Free Secrets over Sweet Tea by Denise Hildreth Jones

the runway.
    Tyler was next, his self-confidence a stark contrast to Gary’s clumsiness. The women clapped loudly as he strode down the runway, his striking good looks undeniable. When he saw Grace sitting near the edge of the runway, he leaned over and reached down his hand.
    Her brow furrowed.
    “Come here, Grace.” He pressed his hand out farther.
    She shook her head. Julie elbowed her. “Go. Are you crazy?”
    Tyler’s smile beamed large and bright enough to be seen in the back of the room, without the cameras that already showed his face in larger-than-life prominence on the two huge screens behind him.
    “Come up here,” he said.
    She took his hand and let him pull her up with him, grateful she had worn slacks and the runway was low. Before she could even get her bearings, he took her in his arms and dipped her, then planted a kiss that made the room go wild.
    When he released her, she gave a sheepish smile, raised a soft hand for a hello, and stepped down as quickly as she could. Her face burned with embarrassment. His beamed with pride as he strutted back toward the curtains.
    “You are so lucky.” Julie elbowed Grace as she returned to her seat.
    “Yeah” was all she could offer, hoping against hope that video footage of that moment wouldn’t turn out. She was taking a sick day tomorrow if it did. She would not endure the humiliation of having that kiss broadcast. Not knowing what she knew, which was that by the time Tyler’s head hit the pillow tonight, he would be as wasted as the scraps on the plates the waiters were collecting. And that the man who had just kissed her ostentatiously in front of a crowded room could barely bring himself to touch her at home.
    That was their world—their sad and ugly and secret world. A world of public performance and private emptiness. And she still wasn’t sure how she had come to live there.
    Tyler had only been the occasional drinker when they got married—a glass of wine here, a cocktail there, maybe a beer with chicken wings. But alcohol had never really been an issue for him until he started to get older and his body took more of a pummeling on the ice.
    She knew that was hard on him. Older players on professional hockey teams faced exceptional pressure. But instead of working out harder or playing smarter or simply planning for a second career, Tyler had begun self-medicating. From a bottle.
    At first he hid the extent of his drinking from most people. It had simply been their private issue. But lately he didn’t seem quite as desperate to conceal it. Grace lived in fear of the truth somehow getting out. And nothing she had tried seemed to make any difference.
    She’d asked a couple of his friends to talk to him. That enraged him, and he left her for two weeks.
    She’d begged him to come to counseling with her—something that, honestly, they had needed for years. But Tyler wouldn’t hear of it. He had his pride. He wasn’t about to see a head doctor.
    Now, in these brief few weeks he had off between the end of the regular season and gearing up for training, she was planning to reach out to him yet again. She’d been hoping that reduced job stress might make him more open, more relaxed. But the way he’d looked this morning when he got up made her suspect that hoping was all that would be accomplished.
    When they married ten years ago, they’d both agreed they would wait to start a family. They were both young and career-oriented and assumed there would be plenty of time. But about the time Grace was ready to try, the drinking escalated, andGrace learned something she didn’t know about heavy drinking. Yes, it could lower sexual inhibition, but it also lowered testosterone levels. Which meant it got in the way of normal marital relations.
    The first night Tyler couldn’t perform, he was mortified. After all, Tyler was the ultimate performer. She assured him it was okay. But the embarrassment drove him to drink more, and the drinking just made things