Page 29 of Divorced from Number Thirty-Eight
Faye
“I’m tired,” I lie.
Well, it’s not exactly a lie since I’m exhausted, especially after crying like that.
I feel like I can close my eyes and sleep for a thousand years.
“I’m sure you are,” he says, leaning in and lightly brushing his thumb over my cheek.
This being with his free thumb, since he’s using his other one to trace light patterns on my palm, the rest of our fingers still intertwined.
“But,” he goes on. “You said you lost it and cried in my arms because…”
My throat goes tight. “Because why?” I squeak.
One big shoulder lifts and falls. “I don’t know, Red. You didn’t say. So, why don’t you tell me?”
Shit.
I walked right into that one.
“I don’t know if you remember,” I say, going for light and failing miserably, mostly because my voice is still mostly a squeak, “but it’s kind of been a really long day.”
“I would have given you that out, baby, had you taken it the first time I offered it up.” He flattens his hand against my cheek, slides it down to gently cup my jaw. “Or if those tears didn’t sound like they were ripping you in half.”
I suck in a breath and tense.
And because he’s cupping my jaw and holding my hand and leaning close…I know he doesn’t miss that.
Doesn’t miss any of that.
“You can talk to me.”
I close my eyes.
“I told you about my ex, who’s a nightmare, and not just because she’s a nightmare, but also because I hate the person I am when I’m in the same room as her.”
That has my lids peeling open. “Why?” I whisper.
“Because I regress into a dumbass twenty-two-year-old who married his college sweetheart when neither of us were ready for something that serious, let alone all the difficulties that come with dating a professional athlete.” He sighs. “And that was after I was already a dumbass high schooler dating the prettiest but most toxic girl in high school. Though, it was before Court and I separated and I thought that Tara or Alicia or Hannah or Devon were the right women. Of course, Tara was just like Courtney and the rest of them I didn’t have a chance with because I both couldn’t get rid of and couldn’t let go of Court and—” He shakes his head, a lock of hair falling over his forehead, his eyes sliding closed.
“I…” I say when he doesn’t go on. “I feel like I need to tell you I’ve seen a few of the news stories about you two.”
He exhales, lids peeling back, the depths of his eyes heavy with old pain. “Unfortunately, you’re not the only one. The reporters got so bad after the story about us went viral last year, Coach told them to stop asking about her or they wouldn’t get another interview.” A muscle in his jaw flickers. “They used to love me—until they didn’t. Now everything they write is like they’re goading me to fuck up, to give them something tweetable.”
My heart twists. “Gray?—”
“Some captain, huh? Bringing all the drama,” he says. Another shake of his head. “Courtney fed them the stories but I provided the ammunition. The fight, the suspension, my post-game meltdown?—”
I bite back the urge to interject, wait for him to go on.
“I gave her—them—an easy target,” he finishes quietly. “Now I’ve learned that silence is safer than trying to get them on my side.”
“I can understand that.”
His eyes come to mine, hold, as though searching them for any sign I might be lying.
When I just stare back, something in him relaxes—the line of his jaw or maybe the set of his shoulders. “Anyway,” he says, “we’re fucked up. We’re toxic. I’ve realized that and been working to be in a place where I can let it go for a while now. And finally, it’s done. The papers are signed. I dropped them off with my attorney this morning. I can finally close the door on that toxicity and move on.”
