Chapter 40
Hunter
You know those moments when you know you’re making a terrible decision, but some part of you can’t turn the car around, take the fastest route in the opposite direction, and shut down the urge?
That’s how I found myself knocking on the front door of Dario Conner, the Devils striker.
Maybe it’s that he offered himself up if I ever needed to talk. Perhaps he gets it. We’ve always been friendly, but never friends.
He’s too sure of himself, too optimistic, too level-headed to understand someone like me, especially on a night like this one when darkness is my chief personality trait. Or at least that’s what I always thought.
But I’ve already bent Kyler’s ear, and there’s only so much I can talk to him about his own sister.
He’s a good friend, but no one is that good.
The best thing I can do for our friendship is stay clear of Gracie, so I don’t hurt her more, which is why I’m holed up at a hotel near the Devils training facility.
Might as well lessen my commute while I’m ruining my life.
It’s where I should be right now, eating room service off a tray and watching some cooking show on TV. I tried it for about ten minutes, but the chef started making stuffed baked potatoes, which reminded me of Gracie, and in two seconds, I’d lost my appetite.
So now, thirty minutes later, here I am at Dario’s door, which I can’t help noticing is painted a nice shade of green. The door swings open, and my teammate holds out a cold beer as if no other greeting is needed.
“You have a green door,” I say, following him inside. I’ve never been here, so my head is on a swivel, taking in the details of his craftsman bungalow in Santa Monica. Even though it’s nighttime, there’s an open feeling from skylights overhead, glass revealing treetops and maybe even a few stars.
“Yes. Painted that myself. Otherwise, I can’t take much credit for the place.”
His furniture is simple. A large mirror above a console loaded with framed photos of his son. A white-painted kitchen outfitted with pale wood cabinets and stainless steel appliances, a few comfortable-looking tan couches in the living room.
Right when I’m about to marvel that the place is spotless for a person with a kid, I see the massive pile of board games, a train table with tracks and trains covering its surface, and a full-sized camping tent, which I can only imagine is full of more kid stuff.
Dario points at the empty couch, which sits at an angle from a worn brown leather chair with an open beer next to it on a side table. He drops into and waits for me to tell him why I came to talk.
“I’m not sure why I’m here,” I admit. The beer goes down easily, and I decide that maybe that’s why I’m here. For once, no one’s giving me a hard time about empty carbs, and I can enjoy a cold beer and wallow in peace.
“You called me. And I have nowhere to be, so take your time.” Dario takes a swallow of his beer and waits. I see he’s not going to make this easy by slinging small talk.
Fine. I guess I don’t deserve easy.
“I guess I have some questions.” My eyes sweep over the toys and trains, and it hits me that he faces the same professional stresses I do, only he does so as a single dad with a kid in his full-time care.
I feel exhausted from my own thoughts. I can’t imagine how he manages the actual exhaustion that comes with raising a human being.
I rest my forehead against my palm and close my eyes against the world.
“We don’t have to talk. We can drink a beer, enjoy a moment of peace. Lord knows I don’t get a lot of that with a five-year-old,” he says.
“Where’s your kid?”
“Asleep. Which means this is the time I have for this.” He gestures between me and his beer before picking up his phone and tapping something on the screen.
I shouldn’t have come here. He’s got better things to do than give me a couch to wallow on, so I stand from the couch, planning on thanking him for the beer and heading home.
A chill Alabama Shakes song starts playing from the surround-sound speakers, and Dario adjusts the volume on his phone. He looks at me standing there and raises an eyebrow.
“If you’re planning on going anywhere, it’d better be to the fridge for the next round.”
I do as instructed and put the unopened bottles on a tray sitting on the glass table and return to my seat on the couch.
“Okay, spill,” he instructs, waving me forward. “What is eating you up? I can start guessing if it makes it easier. The team? Coach? A woman?” He watches me, and something must change in my expression because he nods. “Bingo. Who is she?”
Shaking my head, I again regret that I came here. I detest the thought of letting another person know about my screwups and getting wind of my weaknesses. I let out a long breath and consider whether I can make up a lie and pretend I’m here about something else.
“Jesus, man. Stop torturing yourself,” Dario says. “Whatever it is, it can’t be as bad as the hell storm you’re making it out to be in your head.”
I close my eyes and ratchet up the courage I didn’t think I needed to talk to another dude.
“I fucked up my relationship with an incredible woman I never deserved in the first place, and the worst part is that I can’t stop trying to figure out how to fix it, even though the best thing I can do for her is stay far away.
She deserves so much better than me, but I’m having a hard time letting her go. ”
When he doesn’t say anything, I keep going, giving him more details about all the ways I screwed things up for myself. It’s like I want to lay out all the evidence so he can tell me I’m right to feel as shitty as I do right now.
I guess I’m hoping for some tough love and proof that I did the right thing. Who better than a guy who’s a lone wolf? He sees how hot-tempered and stubborn I am every day, so I leave to him to explain that some people are meant to be alone.
The song changes to Springsteen, and I feel oddly comforted by the Boss singing about his desire for a woman.
When Dario finally speaks, it’s to tell me something I already know. “Sounds like you love her and don’t want to lose her.”
“Yeah, that’s true. Though irrelevant to the situation.”
“Why? Seems very relevant. Fix your mistake. Tell her how you really feel. Make things right.”
He says those things like they’re easy.
“Or I could be alone. Simpler, right?”
“If you’re a coward, maybe. But that’s not you.
And look, I get what it’s like to have a dad who fills your head with shit, and then that becomes the narrative.
‘You’re not good enough.’ ‘You’re not smart enough.
’ ‘You’re never successful enough.’ ‘You don’t deserve to be happy.
’ It’s bullshit, man. There’s no way out, unless you agree to stop listening. ”
I sit dumbfounded because I can’t remember ever telling him about my dad.
“He used to come to games, I remember,” he explains, as though he knows my thoughts.
“Tough nut to crack. Always looked a little angry, even when you played your ass off and I never knew how that could possibly be, except that my dad was the same way. Used to tear me up. I thought about quitting the sport just to spite him.”
“Would’ve been a waste.”
He looks off as though remembering. “You got that right. Only took me years of therapy to figure it out and stop doing it.”
“Do what?”
“Not letting his voice become my own. Not making his opinions more important than what I know about myself.” He shakes his head. “Shouldn’t be so damn hard, but there you go.”
He takes a swig of beer and leans back in his chair, listening to the music with his eyes closed, silently mouthing the words to “She’s the One.”
It feels like a revelation, the idea of not letting my dad’s opinions be my narrative. “Maybe I need some therapy.”
“Maybe you do.” He makes it sound so simple. Perhaps it is.
Could be that I’m the one who makes things complicated by being stubborn. It’s my choice to let my dad’s opinions define me. The idea of not doing that makes me feel lighter, almost gleeful.
I want to share this new sliver of wisdom and talk about it. Of course Gracie is the one person I want to tell. I have to earn her trust again, and it will be harder this time.
“I’m sorry about your dad, man.” I wish I’d been more aware of what he was going through.
“Yeah, it’s in the past. Now my job is to make sure I don’t fuck it up for that one in there.” He points a thumb over his shoulder toward his son’s room.
“You won’t. I’m an instinct player, and I have a good feeling,” I say.
He gives me a tired smile. I can’t imagine how he manages everything on his plate.
“I’m gonna choose to believe you because I want to.” He says the words calmly like he’s a normal guy having a normal conversation, but I know he’s been through some shit. He split from his wife a year ago, and I remember it being messy, but he never brought his emotions onto the field.
Now probably isn’t the time to ask him for details, but I make a mental note to be a better listener and a better friend to him in the future. “Thanks, man. And even though I’ve been a self-centered asshole up until now, I hope you’ll let me return the favor if you ever need one.”
His laugh is so quiet that I have to look at him to be sure it’s what I’m hearing. “I think you’re the only one who thinks you’re an asshole. Maybe try being a little less hard on yourself. Start that today.”
“Feels like I’ve heard that someplace before.” I shake my head.
“Lemme guess, Gracie isn’t just a brilliant analyst, she’s also emotionally intelligent?”
“How’d you know it was her I was referring to?” I wondered why he didn’t bother asking her name or anything else about her. Guess it’s because he already knew.
He levels me with a stare. “The kiss, for one thing. Then you lost your shit when you saw her with some dude at the AIFund event. Couldn’t have been more obvious if you tried.”
I nod, resigned to the fact that I’m not good at hiding my emotions, especially when I get riled up.
I finish my second beer and do the smart thing and call a ride share to get me back to the hotel.
Dario walks to the front door and yanks it open when the car arrives. “Don’t be a stranger. I’m here most nights by myself after Hayes goes to bed. Always happy to have some company.”
“Do you not date?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. Too complicated. So feel free to come on over here and join me anytime.”
I look around his tidy space, which is so quiet right now, even though I know he has a noisy five-year-old. He looks drained in a way only a dad can. He also looks content. I want that with Gracie. I want it all.
“Good vibes here, man. I’ll take you up on it.”