10. Hunter
Chapter ten
Hunter
Just After College
Four years away at UNC only confirmed what I’d always known: I’ll never get over Ellie James.
While I was away at college, Ellie and I would text each other.
We’d send each other funny reels on Instagram or songs we thought the other person might like.
When I went home last summer—hoping to spend every waking second with Ellie—I was disappointed to realize she’d taken a summer internship in Cypress City, and we barely saw each other.
But now I’ve graduated and I'm home, and tonight I’m finally going to shoot my shot.
I’ll lean in a little closer, put my arm around her, and touch her in ways that, while still fully appropriate, cross a line I’ve held for a long time. I’ll make it more obvious that I’m interested in her in that way.
There’s a sense of finality, of resolve, to it all. It feels like we could finally be in the same place again and be together. And not just as friends.
I’d bided my time, and it was going to pay off.
Tonight we’re going to the bonfire at Willow Beach on the Ayatena River.
It’s a favorite spot during the summers when the river drops as the temperatures rise.
I’m driving Wyatt, Asher, and my cousin, Beckett.
I’d much prefer to be driving Ellie there, but when I texted her to see if she had a ride already, she said that she did. Which is fine.
We stop for gas before we head to the Tennessee side of town and stock up on junk food for the twenty-minute drive, even though there will surely be plenty at the bonfire.
Beckett, who just graduated too, is talking about taking pickleball “more seriously,” which we’re all finding a little silly.
“More seriously?” Asher snorts. “What, are you already having a mid-life crisis?”
“I thought only old people played pickleball,” Wyatt says, shoveling Cheetos into his giant mouth.
“What kind of name is pickleball anyway?” I pile on, though my heart’s not all the way behind it. I have better things to occupy my mind. Like wondering if Ellie still smells like vanilla and sugar.
“It’s legit,” Beckett says, twisting in the front seat to face Wyatt and Asher in the back. “They’ve got pro tournaments and rankings, and they’re even starting professional leagues with drafts and everything.”
“Isn’t pickleball the sport where you have to stay out of the kitchen?” Wyatt asks, licking the orange crumbs off his fingers.
“At least they’ve got one thing right; Beckett definitely needs to stay out of the kitchen. Remember those tacos?” Asher jokes while popping a Milk Dud into the air and catching it with his mouth.
“Can’t wait to see you go pro at the old folks’ home,” Wyatt cackles.
“Yeah, yeah,” Beckett says, rolling his eyes.
When we arrive, I keep my eyes out for Ellie.
The sun has disappeared behind the mountains and lightning bugs pop out as it gets dark.
I can’t help but smile—it’s got a romantic feel.
I can imagine Ellie and me looking back at this night as the time when it all changed.
A soft breeze ripples the trees and the sound of the river is a gentle hush in the background.
It’s perfect.
Our friends and old classmates are scattered around, some with their shoes off and their toes in the sand. A few people are hanging out on a blanket near the fire.
I’m not usually one to put a lot of thought into what I wear, but tonight I’m wearing a green flannel shirt that Ellie once said brought out the green in my hazel eyes. That can’t be a bad thing, right?
When I hear Ellie’s laugh drift over the bonfire, my heart rate spikes. I wipe my hands down my pants—already regretting wearing jeans and flannel on a hot summer night.
I walk up to where Ellie’s standing with a group near a table covered with the s’mores ingredients. Her blonde hair is longer than I’ve ever seen it. The curls swing down her back, and I’m momentarily hypnotized by their movement as she talks with so much animation.
Ellie’s a bright light—a glowing angel on top of the Christmas tree. It’s no surprise people are drawn to her.
I swallow, resolving to take a chance this time.
I approach the group, putting a hand on Ellie’s back.
She swings around mid-sentence. “Hunter!” she cheers before launching herself into my arms. “I’m so happy you’re here,” she says, pulling back a little too quickly for my taste.
I gaze down at her, the fire highlighting her face perfectly.
Her pink lips are pulled up in a huge smile, the dimple on her right cheek on display.
She keeps an arm wrapped around my waist, giving me a little squeeze before dropping her hand.
Ellie’s always been the affectionate type, so I never try to read into her touches.
But it’s hard not to hope that this time it means something more.
That this is the beginning of something new.
Something forever.
And then, the floor falls out from beneath me when she says, “Hunter, meet my fiancé.” She swings a hand—with a giant glimmering rock on it—toward some guy beside her. “This is Dylan.”
Fiancé. My mind can hardly wrap around that word, even as my heart crumbles. The word skips in my brain like a broken track. Fiancé. Fiancé. Fiancé.
Twenty. That’s how old Ellie is. A thousand arguments rush through my head about why Ellie shouldn’t be getting married this young. Or to this guy. The words swarm in my mind until I can barely do anything.
I shake Dylan’s hand and give them my congratulations—but I’m like a robot, on autopilot. I have to get out of here, to process what this means, for me, for my life.
Because in my mind, Ellie was always my future.
There were no other options.
Not long after I meet Dylan, I fade away from the party.
I text the guys to find a ride home—I know they’ll have no problem with that.
I drive the streets of Starlight Valley, passing the bookstore where I learned about Ellie’s obsession with historical romance.
Her mom’s shop is next, filling me with visions of visiting Ellie when she worked the register in high school.
The memory of the time she kissed my cheek when I unjammed the cash register is an unwelcome stab to the heart.
Like a fool, I listen to JP Saxe’s album “Dangerous Levels of Introspection.”
As the song Not Mine Anymore fills my car’s speakers, it resonates a little too deeply.
I drive over the bridge, where we fished as kids.
I would hook Ellie’s bait because she was too squeamish.
It makes me wonder if Dylan will take their kids fishing one day—and the thought slices through me like a dagger.
She’s not mine anymore. But I’m still a little bit—or a lot—hers. And I know I can’t stick around in Starlight Valley as Ellie makes her life with another man.
So the next morning, I enlist with the Marines.