Broken Links

After enough of the right people recognized the value in what I was providing on the website, I dropped my first analysis of Nancy's play. I thought of doing so under the pen name of Dixon Cider, but thought that was too juvenile. It covered every aspect of her game and was entitled "How Far Has The Queen Fallen?"

It wasn't pretty.

I began seeing both a therapist and an acting coach. Every week Nancy would come back to me and I'd play the doting but distracted husband. For every five other analytical articles I dropped, I posted one about Nancy. They started to get traction and other outlets used my information in their articles. It was getting to her and she spent a great deal of time complaining.

I tried to sound concerned but upbeat. "They seem unduly harsh, but they're critical of other players as well. Have you looked into it? Are the articles accurate? Can you get something of value from what they're saying?"

"I... yeah, they aren't making stuff up, but it's incredibly slanted. It's like there's hundreds of data points and they're focusing on five."

I was surprised by how salient her argument was.

"I don't know, maybe they think those five are important for some reason. I'd ignore it. You've been on top for over a decade. No one's going to pay attention to some obscure online hatchet piece."

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

Her money was dwindling faster than my interest in our sex life. I began refocusing my articles that detailed her game and began comparing her to others that were doing better in certain areas. She was never a power player, but now if she was disappointed by a drive, she'd change up her stance and grip, trying to emulate who I'd compared her to. It was getting in her head and her game was suffering.

With enough alts, I was able to seem like a significant group of online cognizanti who offered critiques and evaluations. The posts were never vindictive and were always backed with impeccable details, but they were powerful. More and more articles began to appear that questioned her ranking. As their frequency grew, so did her attempts to compensate and correct her game.

Simply put, she got the yips. Drives were off, putts were off, and she wasn't responding well to interviews on TV. The LPGA could massage online and press interviews, but they couldn't do a thing about live broadcasts. She was curt and combative, a 180 degree turn from the likable star of yesterday. Photos of her in a CVS buying dental whiteners appeared and Crest wasn't happy.

The LPGA reached out to me and not so subtly told SM Saber to cut the bullshit or I'd be excised from the insider's club. Well, fuck off, Bobby Adesco. You're next.

I began tracking corollaries between the LPGA and the PGA. That grew into examining women's performance and pay in the UFC, tennis, chess and the WNBA. From there, I looked into revenue generated by events of similar size to the LPGA tour stops. Becoming an advocate for women, I began questioning everything they did and backed up my claims with evidence.

Six months had gone by and I was spiritually and emotionally exhausted. I kept having to convince myself to keep going. Nancy had hired a sports psychologist who wasn't helping. Her money was almost gone, and she didn't notice. Long-time sponsors weren't telling her she was done, but they were calling less frequently and some of her competitors were being picked up by the same brands.

We were nearing the finishing line.

I found myself drunk and on the phone at two in the morning. My sister sounded both pissed off and concerned.

"No, no, I just wanted to say that I love you. And Jim. And the kids. You got so lucky with the kids. They're the best. No, that's not what I meant. Not luck. You're a great mom, you know that? They're good because of you."

"Scottie, are you crying?"

"No... maybe a little. Look, some stuff's going to come out soon. I don't want you to worry about me. I know. I've known for months. I'm good. Don't worry about me, okay? Promise?"

"Scott, what are you talking about? What's going to come out? Is Nancy there? Can you put her on the phone?"

"Nope. It's the weekend. Not her husband."

"Okay, you're at home, right? Stay there. I'm going to call Nancy and I'm heading over."

That cleared some of the mental debris.

"Caroline, don't call Nancy. Don't. She's been cheating on me. For years. Do not call her. I'm not joking. I've been preparing and I'm not ready. If you love me, don't call her."

There was fear in her voice when she responded. "Okay. Stay where you are, all right? I'll be there in 40 minutes."

She was still in her pajamas when she walked in. I'd sobered up some and just felt lost. My sister held me as I cried, raged and yelled. I could tell that she didn't believe me, so I gave her a copy of the investigations. She skimmed through the reports and shook her head silently while looking at the photos.

"I... I don't understand. Scottie, I'm so sorry."

"Why would she do this? She knows what happened and how my divorce destroyed me. And then with her parents, I don't get it."

"I'm sorry, I wish I had answers for you. It's like she was living two separate lives. Maybe she thought she had to for her career."

"That's bullshit. Not for this long. Years, Caroline. Years."

"She's... I don't know. I seem to keep saying that. Something's seriously wrong with her. You need to talk to her. This is killing you. You've gone to war against the person you love most in the world. You need to sit her down and get her to explain."

"There's no explanations. What could she possibly say? It'll be over in a month. The prenup is as unbreakable as it could be. I just want out. I want to get away. Her explanations don't mean anything."

I was wrong. It was over within a week.

The investigators had never stopped, they'd just scaled back. Michelle Robertson was a talented college player who looked up to Nancy as a mentor. They spent a lot of time together working on Michelle's game and grooming her for the pressures of the tour. It turned out they also spent a lot of time together in bed.

I dropped the bomb the day after I found out. It was a full exposé about Nancy and Adesco, detailing their affair and the privileges he afforded her over other players. I assumed that he'd be gone by the weekend. The following morning, I dropped the second bomb.

"Queen of the Links Seduces Teenager"

Nancy called me that afternoon. There was a pause before she spoke and her voice sounded harsh, as if she had been coughing for hours.

"The tour's security traced it. It was you."

"Yes."

"All of it? For months?

"Yes."

"Do you hate me that much?"

"Yes."

She dissolved into tears. I hung up and slowly put the phone down.

Two hours later, Alice called.

"Hello, Scott."

"Hello, Alice."

We were both formal and a little stiff.

"I'm picking her up at the airport tomorrow. Can she come home? Should I bring her to a hotel?"

"Text me the flight info. I'll pick her up."

"Are you sure? Is... Are you sure, Scott?"

"It has to happen sometime. She's still my wife."

"Okay, I'll send it over. For what it's worth, I never knew. I'm sorry Scott, truly."

The four bundles of lilies were sitting in the backseat when I picked up my wife at the airport. Nancy looked like crap, as if she hadn't slept in days and had cried buckets. She'd taken the United Express connecting flight and was right on time. Luggage in the trunk, we drove mostly in silence. She was clearly shell-shocked and wasn't up to talking, and that was fine with me.

My destination was less than 20 minutes away. Nancy looked up twice before noticing we weren't heading home.

"Scott... where are we going?"

"I need to make a stop."

There was a hesitation and I could sense that she wanted to question me but was afraid to. Instead, she started the speech she must have been planning since the news of her affairs had broken.

"Listen, honey, I don't know what I can possibly say to express how much..."

"Good, then shut the fuck up. I don't want to hear it, not now."

"But we..."

I almost slammed on the brakes. "What don't you understand about shut the fuck up? I'll tell you when I'm ready to talk about it, now let me drive."

Nancy started fidgeting as we got closer and seemed to almost shrink into herself when I pulled into Roselawn Cemetery. There weren't many places to bury people in Pueblo, so that they weren't far from each other wasn't too much of a coincidence. Driving through the roadway of the cemetery, I stopped about 20 yards from my parents' graves. I got out, grabbed three bundles of lilies and walked over. After speaking with them for a while and assuring them that someone would be coming by to keep things neat, I said a few prayers. Walking over about ten yards, I knelt down and prayed near my niece's headstone. I left the third bundle and went back to the car.

Nancy was silent.

In less than two minutes I was parallel to her mother's grave, near two other cars.

"I... Scott, I can't. Don't ask me to..."

"I didn't ask. Stay in the damn car." Hands on the steering wheel, I paused for a moment. "It would've been kinder to put a bullet in my head."

After getting out, I grabbed the last bundle. Walking to the grave was one of the slowest journeys of my life. I wondered about her mother's life at the end. We had both been betrayed by a member of her family. I wasn't going to let Nancy's actions drive me to the extremes that her father had driven her mother, but I could see the attraction of the easy way out.

I could hear the crying and one of the cars pull away as I picked up some debris, brushed some grass clippings from the gravestone and put down the lilies. There was no need to turn around, I knew exactly what was happening. Nancy had just been served. The envelope contained all the requisite forms from my lawyer, as well as photos of my wife with her lovers. On top of the photos and paperwork was a short note that I left for her.

Nancy,

Well, you're certainly your father's daughter, aren't you? I find some small relief that you never took my name. It took some time, but I was able to track down your dad. His contact information is below. Maybe you can split the rent on his duplex. I checked and he's single. I'm sure you'll get along fine. You can split a beer or two while laughing about me and your mom.

Don't worry, I'm not going to take my life like your mother took hers. Please have the decency to not contact me. My attorney is empowered to handle everything. The prenups were clear. Life will be difficult for a while, but I'm confident that you'll bounce back, either on the course or on your mattress.

Scott

Walking to the roadway, I got into the back of the Town Car.

"Home, Mr. Billings?"

"No such thing, Fred. The airport, please."

A quick note: I'm an inveterate tinkerer. I add a bit here and remove a bit there right up until the last second, including while the story is in the Literotica posting system. That means that there will almost certainly be post-edit errors. They are entirely my fault.

With thanks to Nora and Randi for the editing, Steve B for the feedback and Steve M for the continued support. I'd like to extend my appreciation to the Left Foot, Right Foot society and to the people that are kind enough to beta-read my scribblings.

Some talented writers have been rude enough to write stories that are better than mine. They are all BTB stories that don't involve mayhem, decapitation, clandestine assassinations, bunker-busters, enhanced interrogation or pouring vinegar on paper cuts.

Here's a list of the stories, the author's names and a link to their submissions page:

For all the stories, click HERE

"Marked" by Stev2244. For his submissions page, click HERE

"Broken Links" by Bebop3. For his submissions page, click HERE

"Burning Down the House" by blackrandl1958. For her submissions page, click HERE

"Riptides" by NoraFares. For her submissions page, click HERE

"Love Me Do" by Harddaysknight. For his submissions page, click HERE

"On the Hook" by sbrooks103x. For his submissions page, click HERE

"The Monster in the Mirror" by MattblackUK. For his submissions page, click HERE

"A New Profession" by QHML1. For his submissions page, click HERE

"Tequila Shuffle" by Todd172. For his submissions page, click HERE