Chapter 9 Huntley
HUNTLEY
I’ve never known what I wanted to do with my life.
I wouldn’t say I’m old by any means, so I know I have time to figure it out.
Currently, I’ve settled on being a paper pusher.
That’s not the official title, of course.
It’s something like a data specialist, which is just a fancy word for doing data entry.
It’s boring. Repetitive. Mundane. There’s never any excitement. And my boss is a big asshole. Like, super big asshole. He pushes boundaries to the point right before HR gets involved. Not generally with me. I’ve never made his shit list.
Until now. I get it. I vanished for several days. My boss could have chosen to be understanding and concerned when I told him I was shot and couldn’t walk, but instead, he said, “You have a desk job. I expect you here on Monday if you want to keep your job.”
I get paid really well. The benefits are good. If I can help it, I don’t want to lose my job. But am I ready to go back to work?
Oxley called Mark, and I received a doctor’s note taking me out of work through the end of the month.
I sent that directly to HR, bypassing my boss entirely.
I’ve never filled out paperwork with HR outside of hiring forms. If anyone thinks those are confusing, just wait until you get to paid leave and short-term disability forms. Those might be English words, but they’re not written in English.
Honestly, it was na?ve of me to think that my boss would let it go and accept that I was going to be out for a while as I recovered from being fucking shot. If I’d known it was him, I wouldn’t have answered, but it might have been HR needing something further.
He doesn’t yell. That’s an HR violation.
In my mind’s eye, I can see the vein in his neck pulsing, his face almost purple as he tries his best not to scream.
As he’s telling me how others are having to cover for me, and it’s incredibly inconsiderate to take unplanned time off.
How easily replaced I am. I should resign so I can heal and then find a new job when I recover if it’s going to be long. I should think of the company.
On and on.
Oxley stares at me while my boss berates me. I imagine that all of what he’s saying would get him in trouble with HR, but I’m tired and just want to get off the phone instead of finding a way to record our call. So I sit there and ‘yes, sir’ while he tells me how disappointed he is.
Eventually, the call ends, and I lie back in bed. That was exhausting. My phone says it’s only been eight minutes and forty-nine seconds, but it feels like three hours.
“I wasn’t on his shit list before, but I am now,” I mutter.
“He should be fired,” Oxley answers.
I sigh. He probably should be, like, seventy times over. He’s a bully. But this is a big corporation, and there’s always a reason to fire the peons as opposed to the management. I imagine that’s why the waters are never ruffled.
“I know some lawyers,” Oxley says.
“No, Ox.”
“Oxley,” he says automatically. “Labor lawyers. We will decimate him and eviscerate the company.”
My eyes open, and for a second, I stare at the ceiling.
After a minute, I turn my head to look at him.
He doesn’t look particularly angry. Everything out of Oxley’s mouth is always matter-of-fact.
This is no different. Not much conviction behind it, but he speaks with authority all the same. Because he has facts.
I smile. Gripping the front of his shirt, I pull him close so I can kiss his lips. “I didn’t call or show up for almost a week,” I point out.
“You were shot. It wasn’t a choice,” Oxley argues. “You have a doctor’s note.”
He’s not wrong.
“Has HR argued about your absence?”
Not in the least. The woman was very, very concerned. When I explained what happened and why I’d not been in touch, she was practically in tears for me. Not everyone lacks compassion, I suppose.
“No, she was very helpful and supportive.”
“Your boss needs to be fired.”
Probably. I’m not going to argue that. In fact, I don’t want to talk or think about work again for a while. I roll onto my side and press my face into Oxley’s shoulder to breathe him in. He smells of paper. Warm paper, like when it’s fresh off the copy machine.
Paper and linen, and something masculine. Unique. I can’t quite decide what I’m smelling except that I know I’d recognize it as Oxley without seeing him.
A yawn overtakes me, and I close my eyes. Pain is exhausting. That exhaustion, combined with being held in Oxley’s arms and cuddled up in the most comfortable bed I’ve ever been in, makes it easy to fall asleep. Even with the dull throbbing in my leg.
It’s not a deep sleep, though. I feel awake but in a dream world. That moment when you know you’re not fully conscious, but your body is still in a sleep state. I’m simply existing there for quite some time.
Then, I’m walking down the street where my apartment is. It’s the same familiar feeling of being watched. There’s someone there, but no matter how I try to find them, I can’t. The shadows elongate, stretch like fingers or the limbs of trees.
My heart races as I quicken my pace. I’m not running. You don’t tempt a predator like that. But it’s clear that I know something dangerous is there as I speed walk. The hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Tears threaten to obscure my vision, which is dangerous in itself.
I need to see. I need to be aware.
A car drives by. Is it moving slowly, or is that within the speed limit? Another car. Is there more traffic right now than usual? It’s a common time of night for people to be returning from work.
Then the gunshots begin. One and I scream. A second, and pain burns as it rips through my leg. My screams echo around me as I fall to the ground.
Then it’s dark, but I’m still screaming.
“Huntley,” a voice says. I swim around in my half-sleep state, spinning to find the voice. “Huntley, you’re okay. I’m right here.”
“I was shot!” I scream. “I’m going to die.”
Comfort surrounds me, and a sob breaks free of my chest. My eyes snap open, and I gasp as a fresh wave of pain claws at my leg. My chest heaves. Tears streak down my cheeks.
Just a dream. That’s all.
Oxley’s hands move through my hair and over my back as I cling to him, shaking. Fuck, I hope I don’t have to live through it again in my dreams too many more times. Once was more than enough.
“What do you need?” Oxley asks.
I suck in air like I haven’t breathed in an hour. “Nothing,” I answer. The eerie feeling of being watched lingers. The hair at the back of my neck is standing on end. “Ox, was I the only one shot that day?”
“Oxley,” he corrects and then shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ll find out.”
“Were they caught?”
His arms tighten. “I’ll find out.”
He’s told me that once, but I guess I can’t be surprised that he hasn’t found out yet. He never leaves my side unless he’s cooking me dinner or using the bathroom. If he’d looked into it, I’d have known. Unless he does while I sleep. Admittedly, I sleep a lot.
“When do you think I’ll be able to begin walking again?” I ask.
His arms tighten further. “No.”
“I need to get back to my life, Ox. I have a job that I don’t particularly want to lose, even if it becomes miserable for a while. And my apartment. God, I still haven’t called my roommates! I’m such a shit person. They’re probably worried.”
“It was in the news that there’d been a shooting on your street,” Oxley says.
I wait for him to correct my use of Ox, but he doesn’t. It makes me smile a little. There’s a chance I just distracted him with other shit, and the shortening of his name became less important than this discussion.
“That doesn’t make it better. If they think I was the one shot and I haven’t reached out, they might think I’m dead!”
Oxley doesn’t respond for a minute. “Yeah, okay. That’s worse.”
I snort.
“I have a counterproposal.”
A grin splits my face. “Oh, yeah?” I’m not even sure what I’d been proposing to begin with.
“You can stay here. You don’t need to work. We’ll get your things from your apartment. Let me take care of you.”
My heart feels like it echoes in my chest. I feel each beat twice as his words settle inside me. “Ox, we barely know each other.”
“Oxley. We’re getting to know each other more every day.”
“Yeah, but…” I’m not sure where I’m going with it.
“You can tell me you don’t want to,” Oxley says.
I flinch. “No. It’s not that.” It’s exactly what I said. We barely know each other. Most of our interactions have happened around my getting shot. I know a little about his siblings, and he knows a little about my situation.
But that’s it. Nothing about me and nothing about him.
Maybe I’m a little afraid as well. Oxley is an incredible man. So kind and attentive, and intelligent. How can I possibly make him happy?
“I am very methodical in life,” Oxley says, and I meet his eyes, unsure where this is going. “I follow the rules exactly. My daily routine is predictable. Right down to what I wear. But from the moment I heard you screaming, you’ve disrupted my perfectly constructed world.”
“That doesn’t sound like a good thing,” I point out, frowning.
“It’s a little uncomfortable at times. It makes me irresponsible at other times, such as ignoring the need for a condom and not explicitly asking for your consent in some of the things I do.
These are very important aspects of my life that ceased to matter because everything about you occupies my brain, shoving otherwise excessively important things to the side for the first time in my life.
Arguably, that might be a good thing since I hyperfocus on routine and rules and expectations. ”
“There’s nothing wrong with that.”
His lips curl a little. “No. Not really. There are times when it’s a pain in the ass for those working with me—”
“They’ll get over it,” I argue.
His smile climbs. “My point is, you change things in me. You push me into uncomfortable places, and I like that. I like the changes in me. Even though it feels overwhelming sometimes and… confusing. The moment our paths in life crossed, we were no longer following different routes. I began following you, and that’s right where I want to stay. ”
The words he says aren’t conventionally sweet. In the short time I’ve known Oxley, I’ve seen just how exact and matter-of-fact he is. I’ve witnessed how I’m disrupting his life and his routine.
That he wants me to continue to do so when his routine is so incredibly important to him and his comfort illustrates how much he wants me to be a part of it.
Swallowing, I nod. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
I nod. “I’ll stay. But I want to keep my job. At least for a while.”
Oxley presses his lips to mine. “Okay.”
Okay… My heart races with that word.