by Tara Wyatt
“Hey.” She smiled at him and then sighed. “Sit down, there’s something I need to show you.”
He did, taking the chair beside her. Her stomach fluttered nervously as she held out her phone to him, showing him Chip’s email. She watched his body language as he read, saw the way his shoulders stiffened and then slumped, saw the little tremor in his big hand.
“Guess we didn’t need that divorce after all,” he finally said with a sad smile, setting her phone down on the table in front of them. Then his eyes met hers, and her blood went cold, dread sitting heavy in her chest. She barely had time to brace herself before he spoke. “You’re free.”
She bit her lip and reached for his hand. “That’s just it, Hunter. I don’t want to be free, not from you. I want what we have. I want to be with you.”
He shook his head and gently moved his hand away. “No, Marlowe. You deserve so much better than anything I can give you.” He blinked and then nodded slowly, as if trying to convince himself that he was telling the truth. “Maybe this is a good thing. This is what you wanted.”
“Why don’t you let me decide what I deserve?” she asked, irritation prickling through her. “I get that you feel bad about what happened, and you should, but that’s no reason to throw all of this away.”
His nostrils flared and he shoved a hand through his hair. “Isn’t it? After everything you’ve been through, the last thing you need is to be saddled with another man who can’t control himself. I have a temper, Mar. I drink. I gamble. I do stupid shit and I can’t seem to help myself. I fuck everything up. If you stay, if we keep doing this, I’ll fuck this up too.”
“You don’t know that.”
He met her eyes, his own steely with resolve. “I do.”
Desperation crackled through her. “So, what? You’re just deciding for both of us because you’re pissed at yourself? That’s not fair, Hunter.” When he didn’t say anything, panic started to mount, gripping her and clawing at her chest. She leaned forward, her fingers aching to touch him. “You told me you loved me. You pursued me. You made me fall in love with you, for crying out loud. What we have is bigger than whatever mistakes you’ve made.”
A muscle in his jaw jumped. “But that was before I knew everything.”
She drew in a sharp breath. “It is supremely shitty and unfair of you to use my past as an excuse for your own garbage, and you know it.”
He flinched, but she could see his resolve in the set of his shoulders. “That’s not what I’m doing. I’m giving you the chance to start fresh, without any of my shit dragging you down.”
“I thought you loved me.”
“I do.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
His face twisted in agony and his voice came out loud enough to startle the birds out of the trees. “Because I love you! Because I want so much more for you than this. Than me.” His voice broke a little on the last syllable. Anger and hurt slammed into her and she rose to her feet, too filled with emotion to sit still.
“Where is all this coming from? I don’t understand. Why are you pushing me away? So what if the marriage isn’t valid? Paperwork doesn’t change anything between us.”
He stood too, frustration snapping off of him like electricity. “Because this is where it was always headed. I was always going to fuck this up, one way or another. That’s who I am, Marlowe. Better that you find that out sooner rather than later. I promised to protect you, and fuck, maybe that means protecting you from me.” He paused, a heavy silence hanging between them. “It’s better that you walk away before I break your heart.”
Tears pricked her eyes, and she pulled off the diamond ring he’d given her not long ago. “Too fucking late, Blake.” She dropped it on the table and stormed into the house, hot, angry tears slipping down over her cheeks. What was wrong with him? He’d pursued her, made her fall in love with him, and made her feel loved, and now he was pushing her away for nothing. Nothing! She’d known that something like this was possible, given the way he tormented himself for all of his shortcomings, but she hadn’t expected this level of destruction. She’d expected him to pull away even more, but she’d been prepared to work on their relationship and make him see that whether the marriage was valid or not didn’t matter.
Half-blind with tears and pain, she pulled her suitcase out of the closet and started tossing her things inside. Hunter appeared in the bedroom doorway, a haggard expression on his face.
“I’m really sorry, Marlowe. I wish…” He sighed, eyeing her suitcase. “Things could be different.”
“That’s just it. They could be, if you’d only let them. If you’d get out of your own damn way for once in your life.”
With shaking hands, she zipped it shut and then headed for the door, pausing to stop right in front of him.
“You know what? It’s for the best that the marriage isn’t valid because I don’t want to be stuck with someone who…who…” Her voice cracked and she swallowed, determined to get the words out. “Someone who only cares about his own shit. Someone who’s so wrapped up in trying not to fail that he sinks anything and everything before it has the chance to float.”
At that last sentence, he winced, almost as though she’d slapped him.
“This was real, for me. And I thought it was real for you, too. You made me believe in it. In us. But if it’s something you can just toss away out of some misplaced sense of nobility or self-loathing or whatever, then yeah. It’s for the best that we’re not really married. Have a nice life.”
With tears clinging to her lashes, she dragged her suitcase up the stairs and into the front hall, wondering if he’d come after her. Listening, waiting, hoping. Wanting him to fight for her. Wanting him to be willing to take a chance. But he didn’t come back upstairs. Several minutes later, her Uber arrived, and she slammed the door on her way out.
Seventeen
Where does a man with nothing go? Home.
Rattling around in his empty house, no Marlowe, no baseball, had been driving Hunter crazy, so he’d packed a bag and hopped on a plane, not sure what he was looking for but knowing Philadelphia was the place for him right now.
He lay on the bed in his childhood bedroom in his parents’ house in the tony Chestnut Hill neighborhood, completely at a loss as to what to do with himself. He’d had everything, and he’d let it all slip through his fingers.
No, he hadn’t let it slip through. He’d forced it through. He’d had a grip on everything and he’d crushed it, ruining it without reason. Again. As usual. Marlowe’s words echoed through his tired brain.
Someone who’s so wrapped up in trying not to fail that he sinks anything and everything before it has the chance to float.
And yeah, she wasn’t wrong there, but couldn’t she see that he was no good for her? After everything she’d gone through with Dirk, the last thing she needed was a man who couldn’t control his emotions, who broke promises to her, who let his temper get the best of him. Letting her go hurt like hell, but he’d done it because he loved her. Because he wanted better for her. Because it was easier to end it all now, before their lives became so enmeshed that when they inevitably split up, it was beyond devastating.
Although he had to admit, losing her now still felt pretty fucking devastating.
He sat up and pushed a hand through his hair, trying to convince himself he’d done the right thing. He’d made a promise to protect her and look out for her, and he meant to keep it, even if it meant protecting her from himself. Even if it meant breaking his own heart in the process. It was the one promise he made her that he’d do anything to keep.
He picked up his phone from where he’d tossed it on the bed, once again scrolling through photos they’d taken together over the past several weeks. His throat thickened to the point of aching, and it felt as if a gaping hole had opened up right in the middle of his chest.
“Fuck,” he ground out, throwing his phone down to the bed. Something started to build inside him, something hot
and wild and reckless that needed an outlet. Something that needed release before it started eating him from the inside out. But before he could decide what the hell he was going to do with himself, a knock sounded at his door and his dad poked his head in.
“You. Get your cleats and come with me.”
“Yeah, I don’t really feel like—”
“I wasn’t asking, Hunter. Get your ass downstairs and in the car. Now.”
It had been a long time since his dad had spoken to him like that, and it made Hunter stand up a little straighter. “Right. Okay. Be down in a sec.” He rummaged through his stuff, pulling out a pair of worn cleats—he hadn’t gone back to the clubhouse after his suspension, so all of his good stuff was still there—and headed down the stairs, wondering what this was all about.
They drove in silence to the nearby country club where his dad was a longtime member. They exited the car, and then his dad led him down a cobblestone path surrounded by rose bushes towards the batting cages. A few members smiled and nodded as they passed. Hunter tugged his Longhorns cap down over his eyes, keeping them on the ground, not in the mood for idle chit chat with anyone, especially anyone who knew his dad and was bound to ask Hunter how life was treating him.
His dad handed him a helmet, a bat, and pair of worn batting gloves. “You’re gonna hit some balls and you’re gonna listen. Because I’ve got a lot to say to you.” He paced a few feet away and sat down on a nearby bench. “For a long time, probably too long, I’ve let you do your own thing, waiting for you to figure it out. Waiting for you to find your way.” He sighed and shrugged his broad shoulders. “Maybe some of this is my fault. Maybe I should’ve guided you more. Not that you would’ve listened,” he added with a wry grin.
The pitching machine started up with a grumbling whir, and Hunter had to turn his attention to the incoming balls. He swung at the first one, savoring the satisfying crack of the wood against the ball. The impact reverberated in his hands, centering him. He adjusted his helmet and waited for the next pitch.
“Any mess I’ve made is my fault and mine alone.” He clenched his jaw and swung at the next pitch, missing it by a hair.
“Only because you’re the most self-destructive stubborn idiot I’ve ever met.”
At that, Hunter turned to look at his dad, the next pitch whizzing by and barely missing him. “What?”
“You heard me. Eyes on the ball.” He gestured to the pitching machine. After hesitating a second, Hunter turned back, swinging and making feeble contact with the pitch.
“You’ve been given every opportunity, and you seem so determined to throw it all away. You punish yourself, and it becomes a cycle. You screw up, so you feel unworthy, so you screw up more. You had an amazing woman, and you walked away. You keep jeopardizing your career.”
Frustration bubbled up inside Hunter and he took it out on the next ball, sending it careening into the netting. And again with the next, and the next, but it wasn’t enough to contain the emotion pouring out of him. “I know! I know! I’m fucked up and I don’t know why and I don’t know how to fix it or what to do about it. And maybe it doesn’t even matter because I’ve already fucking ruined the only two things that matter to me.”
The machine quieted as his dad turned it off and moved to stand in front of him. “Because for whatever reason, you’re so terrified of failing that you sabotage everything good in your life. You doubted your ability to be a good husband to Marlowe, so you bailed before you could find out if you were up to the challenge. You worry that you’ll never live up to the expectations around you in baseball, so you set the bar so low, you can barely crawl under it. And then, because you fuck up, you feel ashamed, so you fuck up some more to punish yourself for it.”
Hunter stood very still, absorbing every single syllable. He felt naked—flayed was probably a more accurate word—having his psyche, his baggage, all of it just laid out for him like that, plain as day.
“What am I supposed to do?” he asked, his voice raw. “I’m so goddamned stuck here.”
“You have to believe me when I tell you that you’re not stuck. You have control. You just have to man up and face that fear. You have to know that you deserve good things, that you’re worthy of them. You have to be willing to fail to ever succeed, son. Don’t waste your life living in fear of what might happen. What matters is here, now. And you have a choice. You can choose happiness, or you can choose fear. There isn’t room for both, plain and simple. Don’t let the fear win. Because my God, Hunter, what if you choose happiness and it leads you down a path that’s even better than you imagined? Isn’t that worth taking a chance on?”
Pain seared through Hunter’s chest at what a colossal mess he’d made of everything. Hurting Marlowe, the damage to his career, all because he’d rather fuck up than try and fail.
His father laid a hand on his shoulder. “But this path you’re on now, it’s no good. And I can’t just stand by anymore and not say anything. What you do next is up to you. If you want to fix things, you can. If you want to move forward, you can. But you have to get out of your own way for once in your life.” He pulled him in for a hug and then sat back down on the bench, turning the pitching machine back on. “Now hit some damn balls.”
Hunter adjusted his stance at the plate, his mind reeling with everything his father had just said to him. As he hit ball after ball, something deep inside him settled as he absorbed the truth of his father’s words. All he’d ever wanted was to live up to Garrison Blake’s larger than life reputation, and he’d been so scared of failing that he’d always sabotaged himself before he got the chance to really fail. It was easier to know he’d wrecked it all himself than knowing he’d given it everything he had and had still come up lacking.
He thought back to the conversation with Aerin where she’d told him to grow up. He knew now what that meant. It didn’t mean pretending at responsibility or never screwing up. It meant leaning in to what he wanted and giving it his all. It meant putting other people first. It meant taking responsibility—full responsibility—for his actions. It meant learning and trying to do better. It meant not sabotaging himself because of the weight of his dad’s fame. It meant being a better man.
Was he still scared of fucking everything up? Hell yes. But he wasn’t going to let the fear win. For once, maybe for the first time, he was choosing happiness.
Now he just had to figure out how to fix the mess he’d made and hope it wasn’t too late.
“Good evening and welcome to tonight’s broadcast of your Dallas Longhorns facing off against the Oakland Athletics. I’m Wayne Hopkins and with me as always is Ron Whittaker. The story everyone’s talking about, of course, is the twenty-five game suspension handed down to star slugger Hunter Blake by the team after his arrest. Does that punishment seem harsh to you, Ron?”
“You know, I have to say it does. I understand that Blake violated the team’s conduct policy, but at the same time, his bat’s been hot and the team’s in the hunt for a wild card spot. With only five weeks remaining in the regular season, they’re going to need everything they have to push for that postseason slot. They’ll be hurting, both offensively and defensively without Blake in the lineup.”
“The other big story is the recent trade, and we’re looking forward to seeing veteran catcher Jake Landon as well as pitcher Connor Slate, who won the World Series with the Astros last year.”
“Despite Blake’s absence, it’s an exciting time to be a Longhorns fan, that’s for sure. Let’s take a look at tonight’s lineup.”
Marlowe had thought it would feel good to get home. To get back to normal. To fall into familiar patterns as she tried to put Hunter behind her.
She’d been so, so wrong. Nothing felt good, or normal, or right. As though a piece of herself had been stripped away and now she was left with a gaping wound that wouldn’t close.
She’d spent the first few days unpacking, getting caught up with friends, and settling back into the house, hoping that if she just kep
t moving, she wouldn’t hurt so much. But that hadn’t worked, so she’d taken the opposite approach, cocooning herself away at home, seeing what a little wine and junk food would do for that wound.
Not a whole lot, she’d discovered.
With a sigh, she plopped down on her couch, a glass of wine in her hand. This part of the day was always the hardest, as day faded into night and she wondered where he was and what he was doing. If he was okay. If he hurt even a fraction as much as she did. If he was missing her, too, or if she was pining away for him like a sad puppy dog. She took a fortifying sip of her wine and shook her head. No. If she’d survived Dirk, then she sure as hell could survive losing Hunter.
It just really hurt, knowing it had been real for her and not nearly real enough for him. Not real enough to make what they had worth fighting for, anyway.
“Ass,” she said out loud to her empty house. Who did he think he was, making her fall for him and then bailing at the first sign of trouble? Was he really so caught up in his own shit that he couldn’t see past it to anyone or anything else? If so, then Marlowe knew she was better off without him. She was done with manipulative men who couldn’t handle their emotions. Done.
A surge of anger flared through her, and she rose from the couch, walking into the music room to get her acoustic guitar and a notepad. She wanted to eviscerate him in a song. To make him hurt and feel the shame she wanted him to feel. Needed him to feel, because if he didn’t, that meant she’d given her heart to the wrong man, again, and that didn’t bode well for any future romantic relationships.
Her throat ached when she thought about moving on with someone else, someone who wasn’t Hunter. Some of the anger went out of her, chased away by the lingering, gloomy sense of loss she couldn’t seem to shake. She didn’t want anyone else. Only Hunter, with his cocky smile and his tattoos and the way he looked at her as though she was the only woman in the world. The way he set her on fire with his touch, the way he made her laugh, the way he made her feel strong and safe.
