Hunter
thirty-one
IT TOOK A WHILE, but we finally got him.
We found the asshole who sent the tip about me and Stevie to the Concord Courant. His name is Joseph D. Watson. The same creep who attacked Stevie outside the diner. Her old boss.
It doesn’t surprise me that he would be capable of that.
He tried to rape Stevie, after all. He’s a fucking rodent.
Jamie had to pull some strings with his cousin who works for the police department, and the cousin traced the IP address after saying he could get in big trouble for it and blah blah blah.
I wish it hadn’t taken so long, but I’m happy I finally know who the fuck I have to kill.
This is why you kill rapists the first time and don’t let them live to do anything ever again.
Lesson learned. I won’t make the same mistake twice.
I just can’t figure out how he even knew about the arrangement to notify the school paper.
It doesn’t matter though. The only goal in my mind is finding him and killing him.
I’ve been having the worst three weeks of my life.
First, the whole gossip debacle with the paper, then Stevie ignoring me for two weeks, then my team losing our winning streak.
For the record, I don’t regret breaking Axel Bauer’s nose.
Not even a little bit. I’d do it again and suspension be damned.
I should’ve broken his nose years ago, back in high school. Another lesson learned.
My fist making contact with his face and blood gushing out everywhere was a thing of beauty.
I’m pretty sure I’ve replayed that moment in my mind a million times since.
The fucker had been chirping at me the entire game.
I can usually ignore stuff like that, but he was talking about Stevie, calling her names, and asking how much he’d have to pay for a night with her.
I fucking lost it.
But none of that compared to seeing Stevie at the game with another guy. I got the weirdest pain in my chest when I saw them sitting together. It felt like literal heartbreak. And then I could barely think, and when Axel started chirping, it was fucking over.
I haven’t texted Stevie since that night.
I wanted to kiss her when I saw her outside the arena, even though I was pissed as fuck at her. That’s how I know I’m truly a goner. I thought I’d be okay with our arrangement forever, but now I know that’s not true at all, and I was only lying to myself.
I should’ve been different, opened up more. I should’ve figured out another way to get close to her without offering her a sex contract to bind her to me. I should’ve been more emotionally available.
Now I don’t know if I’ll ever get her back.
To make matters worse, I’m supposed to have brunch with my dad and Celeste this morning.
It’s the last thing I want. I’ve been avoiding my dad since the wedding celebration, but it’s early December now and Christmas is coming up fast. I’m going to have to see them a lot more often, and all without Stevie by my side.
I drive to Wildfire where I’m meeting them for brunch with all these thoughts on repeat in my head.
I haven’t been sleeping well either, and the more I think, the less I sleep, so tonight will be another sleepless night.
It’s enough to make me want to jump off a cliff.
The valet takes my car and I walk into the restaurant, stopping by the hostess stand and giving her my father’s name.
“Follow me, please,” she says with a smile.
I walk behind her with my hands in my coat pockets, an uncomfortable feeling in my gut. I’m already counting down the minutes until I can leave, and I haven’t even been seated yet. It’s going to be a long brunch.
Celeste spots me first, face breaking out into a big smile.
She rises from her seat with her arms out to embrace me.
I hug her and she kisses me on the cheek.
My father’s embrace is much more perfunctory.
His face is set in its usual grumpy lines and I can’t stand to look at it, so I focus on Celeste’s sunny expression.
“How are you?” she asks. “We haven’t seen you in weeks.”
“I’ve been good,” I lie, unfolding and placing my linen napkin on my lap. “How have you been?”
“You were suspended from two games and you’ve been good?” my father counters before Celeste can answer. Celeste’s mouth drops as she looks between us.
“Suspended?” she asks.
“Yeah. I got into a fight during a game.”
“You broke the other player’s nose,” my father says.
I shrug, knowing it’ll annoy the fuck out of him. “He deserved it.”
“His father called me. They want to sue.”
I look at my father to assess whether he’s bluffing. I reach for my water and take a sip. Acting as nonchalant as possible, I shrug one shoulder. “Fighting happens in hockey all the time. Is he going to sue every time someone hits him in the NHL?”
My father grunts.
Celeste still looks shocked. “Hockey is too violent for me.”
I smile at her. “For some people, that’s its main appeal.”
She shudders. “I just can’t imagine it.”
“Have you ever been to a hockey game?” I ask her.
“No, but I’d love to come to one of yours. As long as you promise you won’t break another player’s nose again.”
I smile. “It’s a deal.”
The server comes by then and we place our drink orders while Celeste orders a few appetizers.
She folds her hands on the table and her huge diamond engagement ring glints in the light.
I still can’t believe she married my father.
Looking at them now, the contrast is too much.
Dad looks every one of his 45 years while Celeste still looks like she’s in her twenties.
It makes her look that much more vulnerable to me.
“How’s Stevie?” Celeste asks.
I was expecting this question, but it still throws me off. Just hearing her name is like a gut punch. I grab my water, taking another sip as a stalling measure.
“She’s great.”
“We need to plan a lunch or dinner with the four of us soon,” Celeste says. “She’s such a sweetheart, and you two seem perfect for each other.”
I nod and avoid eye contact. I have no idea if I seem as awkward and uncomfortable as I feel, but I need to change the subject.
“Are you two planning a honeymoon?” I ask them.
Celeste glances at my father. He shakes his head. “Not with the holidays coming up.”
“But maybe sometime next year,” Celeste puts in. “Speaking of the holidays, I’m planning a big Christmas Eve party and I hope you and Stevie can join us. Or maybe Stevie will be with her family?”
“I’m not sure about her holiday plans,” I answer honestly.
The server returns and takes our food orders and I’m more grateful than I can say for the distraction.
I hate that Stevie keeps coming up in the conversation; I hate how my father barely says anything and just sips his Old Fashioned; I hate his assessing gaze on me.
But I think if I suck it up for the next hour, I can excuse myself and leave without getting too much shit from him.
Half an hour later, my father’s on his third Old Fashioned, Celeste and I are the only ones keeping up the conversation, and I’m glancing at my wristwatch way too often.
My father can drink a bottle of vodka and still seem like he’s not drunk.
I guess they call that high functioning alcoholism.
Every time he takes a sip, I feel my blood pressure rise.
I don’t understand how he convinced Celeste, let alone any woman, he was worthy of being their partner.
Celeste is a bright ray of sunshine and my father is the storm cloud that blocks it from reaching the earth.
My mom was a ray of sunshine too. It’s like my dad gets a sick thrill from blotting out a woman’s light. Sometimes, I fantasize about sneaking into his house and stabbing him in his sleep.
“Hunter,” Celeste says, taking out her cell phone and tapping it open.
“When’s your birthday? I want to put it in my calendar, so I won’t forget to wish you a happy birthday and maybe plan a party or two.
” She smiles, eyes twinkling. “I think you’ve figured out by now I’m obsessed with planning parties. ”
“January 22nd. But you don’t have to throw me a party.”
“That’s next month! Do you not like celebrating your birthday? I won’t do it if it makes you uncomfortable.”
I take a bite of the lobster Benedict I ordered and shrug, not wanting to hurt her feelings. “I won’t mind something small.”
“Noted.” She taps some more on her phone and puts it away.
Twenty minutes later, after more small talk my father barely participates in, I take my leave.
I immediately hit the gym in my building and run on the treadmill until I want to puke.
So many unwanted emotions are coursing through me, and the only way I know how to deal with them is by pushing my body to the absolute limit.
After that I still don’t know what to do with myself.
I feel restless and pissed. I feel out of control.
Control has always been something that has felt out of my reach.
I fell in love with hockey because it gave me structure and discipline and made me feel strong.
I couldn’t control so much in my life, but I could control the puck.
I could control how well I played. I could control how much time I devoted to improving my skills.
I grab my phone, checking the messages between me and Stevie. She never replied to a single one, and it’s been over a week since I sent another. The urge to text her is still there though.
I push the urge away and text the group chat with Ryder and Jamie.
Me
Find a party. I’m bored.