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He was cranky when we talked last night…I think.

I was already pretty drunk, so I’m not totally sure. But Mandy thinks Jaxon was cranky, too, so maybe it’s just how things are when they’re at camp.

On the other hand, I’m cranky this morning.

I have a raging headache, and I’d really like to just stay in bed all day, but I have to get to work.

I’m used to having my summers off, I guess. Or I drank too much, which is more likely the case. A little of each, probably.

Mandy talked to Jaxon longer than I talked to Travis, and I let myself dwell on that. I let myself dissect it and harp on it and wonder whether their relationship is stronger than ours.

It’s stupid to compare, and yet I came to the conclusion that…probably. They probably are stronger than us. I feel like we’re getting weaker and weaker every day, and I’m not sure how we’re going to get through the next couple weeks unscathed.

The next week is a slow drag of the exact same thing, except with more Harper and less tequila.

We trudge through each day, and I try to keep things light and fun with our nightly dance parties and dinosaurs and unicorns and her favorite meals, but she’s hanging on each day for that phone call before bed.

I try to pretend like I’m not waiting on my own phone call each day, too, and when I don’t get one, it seems to hit me hard.

I’ve been burying myself in work, but it’s not like it serves as much of a distraction when I’m spending my entire day working on the image of either my husband or his teammates.

When Thursday rolls around, I drop Harper at Bella’s house before I head into work. She’ll spend the night there, so I’m kid-free for the rest of the day.

But when I get to Ellie’s house, I spot Tessa’s car on the street next to Leah’s.

Tessa doesn’t usually work on Thursdays, and something ominous washes over me.

I’m not sure why. A premonition, maybe.

Tessa can come here any day she wants. Maybe she’s working on a client issue and needs Ellie’s help.

But I have a bad feeling it’s bigger than that, and when I walk into the office, three heads swing up to look at me.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“You may want to sit down,” Ellie says.

I blow out a breath but don’t sit. She wouldn’t have told me to sit if this didn’t somehow involve Travis, and I’m trying my hardest not to panic. “What happened?”

“Last night a few players were caught in the vineyards with a vape pen after curfew,” Ellie blurts.

“A vape pen? Like…with nicotine?” I cross my fingers hopefully.

Ellie shakes her head. “With marijuana.”

“Who?” I whisper.

“Cory, Cason, and Travis.” She shakes her head with disappointment.

“What’s the league’s stance on that?” I ask, trying not to feel perturbed that my husband is off getting high when he’s made all this noise about being focused and he didn’t even make time to call me last night. Maybe because he was high…or maybe because he was getting caught when he was supposed to be calling me.

“They’ve relaxed their rules quite a bit. Players are allowed to test positive once per year without being suspended, so we should be okay there. But our job is player image, and the last thing we want is kids looking up to their heroes as they get high in a field like a bunch of delinquent teenagers.” She sounds exasperated, and I can’t help but wonder what he was thinking.

He’s already on thin ice with the team after his arrest…and now this?

What a stupid move.

I perch on the couch as I school my face not to show my disappointment. “So what do we do?”

Ellie glances at the papers on her desk. “Leah’s working on pulling throwback pictures showcasing each of them in a good light, and Tessa’s on scheduling acts of service for them. I need your help issuing statements and working with the media to mitigate the damage.”

I nod, and we get to work.

Our work is interrupted by the constant phone calls Ellie’s fielding, and she heads outside to talk to someone from the media while Leah runs out to pick up lunch for the four of us.

It’s Tessa and me alone in the office, and I feel like she probably knows Travis the best out of these women since her husband and mine are close friends.

“Why would he have done this?” I ask Tessa softly.

I’ve spent the morning with that question on my mind, and I’m not sure why I waited until everyone else left to ask it.

She sighs. “Training camp is both physically and mentally demanding. I’ve only been with Tristan through one of them, and he said it felt like he got his ass kicked every day for two weeks straight. My guess is they weren’t out in that field getting high. They were out there trying to alleviate some of the pain.”

“Why wasn’t your husband out there?” I ask.

She shrugs. “Maybe he was and didn’t get caught. Maybe it was just a quick outing with the three of them. My guess is the pen belongs to Cory and he was trying to keep it quiet, so he snuck out after lights out and somehow Travis and Cason got caught up with him.”

I never thought of Cory as trouble, but maybe he is. Or maybe I’m just looking for some place to put blame other than on Travis.

I don’t want to be angry about this, but I am.

He has the right to put whatever he wants to in his body. I’m not mad about that.

I’m mad he got caught. I’m mad he did something he shouldn’t have done when he’s already in trouble. He never got a punishment from the team. I guess the general manager felt like the league’s punishment was enough.

But maybe they’ll rethink that now.

And most of all, I’m furious we’re sitting here trying to protect his image when he should be fighting with everything inside to protect it himself.

I’m sad he let his daughter down. I can’t help but think this will hit the news and she’ll see it…and I have no idea how she’ll be affected by it. I can’t protect her from that. I’m mad he didn’t think of her first when he went out into a vineyard to take a hit.

And maybe that’s all it was. I wouldn’t know since he didn’t bother to call. I can’t act like I’m not mad about that, too.

And all that anger comes to a head when he finally does call me just as I slip into bed—into my bed in my casita, not into his bed in his house.

I’m too mad to sleep there.

“Hi,” I answer softly.

“Hey.” His voice is subdued.

“You okay?” I ask. I’m trying to be understanding here. Maybe if I go for a more gentle angle, I’ll get more out of him even though my chest is raging with emotions.

“No,” he admits.

“You want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Can you do it anyway?” I beg.

“No.”

I let the beat of silence turn into more. I let it get awkward between us, and then I finally ask, “Then why did you even bother to call?” My tone is more exasperated than I mean for it to be.

“Because I didn’t last night and I knew you’d be mad.”

“So it’s an obligation?” I demand, anger boiling in my veins. “You’re not calling to hear my voice? To talk to me? To get an ounce of home after a hard day?”

He blows out an exasperated breath. “Look, I had a rough day, and I don’t need you dishing me more shit.”

“Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you went out into a vineyard to do drugs.” I regret the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth, but I can’t take them back.

“It wasn’t drugs!” he roars at me. “I took two hits from a fucking vape pen to get two seconds of relief and everybody’s acting like I’m a fucking drug addict!”

I realize I have no idea what he’s had to deal with today…but he has no idea where I’m at, either. And he’s not even bothering to find out. He won’t allow this to turn into a conversation, and that hurts.

I let those words sit between us until he takes a breath to attempt to calm down.

Finally, he says, “I should go.”

“Don’t go. Don’t hang up on me. Stay and fight, Travis.”

“I don’t have any fight left in me tonight.” His voice is strained, and then he ends the call.

I cry myself to sleep as I wonder what happened to the man I married.