Fleetwood Mac-Part III of Fritz Series

Denial=>River in Egypt

***A/N sexual content***

"And you did this playing golf...?" God I hate hospitals. How many times do I have to tell this nurse the same thing over and over again? Yes golf! I broke my fingers playing golf. Is it a lie? Yeah, but so the fuck what, she's not the God damn truth police "It's a competitive sport". Would that it was so interesting, I might actually have time to take it up. No I wouldn't I'd be too busy being a raving egoist, whatever that means. It's times like these I miss good old Dr. Schlitz, at least she was getting paid to mind fuck me and call me names.

For reasons known only to the California department of health and human services I'm referred to an anger management program after being checked out by a physician. The pamphlet crumples and I shove it into the glove box of the BMW popping two of the pain pills the E.R. doc prescribes me. There's only a few hours left in the day so I drive home and sit in the garage until past midnight. By then the kids are asleep and Stevie, hopefully, will be too. I don't bother to sneak in the house nor do I make any special adjustments to my approach toward the bedroom.

There's a light seeping from underneath the door and I groan inwardly knowing that Stevie is still awake and probably waiting on me. Shoring up my defenses and slamming my walls down firmly, I open the door. The second I cross the threshold Stevie lowers her journal to the bed, placing her bookmark between the pages. She's silent and so am I, I really haven't thought far enough ahead about what I want to say. What needs to be said.

Exposing her lie would be my first and knee jerk response, and I'm tempted. So tempted to confront her with what I know. But something stops me, the last vestige of hope that I have that she's going to breakdown and tell me. That she's going to be honest and tell me what's going on with her and Iovine. That maybe she changed her mind and she would rather I help her instead...I feel so pathetic. I still love her so much, so unconditionally if she told me that she and Iovine didn't hit it off. That meeting him was just a way of satisfying her curiosity about other producers. That she still had faith in me...

I brace myself for a fight, for yelling and cursing and slamming doors. It's what I expect; I yelled at Sara and disappeared for hours before crashing in my studio, then disappearing for another chunk of time, sitting in the garage while my family had dinner. Leaving Stevie to wash and put the children to bed, something I've grown to love and cherish, by herself. But she lied to me. She went behind my back.

Her voice is calm and measured her hands clasped in her lap "Lindsey, I don't know what's going on with you. But I need you to talk to me, please baby. You're scaring me" I'm scaring her? I'm scaring her...funny. "Linds, if this tumor-if it's gotten worse. Tell me" her hand absently smooths over her rounded abdomen. I haven't held my unborn child in forty-eight hours. She lied to my face, while I was holding her and our baby. She lied to me.

Covering her mouth with one hand I watch tears roll down her face "Oh God...Lindsey, please talk to me!" she'll probably tell Robin all about this, write it in her fucking journal. Maybe even tell Christine about it. Anyone as long as it's not me I suppose. "I think I should stay in a hotel" wiping at tears she runs her hands through her long blonde hair. Her nose is red, so are the brims of her eyes. My heart aches, then just as quickly hardens toward her.

Stepping into the master closet I find and unzip my suitcase, shoving clothes and underwear inside half hazard. I take enough changes of clothes for about a week, shutting off the light before heading to the bedroom again. I can only imagine how finishing this album is going to strain us...and we're supposed to be getting our vows renewed in three weeks. Yeah vows. Those little things we swore to the day I gave her my heart for eternity. "God damnit Lindsey! Talk to me!"

My hand pauses on the door knob, my eyes glaze over. Should I confront her? Do I want to know if she's decided to replace me? "You're dying aren't you? There is no surgery---oh God..." Dying? She thinks this is about my freaking tumor. Well I suppose not talking to her isn't helping her dash that particular misunderstanding "No, I'm not dying. At least as far as I know" my heart's been ripped out of my chest and stomped on but I have it on good authority that people do manage to live through things like that. Somehow.