Three & Out

by Laura Chapman

A FEW HOURS INTO THE party, everything is carrying on well. People are working their way through the food and drinks at a steady pace, and while we’re at capacity, the apartment feels pleasantly full instead of overwhelming. Even the playlist J.J. put together is setting the right ambience—and he resisted the urge to set up flip cup or beer pong in our dining room, which means we probably aren’t destined for a noise complaint or any passed out guests sleeping it off on our floor overnight.

  True to his promise, he’s sticking with water and Gatorade. Maybe we’ll be able to get through the next few weeks with his supposed secret intact.

  Every time I catch the joy on Brook’s face, all of the work last night and today seems worth it. I only wish I would have found a way to get his family and some of the other guys here to celebrate. I’ll have to get my act together better for his fortieth birthday. That’s ten years away—plenty of time to plan. By then, we’ll probably have to hire a babysitter of our own and have more space to accommodate our growing group. That thought is a little too overwhelming.

  Suddenly in need of fresh air, I use the overflowing recycling bin as an excuse to step outside. As an added perk, I’ll appear like a perfect hostess to our guests, so score for me.

  After I unload the glass and cans, I set down my tub and take a deep breath. It’s not the freshest breath of air I’ve ever had, but it does the trick. I wonder how long it’s going to take me to get used to this kind of life. The one where we have to build a new community of friends wherever we go. Where our friends are ones of circumstance more than selection. It comes easily for Brook and even J.J. I’ve bounced around a bit myself, but I’ve never quite figured it out. Maybe I never will. I guess I’ll just have to build a reputation for being someone who’s always willing to take out the trash or hang out with the cat or dog.

  I’m about to head back in when my ankle starts throbbing. It’s the bad one I sprained a couple of years ago during a bout of unsportsmanlike conduct while celebrating my first fantasy football victory. It’s never been the same since I fell. It aches when the seasons change or if I wear my high-heeled boots too long. It also tends to pulse when something isn’t right. It’s like my body’s way of saying, “Harper, you in danger, girl.”

  For that reason, I’m almost not surprised when I turn to find Griggs standing a few yards behind me. I hope he came out here for a cigarette and that coming upon me was a surprise. Please don’t say he followed me out.

  He debunks that with his next words. “I thought I might find you out here. Hell of a party.”

  “Thanks.” I take a step back, wanting to keep as much distance as possible. “We’re glad you could come,” I lie.

  “You know, we don’t see much of each other, Mrs. MacLaughlin.” His lips curve up and he winks. “We could change all of that, though. Would you like that?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Why not? I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

  “How I look at you?”

  “Like you’re trying to undress me with your eyes.”

  “I don’t think that’s true.”

  “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about. Your first-class flight. I bet you liked that.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “That’s why I arranged to have your ticket upgraded. To give you a taste of what I’m all about.”

  My heart sinks even more realizing he had his hands on what was once a nearly perfect memory. I continue to move away. “I don’t know where you’d get the idea that—”

  “Playing coy. I like that about you. Strong and sensible. Still, I bet you’re sensational in the sack. I bet that’s where you really let loose.”

  “Stop.”

  “You know, most women like a man in power.” His voice goes low and husky. “Don’t worry, we’ll be discreet. That’s why we’re out here, isn’t it? To be discreet?”

  “No, I came out here to empty the trash. I didn’t realize that meant you, too.”

  “Oh, don’t be like that. We’re just having a little fun.”

  He moves forward again and this time, when I step back, I hit a brick wall.

  “No.” I throw up both of my hands and push at his chest. It doesn’t do anything to push him back, but it does stop his forward progression. “You need to stop. I’m willing to cut you a little slack, because you’re my husband’s boss, but you need to stop.”

  “Like you said, I’m your husband’s boss.” He leans his face forward and I get another whiff of alcohol. “I can make his life miserable.”

  “Griggs . . .”

  I never get the chance to finish my thought. He’s pulled away from me, and before I can blink, J.J.’s fist connects with his jaw. Griggs stumbles to the ground, but J.J. grabs him by the collar and plants his fist into his face two, three, four more times.

  Pulling myself out of my stupor, I reach for his arm. “J.J. stop.”

  “Harper, stay out of this.”

  “J.J., please.”

  That seems to break through. He releases his hold and Griggs slips out of his grasp and stumbles away, keeping an arm out straight in defense and his eyes on J.J. When he disappears around the corner, I sink to the ground.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  J.J. FINDS ME A FEW minutes later sitting on a bench behind our building. I want to tell him to go away, because I desperately need a few minutes to collect my thoughts and pull myself together before I go back in and pretend everything is fine. But I can’t.

  Sitting on the other side of the bench, he leans back and stares out at the street. “Doing okay?”

  I sniffle, still not quite able to stop crying. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Griggs left. Quietly, so you won’t have to worry about him making a scene.” He doesn’t say it, but we both understand he means for tonight. It’s possible he’ll make one later.

  “That’s good.”

  “If it makes you feel better, I fucked his wife.”

  My tears dry up. “What?”

  “Yeah. A couple of times.”

  “Seriously?”

  He lifts a shoulder. “She’s hot and she came on pretty strong. I was going through a bit of a dry spell. Mac asked me not to hook up with any of the college girls, which limited my options.”

  “Okay. So you’re telling me you slept with Lisa.”

  “A couple of times.”

  “Right. And you have no qualms about that. Even though she’s married.”

  “No. I guess they have an open arrangement of sorts. It was only a couple of times, then we stopped.” He frowns. “She wanted me to help her fantasy team win, but I already promised to help yours.”

  I close my eyes and shake my head, hoping it will help me think straight. “And you’re telling me all of this now because you think it might make me feel better about the fact that . . . that man put the moves on me.”

  “Did it?”

  It doesn’t. It makes me feel worse. Not just about myself, but about the world at large. Knowing that Lisa was trying to screw me over in the league. Knowing J.J. was sleeping with her behind my back. Not because he needs to tell me about the women he sleeps with, but because he’s complicit in this weird, screwed up life they have. Knowing this is apparently what they do. They prey on other people, single or attached, always looking for the next screw.

  It’s not my place to judge their marriage, but it makes me wonder what kind of a world we live in where this just happens.

  I can’t really be mad at J.J. While I don’t approve, it was consensual. I’m still disappointed. For all his faults, I’d like to think J.J. at least has an appreciation for the sanctity of marriage.

  “Not really. But I appreciate the thought.” In theory.

  “What would help? Do you want me to get Brook?”

  “Not right now. I still don’t know how I’m going to tell him, but it’s not going to be tonight.”

  “He’ll want to know sooner than later. I get that you don’t want to ruin his birthday o
r anything, but he will want to know.”

  I let out another shuttering breath. “I suppose now is when I admit this isn’t the first time Griggs made a pass at me.”

  Fury flashes on his face. Jaw clenched, J.J. tersely asks, “How many other times?”

  “A few.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything before? To Brook or me?”

  “Because I was handling it. Honestly, it was never as direct as he got today and I could brush him off.”

  “Yeah, but this is his boss. This is someone he has to work with every day. Griggs should show Mac a little more respect.” He pauses and turns his piercing gaze to me. “He should have shown you more respect.”

  “I don’t think he’s the kind of man who gives much consideration to others.”

  “I guess not.”

  I wrap my arms tightly around myself, suddenly cold in the evening air. “There’s another reason I didn’t say anything.”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t want to start any trouble. That’s a ridiculous thing to say now, but I didn’t want to create even more tension between them. They’re under enough scrutiny this year. The last thing I wanted was to give Griggs a reason to make Brook their scapegoat.”

  “You’re right. That was a ridiculous reason. What will you tell Brook?”

  “I don’t know.” That’s the problem. He’s going to be upset. Rightly so. Even more when I tell him it wasn’t the first time. Then he’ll be upset with me, too. Again, rightly so. “I guess the truth. Everything. As much as he wants to know.”

  “Smart. You can’t sugarcoat things with Mac.” He hesitates a moment, then adds, “Do you want me to say anything to him?”

  “No. At least not right away. He may have questions for you after.” He might be too angry to talk it all over with me, and he’ll need someone to have his back. I hope J.J. has it in him to do that. I know he does, but I’m not sure he believes he does. “I just feel stupid.”

  “Don’t. You didn’t do anything wrong. If I’ve learned anything from you and Brook over the past couple of years, it’s that no means no.”

  My eyes fill again, this time because I’m touched. At least he’s learned a thing or two about right and wrong when it comes to relationships.

  I wish I could say the same about myself. I haven’t learned as much about them as I should. Even after two years together—almost to the day—I still keep making the wrong decisions. I should have told Brook everything the moment I suspected Griggs was up to something, the second he made me uncomfortable. I should have trusted that he’d know how to act, that he’d support me and whatever I wanted to do about it. By not telling him, I was lying through omission. I was taking his choice away. It wasn’t right, and I have no one to blame for screwing that up but myself.

  The tears are flowing again, my chest rising up and down, and I can’t seem to draw a proper breath. Through my bleary eyes, I can just detect the concern, the fear on J.J.’s face.

  “Harper?” He glances around him, like he’s hoping someone will jump out and magically make it stop. “What do I do?”

  I say something, but it comes out in such a garbled mess even I don’t understand.

  He pats my shoulder again, though this time it’s more of an uncertain thump. I gasp for air in between the sobs, in between the hiccups. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t feel anything except this weight on my chest that’s threatening to fill every ounce of my body. I can’t be too far gone if I’m having such dramatic thoughts through my misery. My sobs grow louder, shorter, and closer together. I should put my head between my legs, or whatever you’re supposed to do when you’re hyperventilating, but that would require too much effort on my part. Maybe I’ll keep going and see how far this ride takes me.

  I don’t get a chance to find out. On a mumbled swear, J.J. pulls me up against his chest and wraps his arms around me. I bury my face into his shirt and grab onto his lapel. That does it—the gripping and holding on to something, to someone—brings me back. His hands move awkwardly in big circles around my back, like he’s trying to keep a polite distance or he’s not sure how it works. It doesn’t exactly feel good, but somehow it’s comforting. Maybe it’s knowing how hard he’s trying to help. Maybe I just needed someone to pull me back and teach me how to breathe again.

  “It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay.”

  “I know. I—”

  Behind me, I hear Brook call out, “What’s wrong?”

  The panic in his voice slices through me, and the guilt builds again.

  J.J.’s hands fall to his slide, and he says something about how I was feeling a little overwhelmed. Though he’s pulling away from me, I can’t quite seem to let go of him yet. I’m not quite ready to turn around to face Brook, to face the full reality of this situation. As the more sensible one in this moment, J.J. peels my fingers from his shirt and turns me into Brook’s waiting embrace. He stands up and steps back as Brook’s hand shakily cups my cheek, smoothing the tear-damp hair away from my face.

  “Baby?”

  I suck in a deep breath through my nose and let it out shakily. The cool rush of air helps, and I finally have the courage to open my eyes. I wish I hadn’t when I see the apprehension, the concern, the fear written plainly in his. Now I’ve done it. In my attempt to keep Brook’s birthday seemingly incident-free, I’ve gone and introduced a whole new level of drama.

  Maybe there’s a way to salvage the moment, at least for a few more hours. I force a smile and rest my forehead against his. “I’m fine. It’s just like J.J. said . . . with everything going on, I’m feeling a little . . . overwhelmed. But I’ll be fine.”

  Which isn’t a full-out lie, just another one of those partial truths.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Can we not get into it right this second?”

  “Harper . . .”

  “Please.” That plea, whispered pitifully, seems to do the trick. “I just want us to go back to the party. But we’ll talk about it later. I promise.” And I mean it. First thing tomorrow, I’m telling him. I don’t care if I have to go find him at his office, I’m telling him everything. “Right now, I really want to clean myself up and go back into the party with you guys.”

  His eyes narrow a little, studying me closely like he’s trying to read my thoughts. “If you’re sure . . .”

  “I am.” I pull back and wipe the tears from my face. J.J. offers me his phone, which I use as a mirror to right my appearance until I can sneak into the bathroom and do a more thorough job. Brook watches the exchange, but I only detect a curiosity. I suppose with as much as we bicker it must be strange to see J.J. comforting me. I turn up my smile a little brighter. “I’m really sorry. I hope I didn’t ruin things.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I am.” Or at least I will be.

  FOR MAYBE THE FIRST time in our married lives, or at least the first time I can remember, I wake before Brook. In the predawn dark, I get a rare chance to watch him sleep. It’s an interesting way to see someone. Sleep is one of the most vulnerable states we’re in as people. There’s an implicit trust you have to have to close your eyes and slip into unconsciousness. You have to trust you’ll make it safely through the night. You have to trust you’ll wake to live another day. You have to trust that no matter what happened the day before, you’ll wake and a new day with new possibility will begin.

  Maybe that’s why I’m up now, why I struggled to sleep in general. I can’t trust what will happen if I keep my eyes shut for long. I can’t trust who or what I’ll come across in my dreams. I can’t trust that I’ll wake to a world that Griggs isn’t meddling with to save his own hide. I can’t trust he won’t call or email Brook with some scheme he’s concocted overnight to convince him that I’m in the wrong.

  We’re playing a game of chicken, Griggs and I. Now that J.J.’s involved, now that there are blackened eyes, buckets of tears, and battered egos, th
ere’s too much at stake. There’s no trust between us to keep the other from talking. Unless, by some chance, Griggs is really such an egomaniac he assumes I’ll keep my mouth shut rather than risk any wrath he might bring down on us. It’s also possible he’s counting on Brook to think I was asking for it. If that’s the case, he’ll be wrong. While I might not trust my dreams or trust Griggs to tell the truth, I do trust Brook and he trusts me.

  Still, I can’t anticipate what he’ll do with this knowledge.

  Mind reader that he is, Brook stirs awake and cracks open an eye. His lips curve up into a sleepy grin. My ears are ringing, so I can’t exactly hear him, but I’m pretty sure he’s wishing me a good morning with some sort of endearment. Somehow sensing my anxiety, Brook blinks a few times and sits up.

  The ringing in my ears stops in time for me to hear him ask, “What’s going on?”

  I have to tell him. Everything. “It’s about last night.”

  He says nothing while he listens. Every so often his jaw clenches and the scar on his chin grows whiter. The more I say, the more the pressure on my chest lightens, but the tingling fear doesn’t fade. I resist the urge to stare at a spot on the wall or the bedspread and keep my eyes focused on him.

  When I’ve told him what happened, he lets out one heavy breath. It’s the sound someone makes when they’ve been hit in the gut, which, I suppose, is what I’ve just done.

  “There have been a few other things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Remember that celebratory dinner after your first win of the season?”

  “Yes.” Brook’s mouth falls slack. “Did he —”

  “I thought he was just being overly friendly and maybe a little flirty. It bothered me, but I didn’t think it was a big enough deal to tell you. Not when he was planning to use your plays the next week.”

  His eyes go steely blue. “Go on.”

  “He showed up at my meeting with Kristen . . .”

  “Jesus. He hit on you there, too?”

  “Again, I kind of wrote it off as him being flirty, but I didn’t think he was serious about it. By then you were worried about being fired.” My eyes fill, and I blink furiously to keep the tears from falling. “I knew you’d be mad. You were already upset. I didn’t want to make things worse. I figured I could tough it out.”