Page 85 of The New Guy
She rolls over. Her eyes flicker. “Daddy,” she whispers. Then she goes to sleep again.
My heart is full, and a little bit broken.
That’s my baseline.
All systems normal.
TWENTY-NINE
Hudson
Gavin is avoiding me.
The only communication I’ve gotten out of him was when I told him the results of my doctor’s final concussion screening.Guess what? No concussion diagnosis.
Very happy to hear that, he’d replied right away.Great news. So lucky.
Totally. They said I have a hard head, I’d replied.
No response.
I spent the day hoping he’d reach out again. Now it’s ten p.m. and my phone is silent.
You home?I tap out, like the desperate guy I am. Then I send it.
He makes me twist for ten minutes. And then:I’m home, but pretty tired.
Well, ouch.
I pace my apartment for a few minutes, trying to decide what to do. I’ve got sad Maroon 5 songs playing in stereo, like an emo loser.
I’ve never been this guy before—hung up and hurting. It’s not a good look on me. Or on anyone, I guess. But I’d honestly thought I was above this—that my heart wasn’t breakable. I’d thought heartbreak was one more thing that discipline could overrule.
Seems pretty stupid now.
I grab my phone off the coffee table and text him again. I don’t hold back, either. I just let it fly.I miss you. I know you’re pissed at me, or pissed at the world. Or something. But you haven’t let me get close enough to you to apologize. And it’s not like you to be cold.
After I send it I have immediate regrets. Maybe that was too much truth.
The truth is so messy.
I’m staring at my phone, willing him to respond, when a finger taps quietly on my door.
Thank fuck. I trot to the door and whip it open, revealing Gavin in the hallway. “Hi,” he says quietly.
I open the door wider and step aside, closing it again after he walks in.
He doesn’t sit down, though. He stands in my living room, hands jammed into his pockets. “You’re right. I don’t do cold very well. It’s not my style. But you have me all twisted up. I don’t know what to do about it.”
“I’m sorry,” I say immediately. “I know I was a dick…No—not a dick. Dicks are good. I was a jerk, and I made your job harder by questioning your authority.”
He looks down at the wood floor. “Athletes lash out at the trainer. It happens. That’s not really the problem.”
“Then what is?” I demand. The sad look on his face is twisting my insides.
“We need to take a step back,” he says quietly. “The other night just proved it, okay? Neither one of us could function in that scenario. You were potentially injured, and not expected to be rational. And I couldn’t function in my job because of our relationship.”
“But youdidfunction,” I point out. “You did everything right. It’s only me who was an ass.”
