Homestands (Chicago Wind #1) Read Online Free PDF

wouldn’t he answer her? Why didn’t he say he was with the guys?
    Because he wasn’t.
    The thought twisted her stomach until she sat on the kitchen table and doubled over, arms around her waist.
    It couldn’t be true.
    She listened to the shower run in their master bath. She couldn’t deal with this now. It was too late. Or maybe too early. The clock moved from 3:20 to 3:30, Meg growing more and more numb as the shower ran on.
    Finally she slid off the table and trudged upstairs. The shower noise increased as she neared.
    But when she entered their bedroom, Mike lay on his back across the bed, knees hanging over the edge, still dressed except for his socks which lay in balls at the base of the wall six feet away.
    Dazed, she walked into the steamy bathroom and turned off the shower.
    Let him sleep in his clothes.
    She returned to him, silent on the thick carpet.
    He didn’t stir.
    She reached a hand to the stubble on his face, the scraggly goatee he’d decided to grow, but at the last second pulled back. Had someone else suggested he grow it? The idea had not been hers.
    She rubbed her forehead. Maybe in the morning things would make sense. She clung to that thought as she slipped between the sheets, for once thankful for their king-sized bed. She turned her back on her husband and slept.
    When she woke, Mike lay curled beneath the covers, only his forehead and nose showing. Meg squinted at the clock. Eleven-thirty.
    She tiptoed out of their room and showered in the guest bath, not wanting the sound of water to wake him and force them together.
    Not yet.
    She dressed and slipped downstairs, making herself a cheese omelet filled with tomatoes and green onions. As she slid the omelet onto her plate, Mike appeared at the bottom of the stairs, wearing shorts, his chest bare, his hair sticking up.
    “Hi,” he said after the tiniest pause.
    Meg turned back to the stove, throat tightening. “Morning.” She shut off the burner and scrubbed the stovetop before she felt ready to face him. When she did, she found him sitting at the table, reading something on his phone.
    And eating her omelet.
    Something inside her hardened.
    He took a bite and texted something—someone. He took another bite, the omelet over half gone.
    What did the omelet matter? Their marriage was farther gone than that. Meg swallowed. “Who is she?”
    He stared at the phone for several seconds before lowering it and squinting at her. “What?”
    “I want to know her name.”
    “Who?”
    She turned her back, shook her head. He could pretend all he wanted, but she refused to listen while he denied it.
    She walked into the laundry room down the hall and closed the door behind her, heart swollen in her chest, her vision blurring. Stacks of fresh laundry, evidence of an evening’s work, sat in piles on the dryer. Mike’s clothes, everything he needed for the next eleven days, the longest road trip of the year starting tonight. She grabbed a white golf shirt by the throat and crumpled it against her face. Why now?
    When her tears dried, Meg returned to the kitchen, but Mike was gone, the plate empty, his fork lying on the table amid egg residue.
    Upstairs, the shower ran.
    She gathered his clean clothes and climbed the stairs, lungs thick and heavy. Mike’s bag lay on the unmade bed, a few items in the bottom. She put each pile of clothes away and left as the shower turned off.
    In the kitchen she started a second omelet.
    Mike would be down soon, bags in hand, heading out the door for tonight’s game and then the airport. Almost two weeks would pass before he’d walk through that door again. What would he say before he left? Would he tell her he loved her? Would he mumble it? Or would there be a ring of truth to it?
    A stair creaked.
    So he was coming. Fine. She’d keep silent, concentrate on the omelet. Keep that, at least, from ruin.
    Behind her, his shoes hit the tile. Bags thudded against the floor, and keys jingled as he picked them up.
    And