Goalie (Texas Mutiny Book 3)

by M. E. Carter

  “Oh, he’s little! Remember when the boys were little, Drew?” He barely nods as he stuffs another bite of sandwich in his mouth. “I love that age. Sometimes I wish we would have had another one, but now that they’re both in school, I’m kind of enjoying my freedom.”

  “I can’t even imagine what I’ll do with all that time when they go to school,” I admit. Especially now, being on my own. I might have to come up with a hobby.

  She waves a hand at me. “Oh, don’t worry. You’ll be just as busy as you are now. I volunteer at the school twice a week… once in each child’s classroom. Add after-school activities and daily chores, and you’ll still feel like there aren’t enough hours in the day.”

  We spend the next thirty minutes or so chatting about mindless topics. Santos finally fesses up to Drew about what his job actually entails, so immediately the conversation turns to all things soccer. Surprisingly, I find that I really enjoy the conversation. I’ve never been a sports fanatic, but for more than ten years, my entire life revolved around soccer. It was discussed every single day since the first day I met Santos, whether it be coordinating schedules or doing laundry or talking about friends. I didn’t realize until now how much I miss that part of my life. It makes me sad. And that just annoys me.

  Before long, it’s time to head back to the conference. “Are you sure we have to go?” I ask Victoria. “Doesn’t hanging out with other couples in crisis count as therapy, or something?”

  “I wish.” She smiles and pats me on the back before opening the door to Drew’s truck. “But if you’re anything like me, you won’t ever forgive yourself if you don’t put in the full effort on this one last attempt.” She climbs in and leaves me standing in the parking lot.

  “I deserve respect,” I whisper to myself. “But I also deserve no regrets.”

  Taking a deep breath to calm the nerves I have about more group therapy, I climb into the truck and we drive back for more attempts at healing our relationships.

  I don’t know why I agreed to this. I mean, I know why I agreed to it. But if it weren’t for the fact that it is my last chance at getting my family back, I wouldn’t even bother.

  Group therapy is hard fucking work.

  “Okay guys, we’re going to do an exercise that will help us work on our communication skills,” Anne informs us, as we all take our seats. “Santos, Mariana, I’d like you guys to pull your chairs into the middle and face them toward each other.

  I grab both our chairs and pull them into the circle.

  “I can do that myself, ya know,” Mari mutters.

  “I know. I’m trying to be polite.”

  She doesn’t respond, just pulls her chair a couple of feet from mine before taking her seat. Once we’re situated, Anne gives us more instructions. “We’re going to take turns with this exercise, so before you jump in and say anything, just answer the questions I ask, ok?” When she’s satisfied we’re going to do as she says, she continues.

  “You both have expressed that you had a very satisfying marriage, and that the breakdown happened when some betrayals were revealed, right?”

  I squirm in my seat as she brings it up again. I look up, and Mari is looking at the floor, arms crossed over her chest.

  “Mariana, let’s start with you. Looking at Santos’s body language, what do you think he’s feeling and why do you think that?”

  She looks up and catches my eye. She takes a breath and licks her lips. “He looks indifferent to me.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. I am so far from indifferent about this situation and have no idea why she would even think that.

  “Why?” Anne asks. “What is it about his body language that makes you think that?”

  “He’s leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, which is a resting position. The muscles in his face aren’t tense at all. And the only thing anyone has said to him whenever he talks about our problems is that they’re so glad he’s admitting what he did. So what I’m seeing is a relaxed posture because he thinks he’s done his part and now it’s just up to me to forgive him.”

  I sit straight up and my mouth falls open.

  “Santos, you don’t look like you agree with that assessment.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Are you not feeling relaxed?”

  “No, I’m not. I don’t think I’ve ever been more tense in my life.”

  Anne looks around the circle while Mari and I continue with our stare off.

  “Ok, group. Mariana believes Santos looks at ease, but Santos says he feels tense. Since you are looking from the outside in, what does Santos’s body language say to you?”

  “He doesn’t look that way to me at all.”

  “Thank you, Drew,” Anne responds. “Tell me why. What are you seeing?”

  Drew shifts in his seat and crosses his arms. “I think maybe because I’m a man, I see it differently because I’ve sat in that position before. He’s leaning forward, not because he’s just chilling out, but because he doesn’t want to come across cocky and arrogant. He’s trying really hard to be strong for her, but doesn’t want to look like a pussy, either. His job is to be the man in this relationship. The strong one. The provider. But he screwed up and he knows it so he’s trying to be somewhat humble.”

  Anne turns to me. “What do you think of Drew’s assessment?”

  “I think he’s bang on,” I say. “I keep expecting her to break down so I’m just trying to be ready to do whatever I have to do when that happens.”

  Mari snorts and rolls her eyes, an angry smirk on her face. It’s painfully obvious she’s not enjoying being on display like this.

  “Santos, it’s your turn.”

  Mari crosses her arms over her chest again and stares me down.

  “She has no interest in saving this marriage.”

  She gasps, but I don’t break eye contact.

  “She has her arms over her chest so she’s closed off from hearing anything I have to say. She’s already decided she doesn’t want anything to do with this.”

  She looks away and bites her lip.

  “Is that how you’re feeling, Mariana?” Anne asks her.

  She clears her throat before she speaks, but all that comes out is a whisper. “I don’t know.”

  “Ok, group, what does it appear like to you?”

  Drew speaks up first. “I agree with Santos. She looks like she doesn’t really care to hear anything he says.”

  “I disagree,” Victoria counters.

  “Explain what you mean, Victoria,” Anne says kindly.

  “That’s how I get when I feel defeated.” Her statement catches my attention. “That’s what I look like when I’m so tired of crying I can hardly take it. That’s not a look of being done. That’s a look of knowing if she starts crying one more time, she doesn’t know if she’ll ever stop.”

  I look back over at my wife who has tears in her eyes. “Is that true, Mari?”

  She closes her eyes briefly before jumping up out of her chair. “I’m sorry, Anne. I can’t do this anymore,” she blurts before she takes off out the door.

  “Mari,” I call and rush after her, panicked that if she leaves she won’t ever come back. “Mari!” I call again, as we race down the hallway. “Mariana, stop!”

  She turns around, tears streaming down her face, and starts hitting me, slapping me, punching me. None of it hurts, so I let her continue, blocking her when I need to, but letting her get all her anger out as she cries.

  “I fucking hate you, Santos!” she screams at me. “How could you do this to me? To us? How could you humiliate me like that in front of everyone we know? Do you know what that’s like? For everyone in your entire life to know your husband is so repulsed by you that he has to sleep with fucking groupies almost every single night? What did I do to turn you off so badly, huh? Am I really that disgusting?”

  Her words shock me. I grab her arms, stopping her assault. “You think I find you repulsive?” I try to look her in the eyes, but she’s
crying so hard, she can’t even open them. “You are the most beautiful, perfect thing in my life, Mari. You deserve more than dirty sex just so I can calm down after a game.”

  “That is a fucking cop-out!” She pulls out of my arms and backs away like she’s afraid of me. “I’m your fucking wife, Santos. You think sex in a marriage is only about love? It’s also about orgasms and pleasure and fun. Do you know how many times I dreamed you’d bend me over the couch and fuck me like one of your dirty whores?”

  I reel back.

  “You didn’t, did you? Because you needed justification for your own fucking behavior.” She gets in my face. “Let me ask you a question, after we started dating in college, were you already cheating on me during away games?”

  I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

  “That’s what I thought. You’re not sorry for doing it; you’re sorry you got caught. And now you want me to just forgive you and move on? I’m so sick of being here, where every time you open your lying fucking mouth people applaud you for being such a stand-up guy, just because you’re admitting to it. No one thinks about how you could have other kids I don’t even know about. Or, or I could have a disease…”

  “No! Mari, I would never put you in danger like that. I was always, always safe that way.”

  Her eyes widen. “You think so? Let me ask you a question, did you kiss these women? The groupies?”

  I don’t answer, which is all the answer she needs.

  “So it never occurred to you that you kissed these whores on the mouth, probably right after they got done sucking someone else’s dick without a condom, did it?”

  My hand involuntarily touches my mouth. She’s right. I never even thought about that.

  “God, Santos. It’s a wonder I don’t have herpes in my mouth, you asshole.” She pushes me on the chest, causing me take a step back. “I hate you for ruining my life. I hate you for making me a single mom. I hate you for making everything I ever believed in, everything I ever trusted in, a lie. How am I ever supposed to trust anyone again? You fucking broke me!”

  She’s screaming so loudly, I barely hear Anne come up behind us. They had warned us when we got here that if anyone ran during one of the sessions, our trainer would follow us to help monitor the situation and step in if need be. I really hope she just lets this play out.

  “You think I don’t know that I broke you?” I yell back. “You can hate me all you want, Mari, but you will never, ever hate me as much as I hate myself.”

  She takes a step back and her breath catches.

  “I broke you, I broke our family, I broke our kids. I broke myself. I lost everything I ever loved because I didn’t know how to keep my dick in my pants and I would rather die than see you like this, but there isn’t a god damn thing I can do about it except let you feel whatever you want to feel. And I’m standing here watching you and it’s breaking me more than I’ve ever been broken before because there is nothing, nothing I can do to fix it. And I have to live with that every single day of my life.”

  I rub a hand across my face to wipe away the tears.

  “I have to watch the woman of my dreams fall apart, knowing that when she finally is able to pull herself together, she’s going to move on and find someone else,” my voice cracks. “I have to watch my kids grow up from a distance, knowing that someday they’re probably going to have a stepdad who will see them more than I do. A different man will raise my kids because of what I did. I don’t ever expect you to forgive me, even though I want you to. God, I want you to so bad. But I will never be able to forgive myself either.”

  A sob escapes her throat and she covers her mouth, but she never takes her eyes off mine.

  “You may feel humiliated, but I’m the one who has to carry it. Every day for the rest of my life. And I just don’t know if I’m strong enough to do that, Mari. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to come back from knowing what a complete and utter fuck-up I am. I just… I just don’t know.”

  My entire demeanor deflates as the tears continue to fall. We stand there, staring at each other through blurred vision, neither of us knowing what to say or where to go from here.

  “I think you guys just shared some very significant information with each other,” Anne states softly behind us. “As hard as it is, now isn’t the time to shut down. When you are this vulnerable, it’s the hardest time, but the best time to do the most work. I think it’s a good idea to rejoin the group and just watch the other couples do the same exercise.”

  I nod once and shuffle my feet. Looking back up at Mari, she still hasn’t stopped looking at me. I reach my hand out to her, willing her to take it.

  She looks at it for a few seconds, and then to my surprise, she does.

  A sob escapes my throat and I kiss her knuckles, thankful that my very best friend in the world has just given me an olive branch, however small it is.

  The beeping of the waffle maker jars me out of my thoughts.

  The free breakfast at the hotel barely opened half an hour ago, but I was already up. After yesterday’s session on communication, sleeping is ridiculously difficult to do.

  I can’t stop thinking about what Santos said. You will never hate me more than I hate myself. I want to be happy that he’s living with such tremendous guilt. This whole thing is his fault. But I can’t. I had no idea he was grieving as much as I am. He’s not one to show he’s in any kind of pain often. Not physical pain. Not emotional pain. He’s too busy being everybody’s friend to be honest when his feelings are that intense.

  And he never, ever cries. Needless to say, seeing him weep the way he did pulled me right out of my pity party and back into the real world, full of questions about what I should do now. Do I stay? Do I go? Do I give him another chance? Do I call it quits?

  The only thing I know for sure is I need carbs. And sugar. And butter. And maybe some of this spray whip cream the kids love on their waffles.

  “Can’t sleep either?”

  I look over as I lick the excess whip cream off my thumb. “Morning, Victoria. What are you doing up so early?”

  She shrugs. “I’m usually an early bird and Drew was snoring, so I gave up on trying to sleep in. Why are you up?”

  “Couldn’t sleep. Too much on my mind.”

  “Did you guys talk at all last night?”

  “Beyond ‘where do you want to eat’ and ‘I’m jumping in the shower’, no.”

  “Do you want some company this morning?”

  I smile at her. I really like Victoria. There’s something very refreshing about her. She’s just genuine. “Sure. I’ll grab us a spot.”

  Taking my plate of comfort food and some orange juice, I pick the most isolated table I can find. The room is almost empty, but just in case. I’m not really interested in making small talk with anyone other than her.

  By the time she sits down, I’ve scarfed down half my plate.

  “I’m surprised you can eat this morning.”

  “I always eat when I’m stressed. I admit, it makes me feel better, but it does nothing for losing baby weight.”

  “I’m the exact opposite. I can barely keep my food down when I’m feeling overly emotional. I swear I’ll have lost five pounds by the time we leave tomorrow.”

  “And I’ll have found them.”

  She smiles. “Finders keepers. I don’t want them back.”

  We eat in silence for a few minutes before she asks the question I don’t know how to answer.

  “What are you going to do?”

  I sigh and put my fork on my plate, leaning my elbows on the table.

  “I don’t know, Victoria. I have spent the last eight months being so angry with him.” I shake my head in disbelief that I’m here. That things imploded so fast, that I ended up in a last-ditch effort to save my marriage. “I never stopped to recognize how deeply he was feeling about it. I think I jumped to this conclusion that his behavior is a direct result of him just not giving a shit, ya know? Now I’m not so su
re.”

  “If he didn’t give a shit, he wouldn’t have asked you to come here.”

  “I know that logically. But I think maybe my brain has been clouded by my emotions so much that the logical side has taken a back seat.”

  “It’s the ten stages of grief,” she reassures, as she takes a sip of her coffee.

  “Ten stages? I thought there were five?”

  “I’ve heard ten, five, seven. I don’t even know how many there actually are. But I know anger is one of them. And from what I gather, it’s the hardest one to let go of.”

  I lean my chin on my hand as I gather my thoughts. “Do you think you and Drew will pull through?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, I think so. We’ve learned a lot about each other. I know I can get very self-conscious, to the point where it drives him crazy, and I need to work on that. And he knows he gets stressed and spends money behind my back and hides things.”

  “Does he do that a lot?”

  “He does it enough. The thing is, I grew up poor. Dirt poor. As in, my mother wouldn’t eat breakfast or lunch because there wasn’t enough food to feed her and the kids. So the idea of being destitute scares the living daylights out of me.”

  “Oh wow. How are your parents doing now?”

  “They’re doing great. We weren’t poor for that long. Only until I was about eight or nine. But it stayed with me. Drew knows that. He knows how terrified I am of money, but he sneaks around behind my back anyway.”

  “That’s terrible of him.”

  “It is. But he has his own issues. His ex-wife wiped out all his bank accounts before he knew they were getting divorced. So my desire to control all the money is in direct conflict with his fear that I’ll take it all like she did.”

  “I can see how that would be a problem.”

  “Yep,” she stresses, popping the p. “I’m hoping some of the skills we learn here will help us avoid going this far off the deep end again.”

  We sit in silence for a few more minutes as we watch a few people meander in to start their own days. I wonder how many of them are struggling in their marriages. Were they cheated on? Did they do the cheating? Have they gotten this close to divorce before?