Page 100 of Divorced from Number Thirty-Eight
He doesn’t move, but his eyes fly to mine.
“I know you hate the attention”—I chew at my bottom lip—“and if I go, there’s a good chance that people will put the pieces together about who I am to you or Courtney may see something and be even more triggered…” I shake my head, force my words through my tight throat. “If we wait until the news cycle calms down and people are moving on to different and more interesting stories, it will be easier for us…”
He just looks at me. And I…keep talking.
“But if I go now…” I exhale. “I know you just want to play hockey, honey. Same as I know you don’t want more stories out there about you…”
Still silent.
And I just…keep going.
“I want to watch you play in person, Gray. I really do. I just…” I shrug. “I think it’s probably safer to wait until…”
A thunderstorm across his face.
“…things settle,” I finish.
And I don’t have any more words, any more thoughts?—
Because he’s turning away from me.
“Fuck!” He punches the wall, doing it with so much force his fist bursts through the drywall, sending up a little puff of dust. “I hate this shit,” he growls. “Hate that it keeps happening. Hate that she won’t fucking go away!”
But when he goes to punch again, I grab his wrist, halting him.
“No,” I rush to say. “You need your hands, honey. You need?—”
He yanks out of my grip and I freeze expecting…I don’t know what the hell I expect.
Certainly not what happens next.
Which is him spinning and wrapping his arms around me, burying his face in my hair, falling silent while holding me tight for a long, long time.
“Fuck, Red,” he rasps and there’s more in his voice I don’t understand, pieces I’m missing, an incomplete puzzle. “What’d I ever do to deserve you?”
“Gray,” I whisper. “We’ll figure it out.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” The words are so quiet I barely hear them.
But I do hear them, and so I ask, “What does that mean?”
He doesn’t respond, just buries his face in my hair and holds me tight.
I open my mouth, wanting to demand he answer me—but the words won’t come. I want to know what’s scaring him, want to know every part of him. Want him to know he deserves everything, and certainly much more than he thinks he’s entitled too. But I don’t think he’ll hear me if I say that, don’t think he’ll believe me.
And he has to be on a bus in an hour.
He needs to focus on work, not dredging up old drama.
So…I let it go as I hold on to him in return, as I do it tightly. Waiting. Hoping. Wanting him to talk to me, to give me the rest of it—why Courtney is so determined, what gives him the haunted look in his eyes when her name comes up…what the fear eating him up inside is.
Fear that has nothing to do with my nightmares or with my house or the videos currently going viral on the internet.
But…we’re new.
But…we’ve shared so much already.
But…we’re in deep—deep—in such a short amount of time.
