“Exactly, JJ. Fucking exactly.” It’s quiet for a few moments, and I drop onto my couch and stare up at my ceiling. “What are you going to do?” he asks.
“I know what I should do.”
“Then put on your big boy pants and do it.”
“Easier said than done. I’ll call you later.”
He ends the call, and I stare at my phone—at the list of missed texts and calls from Franklin. He never blows up my phone. What are the odds he’d do it while I’m with Miles and he was alone with my phone? For two damn minutes. It’s the universe’s way of calling me out. If I believed in that sort of shit, I’d think it was true. But this ismyfault. I dug myself this hole and willingly jumped inside.
I need to call Franklin. We have a lot to talk about. But before I do that, I call Miles.
It rings and rings and eventually goes to voicemail. I hang up and try again. He still doesn’t answer. And I can’t blame him. This whole situation is fucked up, and he may never talk to me again. I did this. I made my situation worse than it already was—which is saying a lot because I didn’t think it could get much worse.
I try Miles one more time. It goes to voicemail after only three rings. Which means he sent me to voicemail.
Now there’s only one thing left to do.
Call Franklin.
He answers after one ring.
“What the hell are you doing?” he growls into the phone, as if he has any reason to be angry with me.
Franklin doesn’t get angry, not like this. He’s devoid of emotion altogether, other than being perpetually annoyed. Something is going on, and I already know nothing I say will get it out of him. He keeps his secrets.
“What do you want?”
“Excuse me?”
“What do you want, Franklin? Why are you blowing up my phone?”
“Because you’re my husband and—”
“Only when it’s convenient though, right?”
“Jericho—”
“No,” I say firmly, cutting him off. I don’t usually speak to him like this—I don’t argue back. I just lay down and take his shit. But I’m tired of that. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say, Franklin. This entire relationship is bullshit, and I’m sick of being your convenience.”
“You’re the one who wanted to get married.”
Yeah. I was waiting for that. He would blame this on me. Just like everything else.
“This isn’t what I expected our marriage to be like! We’re strangers living halfway across the country from one another with nothing in common.”
“You know I’m working.”
“Which could be done from here, inourhome. You know, the one we picked out together to start a family? You choose to stay there, to stay away from me, do things without me, keep me a secret. You make those decisions, regardless of how I feel.”
“And I’ve told you—”
“I’m tired of your words. Of your empty promises. It’s allbullshit.” I grit my teeth. “I don’t want to do this anymore, Franklin.”
“You’re too emotional, Jericho. You need—”
“What I need is a husband who doesn’t treat me like shit.”
He huffs a laugh. “We’re not getting divorced. Especially not right now. You knew what you were getting into. I don’t need the negative press of some messy divorce, all because you can’t keep your emotions in check.”