and now he’s disparaging himself. He has his flaws, but I’m not standing for that. “You got a fantastic offer. You don’t want to play for that team. That’s your choice.” I point my finger at him, resisting the urge to stab it into his chest. “That offer is what you’re worth. If you don’t see that…if you don’t want to accept that because you’re afraid…that’s on you.”
He stares back at me. I watch his face as his eyes flicker, his lips press together. I don’t know what he’s thinking. But then he turns and walks to the door.
“Hunter! Where are you going?”
“I’m going home. I need to think.”
My shoulders slump. But that’s a reasonable request, I guess. Maybe it will do him good to think things through. “Okay.” My throat constricts and I clear it. “Call me if you want to talk or if you have questions.”
He glances at me, then looks away. “You can’t fix everything, Kate. I know you want to. I know you want to look after everyone and fix things, but…you can’t fix me.”
He doesn’t answer, just leaves, closing the door sharply behind him.
This is what I was afraid of.
I sink down onto my couch.
The last time this happened, we both agreed we had to communicate better. I go over everything I said. Was I too aggressive? Not clear enough about my strategy? My reasons for talking to Bears’ management? Maybe? I don’t know.
I shouldn’t have said that he should try to face his fear. That’s not my place.
He’s right. I can’t fix everything.
Except, I feel like he thinks he’s…unfixable. And that’s not true.
Obviously, Hunter is pissed. And I get why, I really do. This is a sensitive issue for him.
But…thinking more about it…what happens if he takes the deal from Toronto, and in a month Easton Millar is traded there? Hunter’s not going to have a choice about playing with him at that point. I mean, it’s a long shot, but it could happen. All three of these guys are young and have long careers ahead of them.
But maybe I shouldn’t try to convince Hunter using that argument.
My throat burns and my chest aches. My stomach has a stone lodged in it.
I care about him so much. I hate it that he’s hurting. I don’t know how to fix this. Maybe there is no way to fix this. All I can do is let him decide what he wants to do and then make it happen. That’s my role as an agent.
But goddammit, that’s so hard! My job as an agent is to get the best deal possible. And here I have a client making a unilateral decision that doesn’t match up with his stated goals!
I don’t hear from Hunter the rest of the evening. Or the next day. Late afternoon, I send him a text. Hey. Hope you’re doing okay. Just want to remind you that Santa Monica and Toronto want to meet with you.
I don’t bother mentioning the Bears. That’s a done deal, I assume.
An hour later, I hear back from him. Tell them it’ll have to wait. I’m in Calgary.
I stare at my phone. What the fuck? Now he goes home to Calgary?
If he screws up any of these deals, his career is fucked. That’s the last thing I want for him. I curl my fingers into my palms, my nails digging in. Heat burns through my chest at the thought. I remember how I felt when I heard he’d given up entering the draft, the huge opportunity he’d missed out on through no fault of his own. I’d felt sick and sad with sympathy for him. Now after working so hard all these years, after defying the odds and signing his first pro contract when he was twenty-two years old, I feel those same emotions. And I’m worried.
I’m also worried about our relationship. I love him. He’s my guy. The only guy I’ve ever met who cares about me just as I am. The only guy I’ve ever met who I’ve been so attracted to—physically, but also in so many other ways. I love being with him. Talking with him. Laughing with him. We just found each other again. And I’ve fucked that up by not listening to him and his concerns about playing for the Bears.
This is the ultimate test, I guess. I can’t fix everything. I can’t control my clients. And that sticky issue of boundaries has come back to bite me in the ass.
How am I going