38. THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-EIGHT
It’d be so easy to believe him. So stupid, but easy.
Which is why I won’t allow myself to do so.
That doesn’t change how I kiss him or wrap my arms around his neck. It doesn’t stop me from sealing our fronts together, so he can’t change his mind. Denying myself the one thing I’ve always wanted is hard , but kissing him comes as naturally to me as breathing.
I’m scared to death, addicted, and so in over my head. I don’t know what will happen when he turns me away like Brent.
All I can do is kiss him harder, snatch his lips like the thief I am.
I’m stealing his affection like I have stolen to survive.
Of all the white knights to come to my rescue, the universe sent me one I could never hope to keep.
I can see it all playing out in my head as his tongue dips into my mouth, teasing and sweet.
When his heartbreaking hands squeeze my hips, I can taste the longing in his breath.
Hunter won’t be able to keep this up for much longer. He’ll help me, give me the tools I might need to become independent, while feeding me false hope.
That fact has me pushing his back flat against the door. A loud thud sounds in my ears as I tilt my face, demanding more. He groans, exploring more of me with eager hands. They travel over my sides, my back, toying with the idea of going lower.
I’m fueled by the inevitable future, attempting to change it with one fucking kiss that neither of us can seem to stop—not even to come up for air.
Wet lips. Coarse beard. Heat and moans. It could be so much more if only he’d let it—if only he stood up for himself. If only he could see that of all the lonely men he could’ve stumbled upon, he found the one who would never let him go.
He found me .
I could take this further, and part of me wants to. The animal inside all of us screams that if I drop to my knees, take the hard cock digging into me down my throat, he might change his mind.
But he’s had that.
He’s had sex and blowjobs, and probably more bodies gracing beds than most people have in their whole lives. Nothing about me will bridge over the trench he’s dug between us. It’s pointless.
I break the kiss before we do something we can’t take back. His hazel eyes search mine. Those hands that were seconds away from pulling all sanity from my mind settle on my waist. My breaths puff out in heavy pants as I cling to his shoulders.
“What do you need?” he whispers, smoothing his thumbs over my hip bones in soothing strokes.
What I need and what he would give me are two different things. “You’re okay with living this way?” I ask, catching him off guard.
The lust vanishes from his eyes. “It’s what I have to do.”
“For who, Hunter? You? Or your shitty dad?”
His hands drop from my sides, so I also pull mine away. “He’s my dad ,” Hunter insists, stepping out of our bubble. “My father .”
“And? If he can’t love all of you, he doesn’t love any of you.”
“I have to try!” he cries, shocking me into silence.
Glancing at the ceiling, chin wobbling, he blinks furiously before saying, “Too much time has passed for it not to pay off. He’ll…
come around. He might open up to things, especially if I run for office.
Then he’ll…see. He’ll see, alright?” He throws his arms out wide, shaking his head in blatant denial, and continues, “And if he doesn’t, then I’ll make my decision.
If there’s no hope, if I’m a complete fucking failure in his eyes then…
it doesn’t matter anymore. Until then, this is what I have to do. ”
“Why?” I ask. “All of that doesn’t explain why . You clearly seek his approval—his love—but to what end?”
“You want to know why?” he barks hysterically.
“He didn’t fucking abandon me. When my mom left, he stayed.
And I owe it to him for raising me, for giving me everything I have.
I owe it to him to be the son he wanted.
And I’m trying, Gray. I’ve tried my whole life to stop it.
To keep this part of me tucked neatly in the back of some god forsaken drawer.
But I’m human. I need things. So I keep it a secret. ”
There’s no part of his speech that I can relate to. This is exclusively Hunter. I can relate to his desperation, fear, and unrelenting need to cling to scraps of what could be, but that's it. It’s why I stayed in my hometown, why I watch the family living in my house, why I can’t ever trust.
But much like I’m being forced to, he has to realize that scraps won’t ever be enough. You can’t run off the bare minimum indefinitely. At some point, your body and mind will give out.
It breaks my fucking heart that is his future.
“Okay,” I say gently. “I’ll keep your secret.”
He nods, swallows, and runs his fingers through his hair. “Are you hungry?”
A weak laugh escapes me because even now, amid his panic and raw emotions, he wants to make sure I’m taken care of. It’s that quality that’ll eventually destroy me.
“Yeah. I’m hungry.”
Flickering hopeful lights spark in his eyes. “Let’s see what we can get.”
I eyeball the curry .
It smells good, but I’ve never had it before.
Hunter said this place is great. “ Hands down the best authentic Indian food in the state. ” He ordered a medium spice level.
I went with mild because I don’t know how this restaurant scales spicy.
And I still vividly remember the one time I ate too many Hot Cheetos when I was fresh out of jail.
I thought I was going to die from how much red came up in my puke.
“Scoop some with the bread,” he instructs from where we sit at his dining room table.
Frowning at my to-go plate, I do as he says, hoping like hell it isn’t too spicy.
As I gingerly take a bite, flavors burst on my tongue.
It’s savory and different. It’s fucking good.
Abandoning the bread, I shovel some meat and sauce on my spoon and inhale another mouthful. He chuckles, shaking his head at me.
“What?” I ask around my bite.
“You’re just cute.” It’s like a cool breeze on an extremely hot day—a refreshing pause in the midst of misery.
I blush immediately. “So are you,” I admit.
His neatly groomed eyebrow arches. “Think so?”
Nodding, I finish chewing and say, “When you are thinking hard, your toes wiggle. It’s cute.”
A bark of laughter bursts from him. “How the hell do you know that?”
“When we shared the hotel. I…well, I was watching you work.”
Those elusive dimples poke through his beard as he shakes his head again. “I knew I was keeping you awake.”
“It wasn’t you. I was thinking a lot that night. Besides,” I pause, waiting for those hazel eyes to land on me again, “I like watching you.”
Now it’s his turn to blush. “So how is it?” I take it for what it is. A subject change to avoid the real issue in the room. The one we can’t seem to acknowledge unless we are kissing.
“It’s really good. I’m pissed that my parents didn’t ever eat this.”
“Were you a picky eater as a kid?”
I think about it. Shame rushes to my face. “Yeah. I was. Maybe that’s why we never branched out. My mom cooked most nights, but it was always the same stuff. I…” I should’ve been easier on her.
A few memories bubble in my skull. One was a tantrum over the type of pasta she used for spaghetti night. It was one of the times Dad was at work later than normal. I missed him, and we always had spaghetti nights together. It wasn’t about the pasta, but Mom never bought it again after that…
“Mine can’t cook.” He laughs a little. “Not for lack of trying, anyway. But once she came back…well, she only does it for show. After I moved out, my dad hired a chef.”
“How come?” I ask, grateful that the spotlight isn’t on me anymore, and I take another bite.
“They can afford one?”
“You don’t sound so sure,” I tease.
He stares at his food, pushing it around in the container. “A lot changed. I still don’t know why she left in the first place. But I have always known she wasn’t happy with my dad.”
“Like…she left, as in they got divorced?”
“Legally separated.” The sentence is clipped. He grips his fork tighter, the plastic giving way in his fist. “She was gone for five years. She called on my birthday and Christmas.”
“Fuck…Hunter,” I whisper, pushing my food aside to reach across the small table and take his hand. He gives me a grateful squeeze. “And then she just came back one day?”
“It felt like that. And when she did, my dad told me I needed to forgive her and let it be in the past. I don’t think I ever did.”
“Because she left you? Or left you with him?”
“Both,” he says easily. “If she hadn't left, I wouldn’t have missed her so badly, and I wouldn’t have had to deal with all of his expectations.”
The more he shares, the more I understand him. What a warped fucking childhood. I don’t know what’s worse: losing your parents forever or being abandoned. Because that’s what his mother did anyway you look at it.
“Did she ever apologize?”
“No. But she does try, especially as of late. I never let it show when I’m around her, though. I keep it all in.”
“You do that with everything.”
He snorts. “Touché.”
When he returns to his food first, I follow his lead and eat the rest in comfortable silence.
After we clean up, we go outside for a smoke.
There’s a bit of awkwardness that wasn’t there before.
I think everything we’ve confessed, and everything we haven’t, has created the shift.
I know he wants to have his space; it’s evident with how he fiddles with his lighter, staring off into the distance, and standing at least ten feet away from me.
As I take a drag, I wonder just how bad being his secret would be.
I’ve never had to hide who I was before—even in my second foster home. There was never this grand ‘coming out’ moment. One day, I was a virgin, nose buried in the graphic novels I’d borrow from the school library. And seemingly the next day, I was making out with Trevor Nevens on the front porch.
Hell, I think I shoved it in their faces more because I knew they hated me—wanted to keep hurting me.
I don’t remember even liking Trevor all that much; he was just a guy who was willing to kiss me.
Am I doing that now?
I might’ve said Hunter has an M.O., but I think I might have one, too, especially if I feel wanted in any capacity.
It takes a lot for me to want someone—Caleb is proof of that—but it didn’t take much with Hunter.
No matter how wary I was of him initially, the way he looked at me…
the way he didn’t forget and came back. I think even then I latched on.
It’s even worse now because I’m starting to know Hunter.
I know his mannerisms, his ticks and quirks.
Every bit of information he willingly gives me makes me want him that much more.
And I do want him. There’s no mistaking the surge of possessiveness coursing through me.
If he let me, I’d make him mine.
He seems unbothered by my past and wants this to grow into more, and despite the twisted way he moves through his days, I can see him agreeing to whatever we have going on here, but under one stipulation: that I become like all the others—a secret.
I think I could do it if I knew for certain he wouldn’t get tired of me.
How the fuck does someone reassure you that they won’t leave?
Isn’t that an action type of thing? Something your person has to prove over time?
I don’t have that luxury of allowing months or years to pass before I’m secure in where I stand.
I need to know before all that crap.
“Hunter?” I ask, flicking my cigarette and facing him.
“Hmm?” Still staring off, he puffs his smoke and doesn’t turn my way.
That’s not promising at all.
I want his eyes on me—want his attention and time. Looks like I’ll have to take it.
Crossing the space between us, I stand before him, and he has no choice but to acknowledge me. That far-away gleam in his eyes dims as those hazel irises search my face.
“I want to get a job,” I start. He nods, probably agreeing. “And I want to figure out a way to do it with the bare minimum from you.”
“Alright,” he says gently.
Steeling myself, I muster up the courage to say what I need to. “I don’t want you to support me. It’s not right. If I can, I’d like to turn things around as fast as possible.”
“I’m not forcing you to stay here,” he tells me, brows furrowing. “I don’t ever want you to feel like that’s the case. But…it makes me feel better knowing where you are and that…you’re safe.”
My heart squeezes. “I get that,” I whisper.
He pauses to take a drag. “And I know you want to do this on your own, but I want to help you. It’s what I’ve wanted this whole time.”
“I can’t become dependent on you. I won’t do that ever again.” The words are firm, masking the hurt behind them. I did it once, and look what that cost me? I might want Hunter more than I’ve ever wanted anything, but people come and go. All I’ve got is myself.
“Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”
“Give me time to find a job.”
“Done.”
“And I need to go to my appointment for my leg.”
“When?” he asks, closing the small space between our bodies.
“M-Monday,” I breathe when he curls his arm around my waist.
I grab his shoulder when he leans in, nuzzling my cheek and grazing his lips over the skin.
“I have work, Gray,” he whispers. I am about to tell him I can bus it, but he adds, “I’ll call off.
” Butterflies explode in my stomach, little bombs of flutters.
I arch my neck so he can go lower, digging my fingers into the meat of his arm.
When he kisses my neck, the pressure feather-light, I rush out, “I would do it for you.”
His lips stop their gentle torture. He pulls away, searching my face. “Do what?”
I swallow hard. “What they couldn’t.”