36. THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SIX
I didn’t even hear him come in.
Didn’t hear the garage or the door in the kitchen shut.
My face is on fire, my fingers shake. Carefully pulling the evidence from under the dresser, I twist around and slowly drag my eyes to Hunter’s.
If I didn’t know him—if he were anyone else—I’d say he’s not upset.
There are no stereotypical expressions. That’s how I know he’s pissed. Potentially livid, even.
“I was looking for paper and—”
He crosses the short space, bends, and snatches the papers from my hands. “I’m only going to ask one more time. What are you doing, Gray? ” The sharp crack of his voice along with the deep rumble of bass damn near stops my heart.
Hunter has never spoken to me like this before.
My lips flap uselessly, arms curling around my middle as I prepare for the worst. Flashes of my second foster home pierce my skull, sending me back in time to when I was fourteen. “I was trying to find paper,” I whisper, afraid to even look at him.
“These,” he growls, waving the papers around, “are private. ”
I’m fucking aware that they are private. I didn’t mean to find his stash of dirty secrets. What asshole doesn’t have a single piece of paper in their house?
The urge to say all that is strong. After everything he’s said to me, all the shit we’ve shared, he’s going to get this upset over an ancient std test and a pilot’s license? It wasn’t my intention to snoop. It wasn’t my sole fucking purpose in life to uncover something Hunter sees as private.
The way he’s looking at me, though, isn’t fair. He’s looking at me like everyone else does.
Homeless.
Thief.
Scum.
The worst of the worst. And all I did was open a damn envelope. Anger bubbles in my chest, rising into a dangerous boil. Whipping my head up, I uncurl my arms, ball my fists, and let him have it.
“Must be nice to have something private at all.”
Hunter reels back. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t act so pretentious.” With some struggle, I get on my feet and face off with him.
“You left me here all day ,” I snap. “Do you know what I was doing? I was looking for a way to better myself. Jobs. Shelters. A way to get the fuck out of your hair because I know you’re going to get tired of this.
” I gesture between us. “You bought me this stupid phone, never told me how to use it, and I can’t remember half the shit I found.
So, yeah, I had to search every nook and cranny to write it down . Like a normal person.”
When he simply glares at me, chest pumping with each harsh breath, I continue, “All of your ‘help’ has amounted to jack shit. You aren’t helping me. You’re fucking with my head—my emotions—feeding me an illusion!”
“I got you medical care, made sure you were off the street. Spared you from another attack,” he says, deathly calm, an unmistakable edge to his voice.
“So? You aren’t the first.”
“Caleb?”
The name is like nails on a chalkboard, grating and nauseating. “Sure.”
“And look how well that turned out,” he mutters hotly, raking a hand through his hair.
“Oh fuck you, Hunter.”
“Fuck me?” he barks, that silent anger he keeps in check quickly turning explosive.
“Do you even understand the lengths I’ve had to go to do this much?
Do you even care? Every minute I spend with you risks everything I’ve worked for.
My entire life could get taken away like that!
” He snaps his fingers. “But you don’t care, do you?
An unmarked envelope, tucked away out of sight, and you didn’t have the decency to think, maybe I shouldn’t invade his god damn privacy!
” The boom of his yell echoes off the walls.
“At least you have privacy to violate!” I scream.
“You have everything ! Fucking everything! The last time I had any semblance of privacy, I was twelve years old!” My chest pumps wildly, arms trembling with how much pain I’m releasing.
“Don’t throw your bullshit on my shoulders because you’re too weak to stand up to one person,” I slice through him with my words.
His jaw tics, eyes dampening with angry tears.
“And don’t tell me I don’t care,” I say, letting some heat slip from my voice. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
For long seconds, we glare at each other. I feel so stupid for thinking any of what we’ve done means something more than what he’s sworn up and down it did.
Maybe I am just a tool, a way to distract him from his double life.
Because that’s what he’s doing any way you look at it.
For all I know, I’m simply another Brent or Leonard—a new distraction.
I won’t be used again, especially not by someone who can’t see the colors all around them, begging to be painted into something worthwhile.
He has all the tools to create a world glittering with light.
All I know is the bleak, the grey, the flatline of stagnance.
If I were him, I’d take that education, that pilot’s license, and get the hell out of Dodge.
Start over somewhere better, somewhere I could breathe fresh air, blend all the good into a masterpiece worth seeing.
A single asshole wouldn’t stop me, that’s for damn sure.
But I’m not Hunter. I’m just Gray. And no matter how much I think I know how easy he has it, I don’t know.
I’m assuming—angry over everything he has that I don’t—missing out on a life I could’ve had that he’s throwing away.
Slowly, Hunter slumps onto the edge of his bed.
He lets the papers slip from his fingers, falling dramatically to the floor.
With his face buried in his palms, he cries.
Soft sobs that are so faint I wouldn’t know they were even happening if not for the shake of his shoulders and tears staining his lap.
All that care he claims I don’t have—that I don’t feel—consumes me as I watch him cry.
“Hunter,” I say gently, taking the few steps to get closer.
“You’re right.” His voice is broken, a painful cry.
Guilt gnaws at my heart. “I shouldn’t have looked at the papers.”
He cries harder.
“Hey,” I coo. “Come on. Stop that.”
It’s jarring to me. This man, who appears to be larger than life—with endless power in his grasp—is crumbling before me. Just a homeless guy. A faceless nobody in the crowd. Society’s forgotten trash.
Careful not to step on his papers, I wiggle between his legs and pull his hands down, just like he’s done to me. The green in his hazel eyes is so bright, glistening behind wet lashes. Those dark locks he’s got trained to stay out of his face fall forward, as if they too have given up.
I brush the hair from his face. “We can end this now,” I tell him. No matter how I feel or how much my heart has already claimed him for myself, I know better. “I can go, and you can stay just like you’ve always been.”
His breath hitches, chin trembles, and true panic flares in his gaze.
“Scared,” I whisper, tracing his jaw. “Alone.” My thumb drags over his bottom lip.
“Weak.” The digit moves over his top one.
Slowly, he lifts his hands to rest on my hips, staring deep into my eyes like they’ve got all the answers to his problems. “Or,” I slide my hand over his throat, applying gentle but firm pressure.
“You can apologize and tell me what is so important about those papers.”
The thump of his pulse against my fingers quickens when he wets his lips. “I’m sorry, Gray.” His nails dig into my hips as he clings to them. “I’m so sorry. I was taken by surprise. It won’t happen again.”
I shake my head in disapproval. “That’s not what I want an apology for.”
He frowns before swallowing. I soften my stare before smoothing my thumb along his pulse point. Bringing my free hand up, I brush the backs of my knuckles down his cheek, searching his face, and savoring the scratch of his beard.
It takes him some time, but when he finally understands, slipping his fingertips under my shirt to feel my skin, he says, “I’m sorry I said you didn’t care.”
“I care too much,” I admit before brushing my lips over his. It’s not a kiss, but a reminder of what this could be—if given the opportunity.
He guides me closer, pushing for more.
I called him scared, alone, and weak, but clearly, I was talking about myself. Without Hunter, that’s exactly how I feel—how I’ve felt half my life. There’s a very real possibility that I’m siphoning everything I need directly from him.
An emotional bloodletting, one I achieve with my words, my lips, and, if he wanted it, my body. When his tongue teases the seam of my mouth, seeking entrance, I pull away.
“Now the rest,” I say, a bit too breathless to be stern.
Guiding me to his lap, he positions me over his right leg, holding me tight. His eyes fall to the pile of paper at our feet, and he sighs. “They’re symbolic more than anything.”
“How so?” I have my arm draped over his shoulder, toying with the hairs at the nape of his neck. His hair is just so soft.
“Everything my dad doesn’t know,” he says simply. “The transcripts are from my second major, which he doesn’t realize I even studied for. Aeronautical science. I lived, breathed, and slept school so that I could do both.”
“How? Didn’t you go to like…some fancy law school?”
“I did,” he agrees. “But I did online courses for my second degree. It was…draining.”
“He never noticed?” I pry.
With a soft shake of his head, he kneads into my waist. “And the pilot’s license I got last year. It took longer to get because I had to squeeze in time between my work schedule. He doesn’t know I actually did it, only that I was considering.”
I nod, sensing his hesitation over the last secret. I nuzzle his cheek with my nose before kissing it. “And the last one?”
“It’s pretty obvious what it is, Gray,” he grits out. Okay, so this is the most sensitive one—the one that made him get so angry with me.
“I know, but what's the story behind it? Why did you keep it when it’s from over a decade ago?”
With gentle hands, he lifts me off, sets me down, and stands. I watch him shrug out of his suit jacket, yank at his tie, and loosen it. He’s avoiding this, and I don’t know why. Of all the STIs he could have contracted at that age, he got an easy one to treat. Nothing is permanent.
“In sixth grade, I knew I was gay,” he starts, pacing slowly and anxiously pushing his hair back. “It was obvious. I think even my mom suspected. But my dad was either in denial or truly didn’t think so. I never said anything but never showed any interest in girls.”
“That’s usually how it starts,” I say carefully. He’s twitchy, scratching at his neck, his chest.
“Well, my dad doesn’t fucking like gay people.
At all. He sticks with the current policies and public standpoints to keep his position.
” More scratching. “I went to a pretty strict private school, but those kids were all having sex, doing drugs, drinking. Didn’t matter that we came from money or had the parents we did. So…naturally I had offers.”
I want to go to him, but he looks ready to scream again, so I stay put. His legs pick up in speed, the clawing at his body intensifies to the point he’s frantically unbuttoning his shirt. “I didn’t do it. Didn’t want to get caught or…anything. But there was this one boy.”
Jealousy flares inside me. An irrational side of my brain doesn’t want to believe he’s been with anyone, ever. But I bite my tongue.
“He was so…hot. Alright? So I told him we had to wait until I was eighteen. I was sure I’d be out of the house and free to do whatever I wanted.
” Another pause. His face pales as he swallows hard.
“I had no idea what I was doing. I’d only ever given a hand job.
We were eighteen . He had more experience, and he wasn’t a virgin. ”
“Hey,” I say to get his attention. He stops pacing, flicks his eyes at me, and grimaces. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” he laughs bitterly. “He made me top. Which, I guess, is fine, but it wasn’t what I like.
But regardless, he told me that I needed to feel it.
Really feel it without anything between us.
I trusted him. I trusted him far too much.
So, I fucked him and he decided I was shit at it—no surprise there.
” Another hysterical, bitter laugh. “I was eighteen . I already felt so wrong, so fucking filthy for wanting him like I did—for wanting him to do the things I fantasized about. And after he broke it off…”
“Hunter…”
“That was the result. I had all the symptoms, was scared to death that my dad would find out and ask how I’d gotten such a disgusting fucking infection.
If not for Perry…” he trails off, shaking so badly that I’m sure he will fall.
“I…fuck, Gray. I need to take a shower. I gotta do it,” he begs, rips his shirt and undershirt off, and powerwalks to the adjoined bathroom.