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"Kinda. The same girl I was seeing in college still lives here. She likes spending time on my dick, so who am I to fuck that up, right?"
In a way, I could see his point. Who would give up accessible pussy? But since it came from his mouth, I had to physically stop myself from rolling my eyes. It sounded like a line, or a way to appear more significant than he felt, and lacked truth—same ol' Hunter.
"We broke up when I left for League One. Neither of us wanted to do the long-distance thing. Then I barely got my feet back in Florida and she was calling me, asking me to come see her. It works for now. What about you? Seeing anyone?"
It seemed we were going to have an actual conversation, and if that were the case, I would need more liquor. Even if I told him about a shell I stepped on surfing the other day, scotch would make that an easier story to tell.
Calling the waitress over, I nodded to Hunter and held up my empty glass. "Drinks on me."
ChapterTwo
Tatum
Once Hunter hung up the phone, I tossed mine onto my bed and fought the tears that were probably going to come pouring out of me. There was a chance I would never understand my so-called boyfriend. He was clearly out at another club, drinking and spending time with people he found more interesting than me. It should have been all I needed to finally break up with him. But we felt so unfinished.
That's why I agreed to try again.
Hunter was my college sweetheart before he left for League One, and our breakup was not easy on me. I may have found professional success in the two years that followed, but my love life was nonexistent.
When he called and told me he was returning to Miami, I tried not to care. I wanted to make him think I had finally moved on, that I was okay. But just as my mother always did when it came to my dad, I took him back, thinking that if all else failed, I would at least get the closure I needed. That, or it would finally be our chance to have everything he promised me before he left. Marriage. Kids. Forever.
It'd been a month, though, and our relationship was worse than when he left the first time. He was the assistant coach for the women's soccer team at the university and had let it turn him into a miserable human being. I knew the job took a lot of his time, especially when the head coach for his team had to leave for a personal emergency, and Hunter took over as interim head coach. Those days were the only good days we had because I could tell myself he was legitimately too busy. That we were okay.
And for a little bit, he was at ease being in charge of the team on his own.
But what was his excuse once the season ended?
"Don't dwell on it," I tried to tell myself. "Be stronger."
Flopping on my bed, I stared at the ceiling and willed my phone to ring. Hunter said he would call me in a few, so I thought that meant "very soon." But hours went by, my tears had come and gone, and he still hadn't called me back.
At the risk of being crazy, I considered marching down to the club he was probably at and asking him what the hell we were doing. If he was going to spend all his time partying and none of it with me, why were we even trying again? What kind of game was he playing with me if I was only treated like a backup plan?
The idea that I was like my mother was painful, but the facts were that I was accepting less than I deserved, and tried to tell myself it was okay. She and my dad were off and on for my entire life. Never married, because my dad never asked, but they were together until they weren't, then they'd start back up again. It was a difficult way to grow up, and my brother Colton and I paid the price.
Every time Dad moved back in, we were supposed to be happy and act like he didn't bail on us for six months at a time. Then the fighting would start again, and he would be gone, bouncing around from hotel room to hotel room, unable to spend any quality time with us.
The only constant in our lives was the fact that Mom would beg him to come home. She took him back over and over again, always hoping for a different result. Was she crazy? Yeah, she was. But was I any different? I wanted to be.
After two in the morning, I gave up on his calling and reached for my remote. As a sports public relations and marketing agent, I always turned on the sports highlights when I got in bed and let the sound of the replays lull me to sleep. Somehow, I thought the information being relayed would be absorbed into my memories and be useful one day.
Once I got the sports channel on and comfortable in bed, I closed my eyes and listened to the updates. The Atlanta Jets beat New York in football, the Atlanta Kings baseball team advanced to the World Series, and the Miami Inferno beat Austin FC in the soccer match here in Miami.
"We have to get goals at home. If we want to make the playoffs, that's all there is to it. I think we were on a good path to get some good results, but the last few weeks have been hard. A good game today. They didn't score, so it was really good. Not only for our confidence going forward but for the fans. It was electric tonight."
When I heard that voice, I leaned up to look at the screen, wanting to see who it was. Tripp Maddux, the Inferno midfielder who had come to Miami last year. Rarely had I heard him in an interview. That may have been the first time. He was known for being more reserved and quieter compared to his teammates.
Not that I knew him personally. Most of my work was kissing the asses of the Miami hockey team, trying to make them happy they signed our agency for a fan promotion. IMG, our company, didn't even work with the Inferno—yet. We were trying, though, having an agent I barely knew spend all her time pushing to land a contract. The owner of the International Marketing Group was riding us hard, and we never knew where she would put us next. So, even though I wasn't the one pushing with the Inferno, I paid attention when they were on TV.
Before Hunter got the job at the University, he was passed up by the Inferno to go pro. It made me thankful I wasn't the one pursuing them as our client. It would be awkward, but if I was asked to take over, would I really be able to, and have Hunter? After all our struggles, you'd think I would choose my career, but that little thread that tethered us together had yet to be severed. As much as I hated myself for it, I knew I was still in a place where I'd choose Hunter.
* * *
The following day, I woke up to two text messages. Neither of them were from Hunter. One was from my mom, asking me to get tickets to the football game for her and my dad, and one from my brother, warning me my mom was going to ask me for tickets to the football game.
Skipping my mom's text, I decided to call my brother while I got ready for work.
"Hey," he laughed like he knew why I was calling.
