Finding Infinity (Infinity Series)

by Layne Harper

  “Colin,” I yell in a panic. “Colin, where are you?” He couldn’t have left. He can’t drive anywhere.

  I rush into the bedroom, and see him sitting in the formerly red chair that’s been moved to the bay window of our bedroom. The blinds are open, and the moonlight is streaming in, bathing him in bluish-grey light. He’s staring outside so I can’t see his handsome face.

  “What happened to our house?” I stand there, with my jaw dropped. It’s the first question that comes tumbling out of my mouth. But what I mean is, “Why did you destroy my project of love that I worked so hard on to make you happy?”

  “I want you to call your dad and ask him if you can work with him again.” His voice is void of emotion. He’s still staring out the window.

  “What the fuck, Colin? Is this about you not wanting me to work in the hospital and be exposed to germs? Because that’s ridiculous. Studies have shown that mother’s pass on their immune systems to their babies…”

  He cuts me off before I can continue explaining. “No. That’s not what this is about. I’m fucked up, Caroline.”

  My heart starts trying to beat its way out of my chest. “How are you fucked up? You’re scaring me. Tell me what’s going on.”

  I walk over to him, taking a seat on the couch in the sitting room. He still doesn’t look at me. He laughs, but not in a good way. There’s no humor in it.

  “Where do I begin? Do I start with letting you break up with me for Harvard? Because that’s really where I fucked up first. If I hadn’t been so selfish and prideful, I would have supported you while you went to Boston, and we could have done the long-distance thing. But no, I had to have it all right then. I wanted a ring on your finger, and a baby soon after. What a fucking joke. I probably couldn’t have gotten you pregnant back then anyway.”

  His words anger me. “Colin, we promised the night before we got married that we’d quit rehashing our past. Remember? In the vows that we said to just each other that we didn’t want to share with our wedding guests. Why are you saying all of this now?”

  He ignores me and continues. “At least then, you would have known at twenty-two that I was broken. You could have moved on and be happily living with Adam.”

  I stand up, because this is nonsense. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but I need a shower and to put the pork chops in the oven. Spend the time that I’m gone getting over your pity party. Let me remind you that the doctor didn’t say that we couldn’t get pregnant. She said to keep trying. There’s always IVF. I’m not upset, and I’m not sure why you are.”

  I storm into the kitchen and open the oven, shoving the pork chops in. I slam the oven door. Then, I stomp back to our bedroom, without looking at Colin, and slam the bathroom doors. I turn on the shower water and pull my scrubs off without my usual care. How dare he? How dare Colin behave this way? I swear to God, I’m going to make him put every decoration back up. He’s too old to be throwing temper tantrums.

  I wash my hair and rinse my body in record time. I pull a brush through my wet hair and wash the makeup off of my face. I slip on a jogging suit that is not in the least bit cute, but it’s very comfy.

  When I walk back into the bedroom, he’s still in the same spot. “I’ve called a town car. I’m going to go stay at a hotel for a little while. I need to sort some shit in my head out.” He drops his head in his hands staring at the floor.

  “The fuck you are!” I storm at him. I walk over and bend down to get in his face. “You aren’t leaving me, Colin. You’ve got a problem. We work it out here. In case you don’t remember, we’re married. You swore you’d never leave me, and you aren’t.”

  “I believe the vows of ‘for better or worse’ were omitted from our marriage ceremony,” he says bitterly picking his head up to look at me.

  I slap him across the face. Hard. I’ve never hit another human being besides my sisters, and they don’t count, but I just hit my husband. And the only thing that I feel bad about is how much my hand stings. The look on his face is shock, complete with his mouth hanging open, which is much better than blank. He touches his cheek where I slapped him, and gives me a slight smile.

  “Don’t you dare mock our marriage. Have we had a rough go of it? Yes. Do we have it harder than most couples? Probably. They don’t have their every move chronicled in the tabloids. Have I regretted any of this?” I say, sweeping my hands around our bedroom. “Only the fact that we began our relationship while you were still seeing Sasha, but even then, I don’t regret her nasty interview. You need to tell me what’s going on, Colin.” Rage is washing over me in waves. My heart is beating fast. I want to hurt him. To pull him out of whatever depressed spiral he’s in.

  The timer goes off on the oven. “Your pork chops are ready,” Colin says, evenly.

  “Fuck my pork chops.” I glare at him.

  “You need to leave me, and go back to Houston.” He yells at me like he’s never done before. The vein that runs across his temple is throbbing and his face is bright red. He’s been mad at me. Colin’s raised his voice, but he’s never raged at me before. “Go back to your old life, before I came into the picture and stole it from you. Go back to your practice, and your town home. Go back to your mom and sisters. I’m a selfish bastard who has destroyed your life, Caroline. What have I given you?” He pauses, and yells louder, and I didn’t think that was possible. “Nothing. Not a damn thing. You live in a house that you hate. You work at a charity hospital. You’ve done nothing but play bedside nurse to me. I made you a household name. Had the media invade your privacy, and exposed you to my fans, who’ve been cruel to you. You almost relapsed because of me. You tell me, in the nine months that we’ve been back together, what I’ve given you, because I can’t come up with a damn thing.” The muscles in his neck are straining—he looks murderous.

  He swallows, and says a little more quietly, “I hate myself. I’ve destroyed you because I want what I want so much. Now, I’m completely fucking useless. My future in football is cloudy, at best. I can’t give you a child. I will not be giving you a championship season this year. I can give us nothing but a bank account, and you don’t need that. I’d give every fucking cent away if it meant we could be pregnant with a healthy baby.”

  I listen to his words, but they just make me angrier. I stand up, because for once in our relationship, I can be taller than him. “Do you think that it was easy for Prince Edward to abdicate the throne? Do you think that he sat in his royal palace, surrounded by his birthright riches staring at his bank account and went, ‘I know! Today, instead of being a king, I’m going to give up everything that has been promised to me from birth for this chick that I kinda think is cute.’ No. He didn’t. He did it because he loved her enough, what he had didn’t mean anything if she wasn’t by his side.”

  I pause and catch my breath, because I’m so furious that I feel I could explode. “That was my life before you. It was great. It was awesome. I was living my dream, but I always felt like I was missing something. That something is you. I don’t want to go back to Houston. I don’t want to be a part of my dad’s practice again. I want to be with you. I gave it up for you.” I plead with my eyes for him to understand just how much I want this life that we’re making for ourselves. He looks stoic which makes me feel like hitting him again. “If you come back from this injury, and there’s no reason that you won’t, I’ll be in the stands, cheering you on. If you’ve played your last down, then we’ll make a new life for ourselves. If we’re parents one day, awesome. If it’s just you and me, for the rest of our days together, that’s okay too.”

  I start sobbing, the kind of tears that wrack through my whole body. “I fucking love you, Colin. You can’t leave me. You can’t give up on us. We both know what it feels like to be without each other, and we can’t do that again.”

  I stand there and watch a variety of emotions pass over his face. I want him to understand what he means to me, and how upset I am that he would even consider walking out on us.

&nb
sp; Then the smoke alarm goes off. I take off in a sprint to the kitchen. I throw open the oven and have to cover my face, because the black smoke comes billowing out, trying to choke me. I grab oven mitts and pull our charred dinner out, dumping it in the sink. I run around, opening the windows in the house, hoping to let the smoke out so the damn alarm will stop screaming at me, then I wait by the phone for the alarm company to call. When they do, I tell them it’s a false alarm, and to cancel the fire department.

  The momentary distraction has done nothing to lessen my anger at Colin. I use tongs to pick up each pork chop, and toss them in the garbage can. Then I begin taking out my frustration on the blackened casserole dish, as I think about what Colin has said and done.

  This is a side to him that I’ve never seen before. I don’t know this version of Colin. I know he has quiet periods after games and other big events in his life, but I’ve never seen the self-destructive side of his personality.

  He’s told me about it. He said that, after we broke up, he drank and listened to sad music. I wonder if this was the mood he was in. It’s hard to imagine that my cocky, self-assured, confident husband can be the sullen, mean, destructive, depressed man sitting in our bedroom.

  As I scrub, I replay our life together, and realize that I have seen him like this other times. The night he told me he loved me at the lake house in Austin, and we got into a fight. He drank himself sick that night. Then, there was the night that I first made the tabloids, when Rachael and I cage danced together. He took his aggression out on me in an anger fuck. I realize now that today I left him after he got upsetting news, without offering him any way to relieve his disappointment and stress. He all but begged me to stay home and make love to him, but I left him. Why am I rationalizing his behavior? He’s a grown man who destroyed our home, and he behaved like a bratty teenager.

  Colin crutches into the kitchen and takes a seat at the breakfast bar. I ignore him, because I’m not sure what to say.

  “Charlie, I’m not in good place right now. I just need to leave for a couple of days, to get my head on straight. I’m not leaving you. I just need to think. I’ll be back for Christmas.” He’s quiet and sullen.

  I’m not sure what to do. I can’t pause time and call Rachael, which is what I want to do. She’d have a solution for me. I stand there, helplessly scrubbing at a pan that should be thrown away.

  “I just don’t understand what’s going on. What’s there to think about? I get that today was a hard day for you, but it’s not like we can’t get pregnant; we just have to try harder than most.” I sound more resolved than angry. “I also don’t understand why you need to be away from me to think. It’s not because you plan on drinking, is it?”

  Colin rests his elbows on the granite and drops his head into his hands. He whispers, “You deserve a husband that…”

  “Goddammit, Colin. Quit telling me what I deserve!” I scream, at the top of my lungs. I throw the sponge in the sink, and turn around and look at Colin. “Do you want this to work? Are you trying to push me away?”

  “Do you have any idea how hard it is to be married to you?” he asks softly, still not looking at me.

  I stand there with my mouth gaping open. That wasn’t the answer that I was expecting. “No Colin. I don’t. Give me an idea,” I say, with pure venom in my voice.

  He looks up at me with his blank face. “You’re fucking perfect. You’re smart. You’re gorgeous. You can have a baby. You can outrun me. You can out dance me. You can do everything better than me but sing. Hell, even in the bedroom you’ve proven that you don’t need me.

  “You didn’t need me today, Caroline. I, once again, needed you, but you are so self-sufficient that you don’t need me — or anyone for that matter.”

  I hear his words and all they do is anger me. He loves me for who I am, but he wants me to be needy and dependent on him? That’s not me. “I don’t know what to do, Colin. I can’t be someone else. This is me. You knew what you were getting when you married me.” I throw my hands up in frustration.

  “In six fucking months, Charlie, I’ve been ill, and had to beg to keep my starting position for the first game of the season in Monday Night Football. I puked on you for God’s sake. Broken my leg, in spectacular fashion. Had a season-ending surgery, had my dreams of winning a Super Bowl stripped from me, had my perfect season end, found out that I have a disease instead of an intolerance, and have a low sperm count. I’m not a man to you. I’m a fucking pussy. I’m worthless. You need someone who’s your equal.”

  I laugh, because this is really funny. He looks at me, with crazy eyes. He’s as mad at me right now as he was when I cage danced with Rachael after the biggest win of his college career.

  “Welcome to the first two years of our relationship, Colin! Welcome to every fucking insecurity that I have. Welcome to seeing you modeling underwear on the side of a building that is ten stories tall, while I was so thin that I had to shop in the junior girls’ department. Welcome to why I ran away to Harvard. Welcome to having women, who are more attractive than me, throwing themselves at you. Welcome to reading about who you’re fucking in the tabloids. Welcome to every fucking day of my life.”

  I slam my hands down on the granite countertop. “Welcome to what it feels like living with someone who is on a pedestal that I can never reach.”

  I see the lines around his face crease even deeper, and his eyes spark with anger. I walk over and stand across from him at the breakfast bar. In a more resigned voice, I say, “Look. That was harsh. Your leg will heal, and you’ll be the starting quarterback next year for Dallas. Who cares that you got sick? Everyone gets sick. You will get sick again at some point in your life because, contrary to popular belief, you are not a god.” His face turns in disgust.

  “We will have a baby. We will be parents. It just might be a baby that grows in our hearts, instead of my stomach. But you’ve got to give us a chance. You can’t run away from me when the going gets tough.”

  It takes every bit of strength that I have to walk over to him and take him in my arms. I’m so angry and hurt that I want to kill him, but above all else, he’s my heart. He’s hurting, and I can help him feel better.

  Apparently, that’s the only invitation that he needs, because he pulls me to him and kisses my head repeatedly, whispering, “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, I’m such a screw up.”

  The house phone rings, letting us know that the town car is here. I hand the phone to Colin, and stare at him. It’s his call. He’s either walking out on me or not.

  He takes the phone from my hand, and says into the receiver, “Thank you, but I’ve had a change of plans.” He never takes his eyes off me.

  I hang the phone up, and turn to Colin. “I’m going to bed.”

  He crutches behind me to our bedroom. I’m so emotionally wrung out that I don’t bother brushing my teeth before I crawl into bed. Colin pulls off his clothes, and slides in next to me. I lean over and turn out the light on my nightstand, blanketing the room in darkness.

  “I love you, Charlie,” he whispers.

  I let out a sigh. “I love you, too.”

  He reaches over, and timidly begins stroking my stomach.

  “Please, don’t touch me. I don’t want to have sex with you tonight.”

  He rolls over on his side and looks at me. Even in the dark, I can see his pain filled eyes. “Why won’t you let me make love to you?”

  “Because I’m angry, and disappointed in you. You destroyed our Christmas decorations, Colin. You tried to send me back to Houston. You wanted to leave me.” Then I ask the question that is nagging at me. “If I had let you leave, would you have drank, or taken more of the painkillers for your leg than you should?”

  He’s very quiet for a long time. When he finally answers, he says, “No. I know that it would numb me for a little while, but then I would just feel worse later. The only thing that will make me feel better right now, you’re denying me.”

  “What did you do bef
ore me when you got like this?” I ask, because it’s not like I can really ruin the mood any further at this point.

  “Fuck Jenna,” he says as he rolls over—away from me.

  He doesn’t say another word but I can tell from his breathing that he’s not asleep.

  I assumed as much about Jenna, but it’s getting the confirmation that hurts so much. I don’t go to sleep immediately, either. I lie there, staring at the ceiling, watching the blades of the ceiling fan spin. This is real life. This is the backstory behind the fairytale.

  All fairytales that I read as a child cut off at the wedding. No one hears about how the princess dealt with the prince leaving her every weekend to slay dragons. Or what happens when the wicked step-sisters waggle their perfect asses in his direction. Do the princess and prince have a baby? Who knows? That part of the fairytale is omitted. Does Prince Charming want to have sex with the princess to make his ego feel better?

  I feel like a real bitch for not giving Colin what he needs. Probably, if I was a good wife, I would have submitted to him, and let him have sex with me however he needed to feel better about himself. But I just can’t bring myself to do it. I don’t want to feel used.

  I hug myself, and roll over away from him. For the first time since we’ve gotten back together, I’m grateful for our large bed. I can claim my edge away from him.

  I must fall asleep at some point in the middle of the night, because I’m awakened by sunlight peeking in the bedroom windows. I open my eyes and glance at the clock. It’s still early, and even though I feel like my insides have been pulled out and baked in the hot sun, I need to run.

  Colin’s side of the bed is empty. I sit up and look around, seeing him sitting in the formerly red chair.

  He turns when he hears me stirring. “Did you sleep?” he asks, in a solemn voice.

  “Not much. You?” I know full well that he didn’t.

  “No. I couldn’t bring myself to lie next to you when you didn’t want me.”

  “I’m going for a run.” I slip out of bed and into the bathroom. I have no response to his statement.