He glances at me, then looks away. “You can’t fix everything, Kate. I know you want to. I know you want to look after everyone and fix things, but…you can’t fix me.”
He doesn’t answer, just leaves, closing the door sharply behind him.
This is what I was afraid of.
I sink down onto my couch.
The last time this happened, we both agreed we had to communicate better. I go over everything I said. Was I too aggressive? Not clear enough about my strategy? My reasons for talking to Bears’ management? Maybe? I don’t know.
I shouldn’t have said that he should try to face his fear. That’s not my place.
He’s right. I can’t fix everything.
Except, I feel like he thinks he’s…unfixable. And that’s not true.
Obviously, Hunter is pissed. And I get why, I really do. This is a sensitive issue for him.
But…thinking more about it…what happens if he takes the deal from Toronto, and in a month Easton Millar is traded there? Hunter’s not going to have a choice about playing with him at that point. I mean, it’s a long shot, but it could happen. All three of these guys are young and have long careers ahead of them.
But maybe I shouldn’t try to convince Hunter using that argument.
My throat burns and my chest aches. My stomach has a stone lodged in it.
I care about him so much. I hate it that he’s hurting. I don’t know how to fix this. Maybe there is no way to fix this. All I can do is let him decide what he wants to do and then make it happen. That’s my role as an agent.
But goddammit, that’s so hard! My job as an agent is to get the best deal possible. And here I have a client making a unilateral decision that doesn’t match up with his stated goals!
I don’t hear from Hunter the rest of the evening. Or the next day. Late afternoon, I send him a text. Hey. Hope you’re doing okay. Just want to remind you that Santa Monica and Toronto want to meet with you.
I don’t bother mentioning the Bears. That’s a done deal, I assume.
An hour later, I hear back from him. Tell them it’ll have to wait. I’m in Calgary.
I stare at my phone. What the fuck? Now he goes home to Calgary?
If he screws up any of these deals, his career is fucked. That’s the last thing I want for him. I curl my fingers into my palms, my nails digging in. Heat burns through my chest at the thought. I remember how I felt when I heard he’d given up entering the draft, the huge opportunity he’d missed out on through no fault of his own. I’d felt sick and sad with sympathy for him. Now after working so hard all these years, after defying the odds and signing his first pro contract when he was twenty-two years old, I feel those same emotions. And I’m worried.
I’m also worried about our relationship. I love him. He’s my guy. The only guy I’ve ever met who cares about me just as I am. The only guy I’ve ever met who I’ve been so attracted to—physically, but also in so many other ways. I love being with him. Talking with him. Laughing with him. We just found each other again. And I’ve fucked that up by not listening to him and his concerns about playing for the Bears.
This is the ultimate test, I guess. I can’t fix everything. I can’t control my clients. And that sticky issue of boundaries has come back to bite me in the ass.
How am I going to make this right if he won’t even talk to me?
20
Hunter
I got here late last night after a couple of flights. Very expensive, last minute flights. I surprised my family, showing up at home in a cab. We yakked a bit, then everyone crashed.
I’m a free agent.
That thought gives me a twist of panic in my gut.
And yet…I have offers.
I know they’re not going to pull the offers after one day, but how fucking stupid am I to pick up and leave town? I deserve every fucked-up thing that happens to me. Like the last time, when I couldn’t get my shit together enough to enter the draft. Even a year later, I couldn’t do it. Now I’m screwing up again.
I had to get away. I paced around my apartment the night Kate told me about the offers, simmering and seething, unable to shut my mind off, unable to sit still. It must be the adrenaline giving me some kind of primal fight or flight instinct. And I chose to flee.
Now I’m here, I almost regret it. It was impulsive and childish.
On the other hand, I’m a mess. I can tell myself a million times to get it together, but it just doesn’t work like that. I still feel like running.
So I literally go for a run, lacing up my shoes and cruising through the neighborhood where I grew up. That’s healthier than a beer at ten in the morning.
When I get home, Mom’s making waffles and Dad’s sitting at the island with coffee and his iPad.
“Breakfast’s almost ready,” Mom says.
“I’ll just jump in the shower.” I wipe my face on the hem of my T-shirt. “It’s already hot out there.”
“Going up to thirty today,” Dad comments. “Scorcher.”
I’ve gotten so used to Fahrenheit it takes me a minute to make the conversion from Celsius. “Yeah. That’s hot.”
After a fast shower, I join them in the kitchen again. Arianna’s up now too, also on a stool at the island wearing pajamas, her hair in a messy bun.
“Okay,” she says. “Tell us now. What’s going on? There are all kinds of rumors about which team you’re going to sign with.”
Ugh. Just what I don’t want to talk about. I pour myself a mug of coffee from the pot on the counter. “What are the rumors?”
“Santa Monica, Toronto, New York. Bears, I mean. Also Pittsburgh and Boston.”
I choke. “Definitely not Pittsburgh or Boston.”
She grins. “I vote for Santa Monica. I want to come visit you in California.”
“Oh, that helps make my decision.”
She laughs. “Tell us!”
I wish I was as excited as she is.
With no emotion, I tell them what’s been happening. But when it comes to the offer from the Bears, and everyone’s screaming, I don’t know how to explain that I’m not going to take that offer. After Kate telling me to “face my fears” I can only imagine what my family will say.
Nobody gets it. Nobody’s been through it. Nobody knows what it’s like to have those feelings.
Except…maybe Easton Millar and Josh Heller.
They went through the same thing. Except, they didn’t. Obviously, they’re both fine now. Josh has recovered from his injuries. Easton had nothing wrong with him at all. Even they don’t know what I’ve been through.
“I haven’t decided yet,” I hedge.
Dad frowns at me over his reading glasses. “What’s to decide?”
I shrug. “I want to consider every angle.”
He squints. “Like what?”
“Like, everything.” I sound like an idiot. “Don’t worry, my agent is very smart. She knows what she’s doing.”
Fuck. I am an idiot.
“Why aren’t you happier, Hunt?” Mom asks slowly. “This is exactly what you wanted.”
“I’m happy.”
They all give me a what-the-fuck look.