Chapter 36
Gracie
Hunter is a no-show.
At first, I welcomed the fact that he didn’t get home right at eight because I ended up staying at the event longer than planned, leaving me scrambling to pull out my ingredients and get everything into the pot before setting the table.
But now it’s after nine. I look at my phone.
Actually, it’s closer to ten. He didn’t respond to my text asking for his ETA, and that didn’t worry me at first. There have been lots of nights when he stayed late after training to work with the keepers and their coaches.
He doesn’t have his phone handy when he’s at practice, and he can easily lose track of time.
Or so I thought. Now, it’s plain late. I’ve called Hunter twice, but both times the calls went to voicemail.
I look back at our earlier texts, now second-guessing my decision to be vague about my plan for tonight. I should have let him know I wanted us to have dinner. Maybe he took my request to come after eight to mean that he could show up any time after eight. Nine, ten, midnight.
By ten thirty, I realize my plan is a bust, so I change out of my black dress and into a soft pair of gray sweatpants and a long-sleeved tee, immediately feeling more like myself. Curled up in an armchair in the living room, I pick up a book I started a month ago, but I can’t really focus.
As much as it was nice to see the pang of regret on Peter’s face when he realized how well I’m doing without him, I felt silly for needing that proof.
Seeing him felt the same as seeing an acquaintance, and after a few minutes, we barely had anything to say to each other.
I couldn’t wait to come home and tell Hunter how good it felt and how lucky I feel to be with him now.
“There she is.” Hunter’s gruff voice is softened by the fatigue in his eyes. He looks as lost as he did when he showed up that first night after his house caught fire, and I worry that something happened.
“Hey. You okay?” When I stand and wrap my arms around him, I can tell from his breath that he’s had a few drinks. He’s not sloppy drunk. Just mellow and maybe a little sad. He told me he doesn’t drink much during the season, but tonight, he seems like he’s had a few.
He’s rumpled and messy, the arms of his shirt rolled to the elbow, revealing his muscular, tattooed forearms. His eyes are a little bleary and dazed, but they still burn hot when he looks at me. I still love it and everything about him.
“You wore the dress.” The accusing words sizzle in the quiet of the room. “The dress I fucking love. You wore it for him.”
“What?”
“Your ex. You wanted to impress him?”
How does he know that?
Before I can form the words to ask, he explains. “I went by the event. Figured your ex might be there. I wanted to be supportive if you felt awkward.” His face contorts like he’s bitten into a raw onion. “Clearly, you didn’t.”
I rack my brain, trying to remember what he could have seen that upset him. But more than that, I’m surprised that he came there for me. And confused by why he left without saying anything. “You were there?”
He nods. “Not for long. But a few things fell into place.” He taps his temple and sways to one side. He covers by moving to the couch and letting the cushion take his dead weight.
“I did wear the dress. But not for the reasons you obviously think.”
“What do I think?”
“That I was—I don’t know—trying to seduce him or get back together with him?” All of those ideas sound ridiculous, but I can’t discount the fact that I did want to prove something to a guy who isn’t worth it. And I feel ashamed.
“You’re saying none of that was on your mind.”
I look him dead in the eye, hoping he’ll see my conviction. “Correct.”
“Why, then? Why the dress?”
Through the shock and surprise of learning that he was at the event tonight, a more important realization hits. My heart fills at his touching gesture. “You came to support me?” My voice cracks on the last word as unexpected tears fight my will to push them back. I wipe the at my eyes.
Hunter’s face softens. “Hey, don’t do that. I didn’t mean to…god, I’m an asshole.”
“No. You’re anything but that.” I slide across his legs and straddle his lap, holding his face in my hands. This beautiful face of this complicated man who gets in his own way right when he’s on the path forward.
He looks unsure of what to say, his mouth opening and then closing tight. He shakes his head, eyes closed. When he opens them, they’re soft, so vulnerable that I have to fight back a new wave of tears.
“I can’t help thinking…” He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “That you should be dating someone like him instead of me.”
Once the words are out, he looks almost relieved. And resigned. Like now that he’s given me permission to leave, I’ll take it.
“Someone smart? Thoughtful? Someone who sees me and makes me feel valued?” A single tear slips down my cheek and he dabs it away with his thumb. “I am with someone like that. I’m with you.”
He swallows hard like there’s a lump in his throat. “It’s nice that you see me like that, but—”
I cut him off the same way he’s done with me, by putting a finger against his lips. “No buts. It’s happening,” I say, echoing the words he said to me that day on our neighborhood walk.
He looks at the ceiling, but his hint of a smile doesn’t escape me. “It’s happening,” he agrees.
“Hunter, I love that you came there for me. And I’m sorry if it looked like I was trying to get my ex's attention. You’re not entirely wrong, and I’m not proud of it, but I did want him to see how much better I am now without him. But that’s because of you. I love you.”
I haven’t said these words, though I’ve thought them. If ever there was the right time to risk my feelings for Hunter, now feels like it.
His jaw goes slack in my hands, and his brow creases. For a second, I worry I shouldn’t have gone that far, but something pushes me to go further.
“What I realized tonight is that his opinion means nothing. Less than nothing. The only one whose opinion matters to me is you. In the time we’ve been together, I’ve started to trust again because you’re trustworthy. I believe in us. Don’t let some guy from my past take that away.”
I lock on Hunter’s eyes and try to make him believe me. I feel like he’ll see my conviction, and that will erase any doubts he has. He seems relieved. Maybe convinced. Definitely emotionally spent.
“Come to bed with me?”
“Yes, please.”
“Let me prove how much I missed you tonight.”
I nod and follow him into his room and try not to dwell on the fact that he may not love me as much as I love him. I try not to worry about what it means for us.