“Okay.” I drag my hand over my face. “I know this will be a really selfish thing to say given the circumstances, but dude, I think she’s going to pull away. I can feel it deep in my goddamn bones. This is our undoing.”

“You can’t think that way.”

“She was already acting weird after hearing about the ESPN thing, despite her saying she was proud of me, but this . . . this is it.”

“Let’s just focus on one thing at a time, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“I’ll let you know about my flight, and then I’ll meet you out there. Keep me posted.”

“I will.”

We say our goodbyes, and when I turn around, I find Myla standing in the bedroom doorway, her eyes sunken and bloodshot, her hair in a tangled mess, and her clothes askew.

Fuck, did she hear what I said?

“Hey, good morning,” I say, trying to act casual. “How are you feeling?”

“Who were you talking to?” she asks.

Yup . . . she heard.

“Banner,” I say.

She nods and folds her arms over her chest. “So you think this is it for us? That’s really what you’re thinking about right now? Our marriage?”

Fuck!

“No, Myla, that’s not . . . I mean, I’m worried about that, yes. But I’m also worried about you, about Nichole navigating all of this.”

“Or are you worried about yourself?”

I can see it in her eyes. She’s distancing and pulling away. She’s becoming emotionless and frigid because she doesn’t know how else to deal with her feelings. And whatever happens next, I know it’s because she’s having a hard time processing what’s going on with Nichole. Losing another person in her life is not something she’ll handle in a healthy way.

“I’m worried about you, Myla.” I take a step forward, moving slowly. “I’m worried about how you feel and how you’re dealing with everything.”

Her eyes well up, and she shakes her head. “How do you think I’m doing?”

My palms start to sweat. “Hurt. Scared. Fearful. Uncertain.”

“To name a few.” She glances away.

“How can I help?” I ask her.

“You can’t.” She stares out the window of the penthouse. “So maybe it’s best if you just . . . go.”

And there it is. I knew it was coming, but it still doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting. Now the question is, how do I handle this?

“Myla, I know you’re hurting, baby, but I’m not going to leave, not when you need someone to lean on. So why don’t we just take a shower, get ready, grab the donuts, and go see Nichole?”

“I don’t need you holding my hand,” she says. “I can do this by myself. You don’t even like Nichole, so why do you even care?”

“I like Nichole,” I say. “We’ve had our differences, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel something for her. And you’re, well . . . you’re special to me.” I was about to call her my wife, but I think we all know sidestepping that was a smart choice. “And I don’t like to see you hurting. It’s important to me to be there for you.”