Chapter 38
Hunter
I wish I’d filled the refrigerator with Yoo-hoo. Or stress baked. Or done any of the things Gracie seems to do to keep herself calm. Because one thing is certain—blurting out Ashley’s advice when I get home after the press conference is not a calming activity.
“She wants you to get photographed with other women?” Gracie’s doe eyes look especially round and innocent, and I remind myself that she’s a numbers girl. All the camera shots and bright lights are foreign to her. Not foreign, awful.
She takes an apple out of the fruit bowl and carries it to the couch, shining it on her shirt. I almost make a comment about her eating healthy fruit, but something in my brain tells me it’s not the time.
“As a stunt, mainly. To keep focus away from us. From you.”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“What do you mean? We have to do it. Otherwise, my stupid stunt of kissing you before the game and all the media questions will blow out of proportion.”
“I already put that issue to rest. I covered for you, don’t worry. Rolled my eyes and told people at work you think I saved your job and were just pumped before the game.”
“Oh. Well, great. Does Ashley know that?”
She shrugs, but I can see from her turned-down mouth that something’s bothering her. “What’s wrong?”
“I hate myself a little bit for lying.”
“What? Why?”
Gracie puts her hands on her hips. She looks like a superhero or a girl boss or something. All I know is that it’s different. “I didn’t fight back. Before, when I lost my other job, I just took the hit and walked away. It wasn’t fair, and I wish I’d fought harder for my job.”
Something hollows out in my gut. If she’d fought, maybe she’d still have her old job in the Bay Area, which is what she’s been saying she wanted since she got here. She regrets coming here. At least, that’s how it sounds to me.
She doesn’t give me time to sort through the ugly feelings, the reality that she wishes she were someplace else.
“I don’t want to lie down and wait for someone else to decide my career fate.
Maybe it’s time for me to do the right thing and talk to my boss.
Maybe if I’m honest and clear, it will be okay?
” She doesn’t sound convinced. “I don’t think anyone really cares about who I’m dating as much as you think. ”
“No, but they care who I’m dating.”
It’s a dumb thing to say, but my ego is bruised by the idea that she doesn’t seem to want my suggestion. That she doesn’t want me.
Gracie reacts like I’ve dropped a torpedo through the ceiling. Her face falls. I’ve never seen such a look of disappointment. No, it’s more than that. She looks gutted, but she has ice in her eyes.
“People care who you’re dating,” she repeats. “Yeah, I’m sure being with me doesn’t make for social media-worthy shots. Is that it?”
“I just don’t want you to ruin your career over a guy. Isn’t that how you put it before?”
“I was talking about a very different guy.” She bites out the words, and I can see the hole I’m digging is getting bigger.
Good. I deserve to fall into it. My dad was right—I’m only good at one thing, letting my brutal side guide the way if I can find the right place to use it. That place is soccer, not love.
“This is why I don’t do relationships. I don’t fucking know how. I say all the wrong things,” I lament.
Gracie bites into her apple and chews slowly. I’m desperate for her to say something. Anything.
“So say the right ones. Tell me what you want. Do you want to be photographed with a bunch of women?”
“No, of course not, but—”
She cuts me off with a shake of her head and another crunch into the apple. “What do you want, Hunter?”
More than anything, I want to give her the answer she’s looking for. So she’ll know I’m doing this for her, even though I keep saying it wrong.
“Tell me what to say and I’ll say it.” I look her in the eye, needing to convey how serious I am about doing the right thing. I expect her to react the way Ashley always does, grateful that I’m willing to play the game and do what’s expected of me.
That’s not how Gracie is looking at me. She looks disappointed. Disgusted. She shakes her head sadly.
“I’m not going to do that.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I shouldn’t have to tell you. You should know. All I asked was what you want.”
I feel the same frustration that used to spike when a teacher would tell me I was “bright but not meeting my potential.” I took it to mean that I was too useless to understand how to be as smart as I should be. “Maybe I’m not that smart. Give a guy a helping hand.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t cop out and pretend you’re not smart because you didn’t go to a fancy college.
You read more than anyone I know. You’re intuitive enough to handle any player on the pitch without thinking twice about where the ball will be.
Stop being so hard on yourself. I think you can figure out what to say to me without me feeding you lines. ”
“But I want to make sure I say the right thing.”
She leans in and makes her voice low. I’m not sure if it’s because she’s getting emotional or she wants to drive home her point. Either way, it gets my attention. “If I give you the words to say, they don’t mean anything.”
I’m out on a ledge without support. This is where I always fuck things up.
I feel the slow creep of anxious tension fill my muscles, the blood heat in my veins.
It’s exactly what happens when I’m in a game situation, facing down another player, and something tells me to go hard and take him down, even if it results in a penalty or a red card.
It’s a “fight or flight” instinct, and I always want to fight.
Not with her.
It’s true. I don’t want to fight with her, but I don’t have enough other resources in my arsenal. I’m not good enough with words to make my case for why she should be with me instead of a guy with fancy degrees. I only have my instincts, and they’re flawed.
“I want you,” I say.
Her expression softens. “Why?”
I swallow hard, worried I don’t have a good enough answer. “Because I love you.” She inhales a shaky breath, and I think I’m doing okay. But then I look at her, really look at her.
This beautiful, brainy, capable woman is offering me her heart. And with one stupid action in a hallway, I could tear it all down. And she’d let me because she loves me.
I can’t do that to her. She deserves better.
She’s encouraging me to use my words, so I’ll use them. Let’s see how she likes it when all my thoughts spill out unfiltered. All the messy ones, full of doubt and lack of trust. The things I should keep to myself and bury deep. She’s telling me to open up, and I know she won’t like what she sees.
Maybe that’s what urges me on. The desperation to convince her that she’s wrong about me. “I love you so much, Gracie. But that’s an albatross for you, not a gift. I can’t be the one who ruins your career. I’m not worth it.”
Her eyes fill with tears, and her mouth turns down.
She tosses the apple on the couch and wraps her knees in her arms. “I hate that you believe that. I can’t be the one to convince you it’s incorrect.
You need to know it.” She wipes her tears, but more take their place.
With the pad of my thumb, I try to help.
She doesn’t fold into me like she normally does.
She sits rigid, protecting herself.
So I back away. “Maybe it’s best if we…cool things off for a bit.”
I don’t know what I’m saying. I don’t know what I’m doing. But somehow, I’m in motion, going to Kyler’s office and throwing a few things into a bag. I’m walking over to Gracie and kissing her temple. And I’m moving to the front door.
I’m walking away.
“I think you’re worth it.” Gracie’s voice is so quiet, I barely hear it. “So I hope you figure it out.”