Page 83 of Playing the Field
I scan the recent string of texts to see if she’s right.
Hunter:I’m so sorry, Gracie. I love you.
Hunter: Not much to add, except that I hope we can get through this
Hunter: I know I have work to do
Me: Glad you know
Hunter: I do
One text to his four.Does that qualify as freezing him out? I don’t think so. It would give the wrong message if I were bantering with him when he needs to sort through his issues without my influence.
I didn’t respond at all to a drunk, rambling message where he professed his love for me and told me he didn’t deserve me all in one long, slurring sentence.
“You should have betterrr, Tinnk. I know that.” I shake my head at the memory, hoping he doesn’t believe that I deserve or want anyone other than him.
“He texted this morning and I was a little more effusive,” I tell Tatum, recounting our exchange.
Hunter:Thinking about you. I’m always thinking about you. Have been since I was sixteen, FFS
Me: Me too
Hunter: We can get through this. I’m working through my shit. Started therapy
Me: Glad to hear it.
Hunter: I know I need to be a better man for you
Me: No, you need to be yourself
Hunter: I love you
I should respondand say I love him too. But it’s almost like I’m holding back a tiny piece of my affection, urging him to love himself so I can give myself over fully. It’s too much to explain in a text, but I know Tatum understands because she knows me so well.
“He needs to feel like he’s worthy of you, and you can’t do that for him.”
I nod and stare at my phone screen, wishing Tatum were here in person. She’d get me out of this office and away from the players distracting me beneath my window.
Then again, I shouldn’t need someone else to do that for me. “Hey, Tate. Lemme call you later. I just remembered something I need to do.”
After straightening up my desk, I leave the building, heading for a soccer gear shop on Wilshire where I know they sell team jerseys with player names on the backs. I want my very own Reyes jersey to wear to the game this weekend. I want a tiny connection to Hunter, even if he doesn’t know about it.
CHAPTER 42
Gracie
Two DaysLater
Whenever I enterthe Devils stadium, I think I’m overhearing noise from an outdoor concert. As I make my way through the hallways in my jersey and jeans, I feel like it’s the only explanation for the coordinated roar of instruments and singing voices.
Then there’s The Wall.
Some teams have them, others don’t. The Devils have a legendary one. The Wall is a special section for superfans. It sits at one end of the field—not exactly prime seats unless the home team happens to be scoring a goal—but it doesn’t matter.
The superfans are there to support the Devils, rain or shine, with drums, coordinated songs and chants, horns, costumes, masks, and beer. Lots of beer.
The sound I hear while walking through the tunnels rises tofull volume when I emerge in one of the team boxes high above the midfield. The rest of the stadium is still half-filled, which is normal given that it’s a half hour before game time, but The Wall is packed and jumping with energy.
