Chapter 28 Hunter
Hunter
“That’s beautiful, Hunter.”
Miss Jaela, the art teacher, was giving me a warm smile.
I’d stayed in the art room instead of going to recess with the other kids.
I was eight years old at the time, and already, I’d realized I was too different.
“It’s a witch in a forest,” I told Miss Jaela. “My dad says painting is for girls.”
Miss Jaela frowned. “It’s for anyone. And you’re very talented with color. You make wonderful things.”
Everything in life felt like black and white, to me.
Dad was angry or he wasn’t.
I was bad or I was invisible.
I followed rules or I broke them, and paid a price.
With paint, it was different. I entered another world.
And everything black and white turned to vivid prisms of color. Finally, I could be free.
I’d almost forgotten what that could feel like.
I’m by the fireplace next to Rayne when we get the news.
Weston gets the news, really, but his phone is playing over the speaker, and all of us hear it.
One of the lawyers handling our father’s estate has called us.
And she tells us she has something serious that we need to be aware of.
“While your father was alive, many individuals were under contract not to speak a word of this to either of you,” the lawyer says.
I glance up at Rayne, then at Wes, furrowing my brow.
“Yes?” Weston says.
She pulls in a breath and sighs. “This may come as a surprise.”
“We’re ready,” Weston says.
“Weston, you and Hunter have a brother.”
I feel like I’ve just missed the last step on the stairs.
“What?”
The lawyer pauses a moment, like she knows how shocking this must be. “When your mother left your father, it wasn’t just for irreconcilable differences. He was with another woman. While your mother was pregnant with Weston.”
“Holy fuck,” I mutter.
Rayne’s arm lands around my shoulders, and he pulls me in close on the sofa.
But I still feel like I’m in free-fall.
“The other woman became pregnant, too. Your father was… prolific.”
“We have a brother,” Weston says, still in disbelief.
“He’s nearly the same age as you, just a bit younger.”
“Is he a freshman in college?”
“He is not attending college currently. He’s been a bit troubled, in his teenage years.”
My throat goes a little tight.
Troubled.
Another son of Barrett Knox, troubled, just like me.
If this guy is my half-brother, half of my blood, how similar is he to me? To us?
Wes is running his hands through his hair. “So what happens now?”
“Now that your father has passed, the non-disclosure contracts have been terminated, and all three of you will be receiving inheritances. And you are now legally permitted to know about your brother. I will send over his information after this call.”
“Good,” Weston says.
“It’s my professional opinion to urge you to tread lightly,” the lawyer says. “Your brother has known that both of you exist, but he’s never been allowed to contact you. It may be a sensitive issue for all involved.”
“We’ll be nothing but understanding,” Wes assures her.
After the call ends, she emails us a short document.
All about our fucking brother.
His name is Niko Berlant. He always had his mother’s last name instead of our father’s.
He went to a great private prep school for high school, but despite the fact that he should be a freshman in college now, he isn’t attending.
Our father had been paying him and his mother large sums of money for his whole life, to keep his secret son from contacting any of us.
There’s a photo of him, too.
And he looks like us… but different.
One particular difference is that he must have gotten his mother’s hair, which is dark brown, almost black.
But his eyes are blue, just like ours. And other than the hair color, we really do look like family.
“He deserves to come to Crimson,” Wes finally says after we’ve pored over the small amount of information we have about him. “He’s been forced into silence his whole life. We need to include him, and extend an olive branch.”
“What if he doesn’t want to come to Crimson?”
Wes puffs out a breath. “Everyone wants to come to Crimson.”
Usually I’d want to punch Wes for saying something pompous like that, but after recent events, I almost find it charming.
Wes will always aggravate me, yes.
But I feel closer to him than I ever have.
“Well, if anyone can get him into Crimson, it’s Wes,” Rayne says. “He’s friends with the college president, after all.”
“Friends is a strong term, but they do know me. And especially considering the circumstances of my father’s death… I’m pretty sure I’ll have the pull to get Niko in here. If he’s had a rebellious youth, or whatever, he deserves a chance.”
“You’re far too kind,” I tell him.
Wes shrugs. “If he’s our blood, I’m going to welcome him to Onyx, too. His choice whether or not to take it, I guess.”
Ollie comes into the room soon after, coming back from one of his classes.
“What’s up, guys?” Ollie asks.
“Oh, nothing,” I tell him. “We just found out we have a secret half-brother who’s your age. No big deal, right?”
Oliver looks at us like we’re insane.
He comes over and glances at the document, then his eyes widen when he sees the photo.
“Fuck,” Oliver says.
“Looks like us but with darker hair, doesn’t he?” Wes asks.
Ollie sets his jaw. “I know this guy.”
“No shot.”
“He was my rival in high school.”
Oliver’s cheeks go pink as he stares at the email.
I’m going to need to ask him for a whole lot more details about that later. Oliver is sweet, and I could never picture him having a rival.
I make a mental note to grill him on it tonight, but right now Wes is still in shock, even if he’s hiding it well.
Weston stands up, takes a deep breath, and gives Oliver a pat on the back. “Well, you’re going to have to get used to being around him. I’m getting him into Crimson as soon as I can.”
For a long, long time, when the world felt like too much, my first instinct was toward violence.
If there was no one who wanted to fight me, I’d make someone want it.
Provoke them.
Ruin somebody’s night, and make my own night.
But that afternoon, when everything starts to feel like it was going to swallow me whole, I find myself somewhere different.
Rayne’s at the gym with Weston, and it’s strange knowing that for the first time all semester, I know he will be safe.
First, I find myself in my car, driving aimlessly.
Then I end up at the small art supplies store in town.
I feel kind of like I’m floating as I stand in front of blank canvases and paint, looking at them like they’re something forbidden.
Something from my past.
But after all of the recent events in my life, I can’t exactly think straight, either. The only thing that makes sense to me, in my mind, is one thing.
I could paint something that Rayne would love.
I purchase six blank canvases, all of different sizes, and a set of dozens of oil paint tubes. I get all of the supplies and chemicals needed, things that I used to have in my room, back when I was younger.
When I arrive back at Onyx House, I set up in the sunroom in the back, leaning a canvas on a table against the tall windows.
And I start to paint.
At first it’s nothing. Just bold colors, anywhere my instinct tells me to go.
And some time not too much later, Rayne finds me, coming up behind me and putting his arms around my torso.
The moment he touches me it’s like I’m lurched back into my own body, into myself.
“Hi, love,” he says simply.
I turn in his arms and kiss his temple. His cheek. Then his lips.
“I’m so lucky,” I tell him as I pull away.
“I am. And it looks like you’re making something beautiful. Hunter, you’re painting again.”
I nod at him, and he smiles. That smile alone is a gift.
“First time I’ve wanted to since Lune died.”
“It’s already perfect. Can’t wait to see how it turns out, though,” Rayne says.
I breathe deep, nuzzling against his hair.
He smells like sunscreen, as usual. He smells like home, to me.
“You make me feel like I have a reason to make beautiful things again.”
“You’ve always had a reason,” he says. “I’m just glad I could help you remember that. Still want you to hurt me, though. In the good ways.”
I hum, running my palm up his shirt and gripping the fabric in my fist. “I will always hurt you in the ways you beg for, Rayne. Don’t ever think otherwise.”
“Want you to tie me up. Have your way with me. Threaten me with everything and watch how I respond to every threat.”
I bite his lower lip, giving it a little tug. “You love it.”
“And I always will,” he tells me, stroking his palm along my hair. “It feels so good to be yours.”