He rolled over to face me. “Yep?” His tone sounded annoyed again.
“I just wanted to talk about how you’re feeling, what you’re thinking, something?”
He growled. “Cassie, can we not do this tonight, please? Can’t you just give me one f**king night to process everything before you make me spill my guts like a f**king chick?”
I fought against the tears threatening to spill over and rolled away from his glare. “But you said we could talk after.”
“Yeah? Well, I f**king lied. Just go to sleep.”
Suddenly I felt very small. I definitely wasn’t used to this Jack and I most certainly didn’t like it. He had never acted so callous when it came to talking to me before. He seemed so uncaring, so cold. My brain knew it was all a front, but my heart couldn’t take the pain. Being treated like this by Jack, of all people, hurt more than words. We were married now. Didn’t he feel differently about us? I certainly did. Or I had up until about five minutes ago.
Wiping the tears I couldn’t stop from falling, I silently made a deal with myself to give him time to process and deal with what happened tonight, but after that he needed to get his act together. I wouldn’t put up with this attitude forever, and I’d make that abundantly clear if necessary.
I woke up the following morning to the light streaming through the windows where I forgot to close the curtains the night before. It was stupid the things you forgot to do when you were otherwise occupied with situations you weren’t expecting. Sucking in a small breath, I glanced at Jack, who appeared to be sleeping peacefully on his back, his cast-covered arm resting across his bare chest.
Pushing myself up from the mattress, I walked quietly toward the bathroom to get ready for work.
“Cassie, can you close the f**king curtains?” Jack’s sharp voice cut through me.
Apparently a good night’s sleep had done nothing for his attitude. Honest to God, no matter how beautiful I thought this man was, there was no way I would deal with this craptitude for very long. He was testing my patience, and that was something I had in short supply anyway. Fighting the urge to snap back at him, call him names, or stand up for myself, I merely did as he requested before walking into the bathroom and closing the door behind me. I stared at my reflection for a good five minutes before I attempted to do a single thing to my hair or face.
He’ll get past this.
He has to.
Right?
Sucking in a long, deep breath, I closed my eyes and willed myself to be strong. With a firm nod to the only person in the room, I reached for my makeup bag and tossed the contents onto the counter before putting my face on.
When I arrived home from work that evening, Jack wasn’t there. I had completely forgotten that the Mets had one last home game before they headed out on the road for ten days. Jack didn’t mention anything about attending the game, but I knew he was required to be there. I clicked our television on just to make sure. No sooner had the picture cleared when I heard the announcer talking about Jack’s “busted hand” and his face appeared across my high-definition screen. He looked miserable.
By the time Jack got home, I could barely keep my eyes open. When I heard the front door open, I pretended to need a glass of water from the kitchen.
“How was the game?” I asked, trying to sound cheerful and supportive. Jack didn’t answer my question. He barely gave me a passing glance before moving around me and into our bedroom.
His silence stunned me.
I stood alone in the kitchen, my bare feet pressing against the cold tile flooring as I clutched at my chest. As soon as the stunned feeling arose, it disappeared. Anger replaced it and I shouted from where I stood, “You gonna pretend like you didn’t hear me?” I waited for a response before shouting again, “Are you seriously not talking to me?”
Silence.
I wasn’t sure what was worse, the silent treatment or the ass**le one. At least when he was being an ass**le, he was talking. Not that it was pleasant.
The silent treatment went on for two more days.
Two. More. Days.
When you’re living in that sort of hell, two days might as well be years. It felt like a f**king lifetime because I was so goddamned miserable. It affected everything in my life from the second my eyes opened, to the moment my mind finally allowed me to sleep at night. I was consumed by Jack’s behavior and the fact that I couldn’t get through to him.
I stared at the telephone on my desk and stopped myself from calling to check on Jack at least ten times. Part of me couldn’t handle the idea that he’d send my call to voice mail without a second thought. I glanced at my engagement ring and wedding band, suddenly nervous that what we’d just shared with our family and friends felt threatened. Certainly we’d been through tougher relationship challenges than this?
Hadn’t we?
I hated the thoughts spinning in my mind, but what if Jack’s baseball career were over? Was this how my husband was going to act from here on out, snappy and pissed off all the time? I knew I wouldn’t be able to deal with it forever, no matter how much I loved him. I wanted my husband back.
Nora interrupted my musings by calling me into her office to discuss Jack’s latest issue. “Close the door,” she demanded before I’d even finished walking through it.
With a click, the door closed and I walked to the chair facing her and sat. I laughed as she glared at me, her mouth pursed into a displeased pucker.
“Broke his hand, huh? I bet he’s a joy to live with right now.” She tapped her pen against a yellow notepad.