34. Dalton

THIRTY-FOUR

I wakeup alone in my bed, my head pounding violently. I'm hungover as fuck and probably in need of about two gallons of water. But after Mads stopped by to get Dia's clothes yesterday, I had to get shitfaced. I honestly don't think I can get through this any other way. At least not right now.

I miss my wife. This apartment feels like a prison without her here. I wander around like I'm lost, going from room to room, trying to feel her. To smell her. Anything to remind me that she was real, and that she was mine. The first night I stayed here without her, I fell asleep on the living room floor, wrapped in her favorite cashmere blanket. I woke up stiff and aching, still clinging to the soft fabric as if she were inside it. But she wasn't. She was gone, and I was alone. I almost caved and called her so many times, but I'm trying to honor the promise we made. She used her safe word, and I need to give her time.

It's been three days since she took off in my car, leaving me to consider that her future may not include me. Mads drove it here, planning to leave it and have Blaze pick her up, but I told her to take the Audi back to Dia for now. Even if it's not for long, she's still my wife and I don't want her walking around Boston when she doesn't have to.

I couldn't hold back from asking how she's doing, now that she's staying with Mads and Blaze. I know she needs time, but I'd give anything to hold her hand through this. Part of me hoped that Mads would tell me Dia was doing okay, but the other part of me was hoping she's been as miserable as I have. She told me she hasn't talked much, but that her usual M.O. is to shut down while she processes her feelings. Mads promised me that she'd be there when Dia was ready to talk or be comforted. If it can't be me with her, her best friend is the only other person I'd trust to make sure she isn't going through this alone.

It killed me to watch her break down in the dance studio the other night. The security cameras don't have sound, but the image of her in so much pain had me up and out of bed, pacing the floors in Tanner's guest suite, fighting the overwhelming urge to go to her. But I know my wife. And I know that she needs to do this without me. When she figures it out and is ready to talk, I'll be waiting. I just hope the answers she finds don't mean the end for us.

My phone rings from next to me on the bed, the sound making the pounding in my head even worse. My instinct is to ignore it, but what if it's Dia? That has me sitting up, trying to focus my burning eyes on the caller ID.

Fuck.

One thing about Carrie Davis. If she calls once and I don't answer, the rapid-fire texts and callbacks begin immediately. Especially during the offseason when she believes she should be our main priority. Otherwise, we're subject to a retelling of our birth stories, in their entirety. Benton was lucky enough to have an epidural involved in his. But me? Twenty-eight hours of hard labor with no drugs. And something about an episiotomy, whatever that is.

"Hey, Mom," I say, my voice full of gravel. Good fucking God, I need water.

"Hi, honey!" she greets me back. "I tried texting Dia a few times because I was going to order a shirt that she said she liked while we were out shopping, but I wasn't sure what color she'd want. Is she home?"

Shit.I didn't want to tell anyone in my family what was going on until I knew whether or not we were staying together. I know they're already attached to her and I didn't want to put anyone through what I'm going through while I wait for Dia to work it out. I also didn't want them worrying about me. I honestly just want to be left alone until I have answers from my wife. But I absolutely refuse to outright lie to my mother.

I take a deep breath in through my nose, blowing slowly from my mouth, trying my best to quell the nausea. It doesn't work, but I go on anyway. "Dia left. She's staying with her best friend, Blaze's girlfriend, while she decides what's next for us. I fucked up, Mom," I say, defeat evident in my tone.

"Oh, baby," she says softly. "What happened?"

I fight back tears, which seems to be happening a lot lately. I've never been an overly emotional guy, but this situation is new for me and it's hard. I've never loved anyone before, especially not in the way that I love Dia. And knowing that she's out there, also going through pain and heartbreak, is almost too much to bear.

"Dia didn't have a good childhood," I begin. "I don't want to get into all the details, because it's her story to tell, but her parents weren't like you guys. They provided the bare minimum for her until she was able to start taking care of herself as a teenager. So, when she told me what her dream house looked like, I went on a mission to find it. I wasn't expecting it to happen so fast, but the realtor found it a few weeks ago. The only thing I had to do to make it perfect for her was have them install some mirrors and a stereo system in the basement. Otherwise, it was the exact house she described. I offered the owner fifty-thousand dollars above asking price to be out in a week and they jumped at it."

She exhales slowly, and I know she's about to hit me with a truth bomb. "If you knew she was considering divorce at the end of your time together, why did you buy a house?"

Because hindsight is twenty-twenty and I'm a fucking idiot, Mom.

I squeeze the bridge of my nose between two fingers. "I just wanted to give her everything. At first, I didn't care if we moved in right away, or if we were married at all. If she wanted the divorce, I was going to sign it over to her. But when she didn't come to me with the paperwork after two weeks, I thought we were moving in a positive direction. It was dumb, but I was desperate to show her how important she is to me. I love her so much…and now she's gone," I choke out.

"Sweet boy," my mom says, and I can tell by her voice that she's trying not to cry. As always, she's being strong for me when I can't be strong for myself. The same way she did when I tore my ACL my junior year of college. It was the Big Ten Championship game and although the season was basically over, I was worried my recovery would fuck with my chances of being drafted high.

"That girl loves you. She may not say it, but I can see it in the way she looks at you. And the way she talks about you when you're not around. And the way she leaned into you when we showed up unannounced that day. You're her comfort, Dalton. I'm sure that's a scary realization for a girl who has been on her own for so long."

I know she's right. Dia has told me several times that she's afraid of becoming dependent on me. But I don't know how to show her that she can still take care of herself and keep me in her life. The only other option is letting her go and hoping she sees it for herself.

"What do I do?" I ask, desperate for an answer.

She takes a moment, considering her words before speaking again. "Exactly what you're doing, my love. Give her the time and space she needs. As tempting as it is to contact her, she won't be able to give you an explanation of how she's feeling until she sorts through it all. She was never planning on falling in love with you. And now that she has, it's a whole new set of feelings. Just like you did with me, you threw that girl's whole world off its axis in the very best way. She'll come back to you, Dalton. Just give her time."

Tears spill over as I blink, exhaling a shaky breath. Dia is everything to me. So, whatever she needs to find her way back to me, I'll give her.

"Thanks, Mom. I love you."

"I love you, too, honey. It's going to be okay."

We say our goodbyes, and I get out of bed to hydrate. I should probably eat, too, since I haven't had much of an appetite in the past few days. I've been surviving on a diet of Sam Adams and whatever whiskey in my cabinet will finish me off every night so I can bear sleeping alone.

I make my way to the kitchen, reaching into the refrigerator for one of my prepared meals for the week. I warm the chicken and rice in the microwave before squeezing on some fresh lemon juice. I'm pleasantly surprised when I take the first bite and, for the first time in three days, don't feel like I'm going to puke. I guess that's a good sign. The last thing I want is for Dia to have even more guilt if we happen to cross paths and I look like death. Our best friends live in the same house, where she's also staying. Depending on how much time she needs, it's very possible that we would see each other.

The thought is both comforting and terrifying. I want to text and let her know I'm thinking of her. Ask if she's okay. Literally anything to let her know I still care. But I know better, so I try to think of things to do that'll keep my mind off of this whole situation.

I clean up my mess, still feeling well enough for some physical activity. I grab my hand wraps from my gym bag, heading downstairs where my heavy bag hangs from the ceiling. I carefully remove my wedding ring, setting it on top of the stack of PR boxes I still haven't sorted through before winding the wraps around my wrists and through my fingers. When they're secure, I walk over to the bag, forcing myself to push every thought from my mind. I start easy, throwing some jabs while focusing on my breathing. I feel like I haven't worked out in years, when it's really only been less than a week. I fight through the fatigue, throwing harder hooks and uppercuts while bobbing and weaving, trying my best to stay quick on my feet. My lungs burn and I'm dripping sweat, but it feels good to get my aggression out.

When I'm completely gassed out, I lean forward, resting on the bag while I try to slow my breathing. I'm exhausted again, but at least I got my blood flowing and don't feel like I'll need to get hammered in order to get a full night of sleep. I sit on the stool in the corner of the room, removing the wraps and flexing my fingers. The indentation from my ring makes my chest squeeze tightly. I hate the way my hand looks without it. I can't imagine what it'll feel like if I end up having to take it off for good.

I head toward the boxes, taking the ring and sliding it down my finger. My chest loosens slightly, and I let out a relieved breath. As I go to pick up my wraps, an address label on a medium-sized box catches my eye. It's from the hotel we spent our wedding night at. I don't even have to open it to know what's inside, but I do it anyway. I tear off the tape and pull back the flaps. The first thing I see is my black tuxedo t-shirt. Dia said it was ridiculous, but I didn't miss the way she smiled every time I asked how I looked.

I set the shirt aside, reaching back in the box and pulling out her wedding dress. It's all wrinkled and there's a rip in the tulle, but as I clutch it in my hands, memories hit me like a freight train. The defeat in her eyes when she told me her ex said that she wasn't wife material. How she stole my breath as she walked down the aisle toward me. I knew right then and there that my purpose in this world was to love her. The only thing I've seen since that moment was her. She's all that matters.

And I'll do whatever it takes to make her happy. Even if it breaks me completely in the end.