by ME Carter
Couch it is.
I flop down on the oversized sofa and snuggle into the pillows. The last thing I think about as I fall into a drunken sleep is how Mariana was right to buy this couch. It is, in fact, the comfiest couch I’ve ever slept on.
I wake to sunlight in my eyes. That’s weird. It never gets sunny on this side of the house early in the morning.
Peeling my eyes open more, I realize it has to be much later than I thought for the sun to be shining through the blinds.
I realize I haven’t heard the kids yet. I wonder how drunk I was that I slept through their noise. I should have known better than to shoot Jagar. It never ends well for me.
I rub my face, take a deep breath and sit up. Where is my family? Did Mariana take them somewhere so I can sleep? That sounds like something she’d do. She’s thoughtful like that.
Making my way to the fridge for some water to get rid of this cotton mouth, I stretch my arms out wide, cracking my back. The couch is comfortable, but nothing compares to my giant, king-sized bed. We dropped a pretty penny on that mattress last year, and it was worth it. I can’t wait to snuggle up next to Mariana in it tonight.
After downing two bottles of water, I pad my way into the master bathroom to shower last night’s filth off of me, only stopping to throw my clothes straight into the washer on the way. I don’t want cigar smoke to mix with Mariana’s clothes, even in the washer. She’d hate that.
Ten minutes later, I’m sufficiently clean and more awake now. Now that I can think, I wonder where Mariana took the kids. To lunch maybe? To the park? She did read about a new park in the area that supposedly has a fantastic petting zoo. She’s been talking about us taking the kids one day. I bet they got restless and that’s where they went.
Flinging open the door of the walk-in closet, I turn on the light and start rummaging through my clothes, pulling on some sweats and an old Iguana’s T-shirt. I haven’t played for them in years, but Mariana always says it’s part of my history, so we still have all the gear they gave us.
I turn around to walk out when something catches my eye. It’s an empty spot where all her shoes go. She has about fifty pair. But at least ten of them are missing. Is she making a run to Goodwill or something?
As I turn in a circle, I take more stock of the giant closet. There are spaces on the clothing rod where her clothes are missing. Her entire underwear drawer is cleared out. And the file of important documentation like birth certificates and such, it’s gone.
My heart begins to race. What the fuck is going on?
I race to the girls’ room and pull open their dresser drawers. Empty.
The toy closet still has a few things left, but most of it is gone.
I run to Theo’s room. Half expecting to see him curled up on his side, sucking his thumb, and it jars me to see his crib empty.
As are his drawers.
And his closet.
No diapers. No wipes.
And his favorite stuffed animal, the monkey attached to a satin blanket that he rubs across his face as he’s falling asleep… it’s gone, too.
I run back out to the living room, panic setting in. The only thing I can think is that they must have been taken. Someone came in, packed their stuff, and kidnapped them. The alternative is just too hard to even process.
Grabbing my phone off the coffee table I shoot off a quick text to my wife.
Where are you??? You’re freaking me out! Please let me know you’re ok.
Seconds later, her reply comes in.
We’re fine. We’re at my mom’s. The note on the kitchen table explains it all.
Note? I think to myself. What note?
I speed to the kitchen and sure enough, there is a hand-written note sitting in the sunlight.
Santos,
I love you more than anything. But I’m done. I can’t be in a marriage with an unfaithful man anymore.
My heart drops. She knows. How does she know?
The kids and I are staying with my mom for a while. You’re welcome to call or Facetime them whenever you want. Since you’re in the middle of the season, we can work out a custody arrangement as we go.
Take care of yourself,
Mariana
There is no way this is happening. My wife did not just leave me. I immediately dial her number and pace back into the living room while I wait for her to pick up. I’m almost surprised when three rings later, she does.
“Hello?”
“What the hell is going on?” I roar into the phone.
“I think it’s pretty clear what’s going on,” she retorts. “I’m filing for divorce on Monday.”
“You…” I scoff. “You… you’re filing for… but why?”
“Why?” she yells. “Why!? How about because I’m tired of being left at home while you go hang out with your teammates after games are over.”
“Babe. You know I get keyed up during the game. It’s just a way to calm down the adrenaline.”
“Really? You’ve been fucking groupie whores behind my back and that’s what your excuse is? To calm down the adrenaline?”
I’ve never heard her this angry before. I do the only thing I can think of. I deny.
“What? I have not. Why would you even think that?”
“I talked to Tiffany last night, Santos.” I stop breathing. “She told me everything.”
I run my fingers through my hair and continue with my pacing. “Babe. She is a groupie. She will say anything to cause trouble. That’s what they do, Mariana. You know better than to listen to a cleat chaser.”
“She knows you hum, Santos.”
I freeze. There is no way to come back from that. I know that. She knows that. I am so fucked.
“I love you, Santos. But I deserve better. I deserve a man who is going to be faithful and not give me excuses and lies. The girls deserve to see how a man should treat them. And Theo deserves to learn how to be respectful. You aren’t just failing me. You’re failing all of us.”
I wince, like I’ve been punched.
“My attorney is drawing up the papers on Monday. It’s up to you if you want to contest the divorce or make it easy. It makes no difference to me.”
I clear my throat. “Um… can I… when can I see the kids?”
“Don’t you have a road trip this week.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly.
“Text me when you get back. We’ll figure something out.”
I nod even though she can’t see me. “Mariana.”
“Yes?”
“Mariana, I love you. So much. I’m so sorry.”
She pauses momentarily. “That’s not enough,” she says and hangs up.
I drop onto the couch, my phone falling to the ground. My mind is spinning.
She left me. She took my kids and she left me.
I had everything I ever wanted but just lost it all.
And it’s all my own damn fault.
Murphy Rae – Cover. She’s beautiful. You made her so much more than I could have dreamed. Thank you for your daily pep talks and conversations.
Beth Rustenhaven – For randomly coming up with the best tagline ever. You really know your sluts.
John Marshall – For being the best cover model ever. Even if it is on the back. In invisible ink. Sorry I traumatized you. I’ll be sure to send Julie my condolences if she finds you sucking your thumb and rocking in a corner.
Jade Grandi – First person to read what was coming and encouraging me to keep going.
Jessica Prince – For hating her so much that you loved her.
Brenda Rothert – Best. Crit. Partner. Ever. You’re dead on
Sara Ney – For all things soccer
Laurie Darter – Knowledge of the Irish language and all things dialect. ß Any mistakes are her fault. Also, for being a great admin on my Carter’s Cheerleaders page
Christine Kuttnauer – For bouncing certain ideas around with me and knowing my desire between a balance of making it realistic and too traumati
c for most people.
Megan Kapusta – For being honest about how you can appreciate Tiffany even if you still aren’t sure you like her. Which is ok! That’s why I needed you! Because I knew you’d have a much more critical eye for her behavior, ya prude.
LS King – You will never be able to make me stop rolling my eyes! But thank goodness you notice every time my characters do it. Thank you for helping me grow my writing by editing half of it out!
Kristin Delcambre – My last critical eye before it’s ripped to shreds by the public. How’s that for pressure for you? Thank you for making it damn near perfect. And for entertaining me, literally, every day.
Julie Titus – For calming me down when I’m nervous as hell. For making my pages beautiful. For being a beautiful spirit.
My parents – I’ve said it before. I couldn’t do this without you. You’ve met my kids. No way I would survive. Thanks for letting us disrupt your life when you should be traveling the world. My kids are getting the ultimate multi-generational experience and they will be better for it.
God – I don’t know why you keep blessing me. I’m nothing special. But you do. And I’m grateful. Even if I’m terrible at living it.
Mother, reader, storyteller - ME Carter never set out to write books. But when a friend practically forced a copy of Twilight into her hands, the love of the written word she had lost as a child was rekindled. With a story always rolling around in her head, it should come as no surprise that she finally started putting them on paper. She lives in Texas with her four children, Mary, Elizabeth, Carter and Bug, who sadly was born long after her pen name was created, and will probably need extensive therapy because of it.
You can follow her on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/authorMECarter, on Twitter at https://twitter.com/AuthorMECarter, Instagram at authorMECarter or email her at [email protected].
Other Titles by M.E. Carter
Change of Hart
Hart to Heart
Juked
with author Sara Ney
FriendTrip
WeddedBliss: A FriendTrip Novella