by Mia London
Nicci’s eyes softened. “Sure. I’ll swing by and pick you up about seven?”
“Thanks. That’d be great.”
“I’m heading out. You want me to wait for you?”
“No. I have another twenty minutes of work to finish.”
“Okay. Take care, babe. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Nicci slung her coat over her arm and turned to leave.
Angie had managed to get through the day, and stay focused on work. The “after work”, being at home, alone with her thoughts, would be her problem. How could she get through the next few days or weeks? And the holidays were right around the corner.
Her life had spun off its axis. She missed Mac, and so desperately wanted to take him back, but the pain at the thought of him being with another woman held her back. He’d betrayed her, them, and even if she could get past the pain, how to trust that it would never happen again? She didn’t think it would, but hell, she’d been wrong about quite a lot lately. She didn’t trust her instincts.
One day at a time. Hell, one hour at a time.
Mac found concentrating on work nearly impossible. Mimi scrutinized him the first morning he arrived late to work, and to her credit, deflected as much attention off of him as possible.
This time away from Angie was even worse than when he’d moved out months ago. He’d hurt her, and the look on her face would haunt him until the day he died.
He couldn’t blame her. If she’d had sex with another guy, fury would have taken him over, the likes of which he’d probably never experienced before. But instead of pushing her away, he’d pull her close. He’d claim her. He’d want to change the image in her head of some asshole to him. She’d know who she belonged to. For hours, he’d caress her, kiss her from head to toe, make love to her in every imaginable way. Probably spank her. Another man would never enter into her mind again; she would cream at the thought of what he could do to her, for her. She would beg for more.
Now he was begging . . . for forgiveness.
He finished an email to his sales team, then yanked a sheet of paper from the printer. Time to write that love letter Ryan suggested.
* * *
My dearest Angie,
Words cannot express how sorry I am for what I put you through. Not just for the infidelity, but for years of neglect. You are my world, and I took you for granted. I know I may not deserve this, but I am begging for your forgiveness.
When we said our vows eighteen years ago, I told you I would cherish you until the day I die. I meant it, and I still do.
The truth is, I don’t deserve someone as beautiful as you. You wanted me, not my money or my gifts. You patiently waited years for me to figure that out. I’m praying that now that I have, it isn't too late.
You are my life, and my soul. I am broken without you. If you take me back, I will spend every day proving that to you. It is what you deserve.
I love you with every fiber of my being.
* * *
He gave it once last glance, signed it, and picked up the phone to call the florist.
“No,” he said to no one. “That won’t cut it.”
Mac knew he had one shot at getting her back. He opened the website of the Catholic cathedral where they were married. Bingo!
He buzzed his admin. “Mimi, do we have any photo paper?”
“Uh, yes. Bottom right cabinet in your bookcase. Want me to get it for you?”
“No. I got it. Thanks.”
He found the box and set up the printer. After trimming the image, he scribbled across the back, loaded everything in an envelope, and addressed it to her work.
He walked out to Mimi’s desk. “Would you please get a courier to deliver this? I’d do it myself, but as you know, I have a meeting in fifteen.”
She gave him a sympathetic smile—probably well aware something big went down—and replied, “Absolutely. Right away.”
“Thanks.” He spun around to leave and crossed his fingers that the apology would at least open her up to talking. At least . . .
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Angie and Nicci descended the bleacher steps, heading to the parent section. Robbie took off for the student section. Angie knew Mac would be at the game, but that didn’t mean she had to sit near him. They were both on the home side cheering on the Fighting Knights to a win, and hopefully moving on to the next playoff game and one step closer to state champions.
Angie saw Mac almost immediately a few sections over in front of the fifty-yard line. A few days earlier, she’d received his letter at work. The note and the photo were so beautiful, so touching, she’d bawled like a baby. She’d ran to the bathroom for privacy, and knew she had to do something. She didn’t know what exactly, and the indecisiveness was ruining her.
Angie felt no better at the game. The weight in her stomach felt like bricks. She was uncomfortable with the whole situation, but that didn’t matter. Supporting Stuart and the team was paramount. Just a few hours, she told herself, and she could go home.
Stuart had been put in for several plays during the last few games, and that boded well for his chances to play in this game.
Occasionally, Angie’d peer over in Mac’s direction. He looked like hell—bags under his eyes, shoulders slumped, barely any enthusiasm when the Knights scored. How had it gotten so bad so fast?
Catching her looking his way, Nicci asked, “How are you doing?”
Angie sighed. “I’m okay.”
“Do you want to go over at halftime and say something to Mac?”
“No,” she answered quickly. “That’s the last thing I want to do. I don’t want to risk losing it with all these people around.”
“Okay.” Nicci reached over, grabbed her hand, and gave it a squeeze.
The game continued and Stuart went in for three plays. Halftime featured both school’s bands, cheerleaders, and color guard, and she noticed Mac made himself scarce.
After halftime, the Fighting Knights received the ball and ran all the way to their forty-five yard line. The score was fourteen-seventeen with the Knights leading.
“Oh, Stuart’s back in.” Nicci pointed with her chin.
Anxious, but excited for him, Angie focused on her son. He played wide receiver, so she suspected it might be a passing play.
The whistle blew, and the center hiked the ball. The quarterback dropped back, Stuart ran, but in no time the defense broke through the offensive line and sacked the quarterback. The home crowd moaned.
The second-down play Stuart ran long and then cut in toward the center of the field as the quarterback searched for an open receiver. Stuart was open. The quarterback threw the ball in Stuart’s direction.
“Oh, Nicci,” Angie muttered in tamed excitement. They all watched the perfect spiral sail through the air.
“It’s a little high,” Nicci said what everyone saw.
Stuart timed his jump and gave all he had to reach up and grab the ball out of the air. The crowd rose to its feet as he hugged the ball into his body. Angie held her breath when she saw two defenders coming from both sides, heading right for Stuart. He didn’t see them. Everything moved as if in slow motion. The defenders both collided with him at the same time, and the impact could be heard in the bleachers. One of the defender’s helmets hit Stuart’s.
Angie gasped and watched as Stuart fell to the ground like a ragdoll. “Oh no.” Her hands flew over her gaping mouth. She turned to the right and met Mac’s eyes. His face was taut and his eyes rounded.
The coaches ran onto the field and huddled down around Stuart. She couldn’t see what was going on, but too much time had passed—Stuart had been knocked out. Both teams bent down on a knee. More men ran onto the field.
“Oh God, Nicci.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Tell me he’ll be alright.”
Several more moments passed with no sign of movement from Stuart. When Angie heard the ambulance’s siren in the distance, she jumped up and nearly ran down the bleachers. Mac had already made it to her end of the stands
and waited for her at the bottom.
“Let’s get on the field,” he said in a tight, anxious voice.
Mac knew where to enter the field and no one denied them access. His hand guided her as they hustled to see their son.
“Mac, Mrs. MacKey,” the coach said. “Stuart’s been knocked unconscious. Medics are coming—” As if on cue, paramedics raced on the field carrying a stretcher.
She peered down at her son through the coaches gathered around. The color was gone from his face. Angie covered her mouth with her hand. The whole thing felt surreal. The crowd fell silent, and all eyes were on the scene on the field. Every parent in the audience knew exactly what Angie and Mac were going through right then.
This cannot be happening.
* * *
Mac felt helpless, standing there, watching his son out cold, and not knowing when he’d wake up. The medics worked to carefully secure Stuart on the stretcher.
He glanced at Angie. She wiped tears that had streamed down her cheeks. Her somber face pale, and worry lines etched into her forehead.
“He’s going to be alright,” he told her, hoping to give her optimism, praying the words were true. Stuart had to be alright.
The coach approached them again. “Do you want to go in the ambulance with him?”
“Yes,” Angie replied as she started to follow the people carrying her son.
Suddenly, she stopped and turned to face him. “Robbie?”
He put his hand on her shoulder to point her to the right. “He’s right here.”
Robbie carried the same worry lines as his mother. “Matt said I can stay with him, Mom. I’ll be fine. Go be with Stuart.”
Tears formed in her eyes again, as she reached for her youngest and pulled him in for a hug. Shortly, she backed away and kissed his forehead.
“I’ll take my car and meet you at the hospital,” Mac told her.
She nodded and turned to Nicci.
“Go to the hospital. I’ll be fine. Call me later.” Nicci rubbed her back.
Mac and Robbie walked off the field, feeling the weight of the world on them. Mac thanked Matt’s mom for taking Robbie.
“I’ll call you later,” he told his son.
“Okay, Dad.”
Mac jogged through the parking lot to his car and took off as fast as he comfortably could.
God, please help Stuart. Please help him to be okay.
He had to keep it together. Stuart would be okay. He had to be okay. Mac’s world had crashed all around him, but he could at least count on his boys being safe and healthy. Stuart had to wake up.
He raced to the hospital, probably breaking a dozen laws, but he didn’t have time to worry about that. He ran into the ER and saw Angie talking with a nurse.
“He just woke up,” the nurse reported, “but he has trouble answering questions and following directions. They are taking him for a CT scan. Please have a seat, folks, and the doctor will be out shortly.”
Angie let out a little breath, rubbing her hands over her arms.
“He’s awake. That’s progress,” Mac said, wanting so much to believe. Willing it to be true.
“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” she replied meekly.
“C’mon, let’s sit. Do you want anything?”
She shook her head. “Just for him to be okay.”
Mac understood that.
After several moments in silence, Angie whispered, “I don’t think I’ve ever felt so helpless, Mac.”
He reached for her hand and held it. There was nothing he could say. They both felt the same way. Anxious, worried, like life as they knew it was hanging by a thread.
They filled out a ton of paperwork, and waited. Hours passed before the doctor finally came to see them. They quickly stood. “How is he?”
“Your son is awake. You can see him. I’d like to keep him overnight. He’s had some vomiting and a headache, which is all to be expected with a concussion of this severity. I expect him to make a full recovery though.”
Mac squeezed his wife’s hand and glanced her way to see the first sign of hope in her eyes.
They followed the doctor, and saw Stuart lying on the bed, monitors and tubes surrounding him.
“Mom. Dad.” His voice sounded groggy.
“Stuart.” Angie leaned over to hug and kiss him. “How are you?”
Mac did the same, careful not to snag any tubes connected to his son. His face was still pale, but color was slowly returning.
“Guys, I’ll be fine,” Stuart said as he noticed the tears streaming down Angie’s cheeks. “I just want to know if we won the game. Do you know?”
Mac had to smile. A sure sign his son would be alright.
“Stuart, perhaps you should focus on getting better,” Angie said with a small smile on her lips.
They chatted a bit more, and the doctor came in, reminding them that the hospital would be monitoring him overnight.
“Will you please call us if there is any change in Stuart’s condition?” Mac asked.
The doctor said he would and encouraged them to go home.
Mac glanced back at their son, and saw his eyelids half-closed. Stuart needed rest.
“We’ll be back in the morning, Stuart. Get some sleep.” Mac leaned over and kissed his son’s forehead.
Angie whispered something in Stuart’s ear, then kissed his cheek.
They walked out as the doctor gave final instructions to the nurse on duty.
Suddenly, Mac felt ten years older. And tired. So incredibly tired.
His life had spiraled out of control, and he knew he had only himself to blame. He’d taken Angie for granted. He’d taken them all for granted.
“Nicci drove us to the stadium. Would you please drive me home?” Angie’s voice snapped him out of his wallowing.
“Of course.”
They rode in silence. Other than giving her another apology, there was nothing to say. This was not the time to have that conversation.
He pulled into the driveway and walked her inside, flipping on several lights, and making sure the house was secure. He shot Robbie a text to tell him Stuart would be okay. Mac didn’t like the idea of leaving Angie alone that night, but it wasn’t his choice.
He missed his wife with an ache, but he knew why she’d thrown him out. He scolded himself inside, repeatedly.
Angie pulled out a kitchen chair and slumped down into it. She set her purse on another chair and starting removing her shoes.
“Everything looks okay.” He stood several feet away.
She looked up at him, dark circles under her eyes.
“I’ll leave and lock up behind me. I can pick you up in the morning, and we can go to the hospital together.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
He wanted to say more, so much more. But instead he just turned and walked toward the front door. To a fucking lonely hotel room.
He’d barely clasped the door knob, when he heard Angie’s sob coming from the kitchen.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mac spun around and high-tailed it to Angie. His eyebrows pulled together. Shit! She’d collapsed to her shins on the kitchen floor, her hands over her face, sobbing heavily.
He went down to the floor in front of her and wrapped his hands around her forearms. “Angie?”
When she raised her head, he was hit by the tears streaming from her eyes—his strong wife, so wounded.
He lifted her to her knees and pulled her close. He didn’t care if she was mad or not. She needed comfort. He understood that. He wrapped his arms around her, and she cried harder.
Tears began to collect in his eyes too.
“He’ll be okay, Ang.” He stroked a hand over her back. “Shh.”
“I know.” A sob escaped. “What happened, Mac?”
Her question hit him head-on. She wasn’t crying for Stuart. She was crying for them.
What could he say?
“I feel like I let you down, the boys down. Myself down.” She covered h
er face again.
“No.” He kissed her forehead. “You are amazing. I screwed it up. I’m so sorry for everything I did to hurt us. Shh.” He kissed her damp cheek.
She sobbed.
“I’m so sorry I took you for granted,” he said softly at her ear. A tear ran down his face.
“I miss you,” she said in between cries. Then her arms swung around his neck.
He held her tighter. God, his heart was breaking. “Shh.” He kissed her cheek, her neck, like he could kiss away her hurt. Their hurt.
“I miss you so much. I am so sorry. I was stupid. All I can hope is that you forgive me. Someday.” He’d hold her for as long as she’d let him.
Her sobs slowed and her breathing began to level out. He hated himself for causing her this pain.
“Don’t leave. Please stay with me. I can’t be alone tonight.”
He didn’t want to be alone either. This might be the last time he could spend a night with his wife, beside his wife.
“Okay.” He stood upright and helped her rise. She walked to the bedroom and he followed.
He stripped down to his undershirt and briefs, as he often slept in the winter, and slid into bed.
Angie exited the bathroom in a bathrobe. She flipped off the bedside lamp, the only illumination coming from the street light outside.
She slipped off her robe and climbed into bed beside him.
They both laid in the darkness, a heavy silence lingering in the air. Mac stared at the nothingness, rewinding the events that brought him to this point.
After several long moments, she spoke. “I was so scared for Stuart. I just watched and watched, and he didn’t move.”
He stretched his arm, found her hand and cupped it in his. “Me too. But he’ll be okay.”
“Thank God.”
She rolled to her side and asked softly, “Please hold me, Mac.”
He shuffled closer and reached for her. She snaked her arms around his neck and nuzzled close to him. Mac contained his surprise when he pulled her close and found her naked. Wrapping his arms around her torso, her warm, soft skin felt amazing to his touch. He was afraid he would get hard holding her, and she would throw him out of bed. Sweat beads broke out on his forehead as he tried to contain his lust at holding his beautiful wife again. Her body flush against his felt marvelous. It always had, he’d just forgotten that too many times.