Fear spikes as thoughts zigzag in my brain. Yeah, he knew I wanted the divorce, but that’s not how the papers were supposed to be delivered. I wanted to be there. Fuck. I wanted time to think first.
The third message is from Jane’s number:
Dick move, jackass. You could have at least given her a heads-up that you wanted her gone. I’ve met some dumb men over the years and felt I was a pretty good judge of which ones were good people and which ones were trash. Congratulations, you actually fooled me. Apparently you’re just like the rest, a professional narcissist that can’t think of anything beyond your own bank account or prick. Well, I better let you go so I can go in and wish your ex-wife good luck with her HEART SURGERY tomorrow morning. Enjoy being rich and alone, motherfucker.
What?
My stomach jumps as nausea swirls in my gut. What is she talking about? What surgery?
What the hell is going on?
I call Emmy, and it goes directly to voice mail.
I switch to text: Is everything okay? Just got a voice mail from Jane. Please call me.
There’s no response, and I try Jane and Andrew, but there’s no reply.
Reaching over my neck, I grab my pads and pull them over my head and toss them to the ground. Snatching my joggers and a T-shirt, I start changing.
“Yo, Graham. Tight end meeting before we go out. Something wrong with your uniform?” Marlon asks.
“What? No, I can’t. Sorry, I gotta go.” I stick my feet in my sneakers. Was she having issues? Is this an emergency? Why didn’t she tell me? A million thoughts dart through my head.
Marlon grabs my shoulder to get my attention. “What are you talking about? I know this is preseason, but it’s important you get more live reps. I—”
“Fuck that, Marlon, I gotta go.”
Jasper walks up, frowning as he searches my face. “What’s going on?”
My throat feels so tight I can barely swallow. “It’s Emmy. She’s gonna have heart surgery tomorrow. I gotta get back.”
Marlon shakes his head. “If you’re part of this team, priority one is getting into season form. We’ll get you home after the game. You can still make it.”
I shove everything in my duffel bag and flip around. “Emmy’s more important.”
He gives me a blank look, not comprehending. And I get it. Sometimes players take the field regardless of what’s going on in their personal lives, but not this time. One of our defensive linemen played while his wife was giving birth. Our safety played when his father passed away.
I pat his arm. “Tell Coach I’m sorry. I’ll see you guys next week.”
“Call me and let me know how she is!” Jasper yells out, and I give him a thumbs-up as I walk out the door.
The next morning I land in New York. I was able to get a flight last night and barely made it through LA traffic to the gate to board the plane. My thoughts were only on Emmy.
I head straight to the apartment, hoping she hasn’t left. No one in her family answers my calls, even Babs.
I feel pushed to the brink of exhaustion as I rush into the apartment, and the silence is deafening. My heart jerks painfully when I find a neat stack of legal papers on the kitchen counter. The divorce papers. The last page is signed by her, and there’s an empty line waiting for me. Dizziness hits me as I take a walk in the den. Her books are gone, her teacups, even the cat litter box. Shit. I head to the bedrooms. My bed is made, and so is hers. The entire place has an empty feel, as if she hasn’t been here for a few days. Her toiletries aren’t in the bathroom, and when I see that her clothes are gone from her closet, I feel sick to my stomach. I stalk back to the dining room, wincing when I see that she’s left her wedding and engagement rings, her iguana bangle, and the signed Charlotte’s Web I gave her on top of the table.
That light-headed feeling hits again, and I sit down and breathe slowly, willing it to go away. It isn’t my injury. No. It’s her absence from my life. She’s left me. She packed up her stuff and walked right out the door.
A few moments later, I call Brody, who answers groggily: “Hey. It’s early. What’s going on?”
“Emmy’s not here. She left all her stuff. There’s divorce papers on the table, signed. I got a voice mail from Jane saying Emmy was going to have surgery. I thought you were keeping an eye on her.” I sit on the couch, regret and fear sweeping over me. “What do I do?”
The sound of rustling covers hits my ears, and he must be sitting up in bed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Where is she having surgery?”