marriages survive worse than the hand we’ve been dealt. Quite possibly, it’s talking to Ben, finally getting able to take out my anger on someone other than my punching bag in my workout room that I realize how absolutely, completely fucked up this all is.
Tears burn my eyes and piss me off even more. My wife ran back home to mom and dad instead of turning to me.
Through the phone, Ben coughs and clears his throat. “Son…”
Not really. Not anymore. I’m too pissed off, too emotional, to call him on it. None of this is Ben’s fault.
“Yeah.” I sniff away my tears and pinch the bridge of my nose before someone sees. Jason’s been giving me pretty consistent strange looks considering I’ve been in a piss poor mood off the ice and more aggressive than usual on the ice. I don’t need to hear questions I’m not prepared to answer. “Tell her I called at least, would you? Tell her I just want to talk to her.”
And that I love her. It burns, claws at my throat to say but they get stuck, lodged somewhere deep. Because damn it. I do love her. But is what she’s doing loving me? It’s so screwed up I don’t know what’s right side up anymore.
“I’ll tell her. Encourage her to call you back, but I can’t make promises. She’s in a state.”
“Yeah. Aren’t we fuckin’ all? Bye Ben. Take care.”
“You too, Sebastian.”
I end the call. I’m not sure I’ve ever sworn while talking to Ben Ritter and I don’t quite care now, either. Before I can take a second to think about what I’m doing, I pull back my arm and let loose as hard as I can.
My phone goes flying through the hangar, slams against the cement wall at the far end and falls to the floor. Damn case I have on it is so good the thing doesn’t even look broken. At least there’s that.
Saves me a trip to the store.
“George’s.”
I jump at the demand and glare at my teammate over my shoulder. “Not now, Klaus.”
“Oh, yeah, fuck now. We’re all going. Blow off steam tonight before heading home. We’ve earned this night and by the looks of that phone you just sent sailing, you need it more than most.”
“I’m good.” I go to take off, but his hand lands on my shoulder and clamps down.
“No, you’re not. And even if we all have to carry you out of here and throw you in the back of Jude’s truck, you’re coming.”
Klaus Newman and I are the same age, although he was only traded to our team a few years ago. Originally from Sweden, he’s usually a pretty quiet guy. Looks like he’s been working on his bossiness.
I keep glaring at him. There’s a fire burning so hot