Compass (Siren Songs Book 2) (19 page)

M
oby’s starting
to seem more like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde than the man I married. One minute he’s loving and attentive, the next he’s an arrogant ass lashing out at anyone who dares cross his path. I’m leery about how dinner will go. These are all people who care about him, even if they haven’t made personal appearances at the hospital. They’re taking time out of their schedules to come welcome him home, spend time with him, and encourage him. If evil Mr. Hyde is present tonight, we may have zero friends when the night concludes. He can’t stand the sympathetic way people look at him. If Dr. Jekyll makes an appearance, all will be grand. Sadly, I’ve seen both of them today in a matter of minutes and can’t guarantee who I’ll be dining with.

I pull up to the curb of the restaurant to let Moby out so he doesn’t have to walk as far.

“What are you doing?” he looks at me confused.

“Letting you out while I go park so you don’t have as far to walk.”

“Are you just trying to scream at anyone who might see me waiting that I’m a cripple?” Jesus, Mr. Hyde rears his head.

Instead of lighting a bigger fire with a response, I pull away from the curb and into the closest parking place I can find. The weight of the world couldn’t be any heavier than the burden I’m carrying on my shoulders. I wish there was a way I could warn our friends about Moby’s mood but since there’s not, I grab his walker from the trunk of the car and meet him at the open passenger door.

Sitting still in the seat, I wait for him to move, when he doesn’t, I meet his eyes. I’m sure the sadness in mine is visible, my shoulders slumped, I feel beaten.

“Come on, Moby. Your friends are waiting inside.” The melancholy in my tone is tangible.

“I’m sorry. I know I keep snapping at you and each time I do, I promise myself I won’t do it again, and thirty minutes later I fail. This is hard for me.”

“I know.”

“I’m embarrassed, Piper. The last time I saw most of these people I was a physical trainer. Now, I can barely walk and have almost no use of my left hand. I have to lift it with my right to put it where I want it for Christ’s sake.” He usually just keeps it tucked into his pants pocket to avoid use of it at all.

“I wish you understood no one but you sees that. All the rest of us see is you’re still breathing. You’re still here.”

“My body is who I am. It’s what I do. Now it’s fucking broken. Don’t you get that?” His eyes frantically search my face for a sign of understanding.

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t. Your body was never who you were to me or anyone in that building.” I point to the restaurant behind me. “Your heart, your spirit, that’s who you are to me.”

“You can honestly look me in the eyes and tell me you’re just as attracted to me with a limp and a gimpy hand as you were the day you married me?”

I hesitate, wanting to choose my words carefully.

Before I can respond, he hurls insults. “Exactly. You can’t fucking say it. You’re no different than anyone else. You see skin deep, and it’s flawed.”

He grabs for the walker, attempting to pull it from my grasp to walk away without allowing me to retort. I don’t give in so easily.

“I appreciate you telling me how I feel.” Straightening my back, I harden my resolve to get this off my chest and let the pieces fall where they may. “I’m absolutely still attracted to the man I see in front of me. What I’m not attracted to is your snotty attitude that rears its ugly head anytime you feel the slightest bit of unease. Are things different? Absolutely they are. The question is are you going to let it define you or reshape you? Be careful which choice you make Moby, there are consequences to our actions, and letting it define you could cost you way more than your mobility.” Shocked by my own candidness, I’m afraid of his response. I wait for an unseemly amount of time, but he says nothing just stares at me, never blinking. “We need to get inside. Everyone’s waiting.”

“Can’t wait for this charade to be over. Nothing like pretending to be happy-go-lucky when the world has fucked you coming and going.”

“Put on your big boy panties and suck it up. Fake it if you have to.”

Those were the last words I spoke to Moby all evening. The instant we cross the threshold into the restaurant, he plasters a smile to his face and is cordial with everyone, jokes with some, and appears to enjoy having company. We both mingle; we just didn’t do it together.

As people start to leave, I sit at the end of a long table, watching Moby from a distance, chatting with Landis and Brooks, when Joey pulls out the chair next to me, turning it toward him to sit in it backward, capturing my attention. I’ve never understood how sitting in a chair that way is more comfortable for men.

“How bad is it?” he says to me never taking his gaze off Moby.

“It’s not good.” I know what he means, I don’t need to pretend like I don’t. I don’t need to ask for clarification.

“Do you think it’s a permanent change or just because he’s so out of his element?” He turns his head to me for the first time since taking a seat.

My eyes well with tears, I don’t want to break, not here, not in front of those still socializing and thinking this is a joyous occasion. To the outside world, it’s been a good night. Joey seems to be the only person who notices anything is off with either of us.

“I don’t know, but the back and forth and the split personalities are killing me, Joey. He’s so angry and short-tempered. I’ve never seen a glimpse of this side of him. I’m lost.”

“You know he loves you, Pipes.” There’s sympathy written all over his face. I know why Moby loves him so much. They’re so much alike. Or they were. Joey has such a fun-loving personality and sweet spirit. If I could put him in my pocket and carry him with me everywhere I went, I would.

“I know. He just can’t find that place right now, and I’m struggling to find the patience to wait.” Sniffling, I swipe the back of my hand under my eye to catch the tears before they fall.

“I wish I had words of wisdom, but I don’t. All I know is he needs you. He needs your support even when he doesn’t deserve it. He needs to know you love him even when he’s acting like a prick. You’re going to have to lead him for a while, give him direction and purpose. He needs to know you’re not going to leave.” His eyes are hard, his face stern.

I get his implication. If Moby thinks I quit, he’ll quit fighting altogether. “I’m not leaving, Joey, but I can’t promise you I won’t kill him.” I add a weak smile in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Good girl.” He stands kissing me on the forehead. As he does, Moby catches him and sends an evil death glare our way.

* * *

W
aking in the morning
, Moby’s already out of bed. I lie there staring out the window at the beautiful day. My heart lightens with the sunshine beaming through the glass until images of the night before begin to flood my mind. I wonder what I’ll face when I find my husband. I know I can’t control his thoughts or his mindset. I can only control my own, but maybe in harnessing positivity in myself, it’ll be contagious. I’m probably being overly optimistic but willing to give it a shot.

Tossing the covers aside, I climb out of bed. I need coffee, and am going to have to face him to get it. I mentally prepare myself to be joyful, confident. I may make myself sick with my charade, but if I can get Moby out of his funk, I’ll try anything.

When I open the bedroom door, the smell of my favorite brew assaults my senses. I find Moby sitting on the couch the way he would any Saturday morning: a cup of coffee in hand, a magazine in his lap, and him stretched out in comfy clothes. Phoenix cuddles next to him as if they’re lifelong companions. I know as soon as he looks at me, Dr. Jekyll is in the room, which is a good thing. I can talk to Dr. Jekyll. Dr. Jekyll and I can have a rational conversation and possibly even formulate a plan for our future.

“Hey, baby,” he calls as he pats the seat on the couch next to him. “Come sit with me.”

“Let me grab some coffee first.”

When I return to the couch with my cup in hand—heavy cream, heavy sugar—his azure eyes captivate me the way they did when I first fell in love with him at a distance. They were always hypnotic, soft, kind, but something about them lured me into a daze. He glances back at me with love and adoration. Tucking my legs beneath me, I settle into the seat he called me to.

“Can we talk?” he asks timidly.

I’m a little surprised. Moby’s never the one to want to hash out his feelings unless he was expressing his undying love for me and trying to convince me to marry him, but he just doesn’t resolve issues. He sweeps them under the rug until he forgets about them. It’s the way everyone in his family handles problems.

“Sure, what’s on your mind?” I keep my voice cheerful—desperate to come across as open and happy. I don’t want to dwell on last night or even mention it.

“This isn’t working, Piper.”

My heart takes a nosedive instantly assuming he means our marriage. Opening my mouth to protest, he holds a hand up to stop me and allow himself to finish.

“I’m all over the place emotionally and I’m taking you on the ride, and that’s not fair.” He scrunches up his face searching for the words to convey what he wants me to hear.

“I’m committed to you. I love you, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt if I don’t show you those things, you’ll be destroyed by the grief.” His eyes cast downward toward his lap in shame. Unable to face me directly, he watches his legs as he continues, “I don’t like who I am right now. I don’t like how I feel or how I look. I hate having physical deficiencies for obvious reasons. I’m unable to work, unable to exercise, which means I can’t relieve stress in my normal fashion. I can’t provide for my wife in any way. I hate that, and I hate I’m a burden in your life.”

“Moby…I don’t know how you couldn’t feel all those things. I get it, and I know you need an outlet for them. What I don’t understand is why you’re lashing out at the one person who’s stood by your side since the day this started.”

“I’m fucking angry, Piper. Don’t you understand? This shouldn’t have happened to me! I’m the opposite of the guy this should’ve happened to. I eat right, I take care of my body, and I workout. I don’t have a lot of stress in my life. There’s no reason I should’ve had a stroke. None!” I hate seeing him so worked up but know he needs to release the emotions he’s keeping bottled up.

“I don’t think anyone
deserves
it. I wish like hell there was something I could do to take it away, but I can’t. So how are we going to deal with it. What is your plan? The way we’re treating each other isn’t working and is going to throw us both completely off course. I don’t want to go in opposite directions.”

He lets out a heavy breath, adjusting on the couch. “I think we need to see a counselor. I also need you to hold me accountable to do the exercises I’m supposed to do at home. I need to keep a blood pressure journal. I need reminders to take my medicine and what to take. I’m fucking lost, Piper. I need my wife to be my babysitter because I can’t keep my shit together.”

My heart breaks seeing him so distraught. “Tell me what you need from me.”

“I just did. I truly need all those things.”

“Okay, well, let’s start with the counselor. I’ll talk to Shelly on Monday about who she recommends for counseling.”

“I don’t want you telling Joey’s mom we need a marriage counselor.”

“It isn’t marriage counseling, Moby. I’m going to ask her to recommend a counselor who specializes in life altering incidents. It’s a form of grief. There’s no shame in asking for help in coping with the changes in our lives and our marriage.”

“But she’s Joey’s mom,” he whines like a little kid.

“I get it, but I trust her. I’ve worked with her for months and know what she did for Dax and Cam. She’s an amazing therapist but I’m not suggesting she do the counseling.”

“Fine,” he relents.

“Next…I’m going to suggest you keep the journal for both monitoring your blood pressure and your therapy. We’ll get you a notebook and set a timer on your phone for three times a day. Each time it goes off, you stop what you’re doing, take your BP, write it down and take your medicine. You can log your therapy in there too just like you would a workout. Then I can look at it each night when I come home. Maybe if you know someone will see it daily it’ll motivate you to keep it in great shape.”