45. FORTY-FIVE
FORTY-FIVE
I passed the test! I did it!
I can get a job now.
I can start working towards something better, and I did it.
Me.
Grayson Parker, the homeless guy who used to live behind gas stations.
Tears squirt out of my eyes while I cup my face, wishing more than ever I could tell my mom and dad. “I did it,” I croak. “I fucking did it!”
The only time in recent memory I can recall being this fucking proud was when I’d finished that art piece that Caleb stole.
I glance down at my phone, trying to will Hunter into seeing the text I sent a minute ago, and itching to call him.
Would he be okay with that? Calling him at work?
My finger hovers over the icon, so tempted, but I don’t do it. He’ll write back when he can.
Hunter has always supported this, but I can tell he’d rather I depend on him forever. And while the idea is tempting, I know that’s not a reality for me. Eventually, he’d come to resent having an essential leech living off of him.
No, I’m glad I’m taking these steps. It feels like finally I’ve got something good happening after a lifetime of nothing. Finally , I can get out of this fucked up greyscale and see some colors again.
“Momma?” I whisper. “Dad?” Wrapping my arms around my middle, I close my eyes and wish as hard as I can that they can hear me. “I’m doing something good. I’m going to make you proud, alright? And when I can, I’m coming home. I promise.”
I’ll get a job, save money, and hire a good lawyer to get the house that was always meant to be mine. I’ll find out who bought our storage unit so I can get my dad’s jackets and my mom’s favorite cast iron pan.
I can do this.
I’m going to do this.
Fuck, I’m so happy.
I made him dinner.
Look, I am not a chef, alright? But the least I can do is make Hunter something to eat because work has been so stressful, and he does so much for me. We usually order out, but I’ve been eyeballing those frozen chicken breasts and pasta for over a week.
So, I made fettucini alfredo.
It was easy to find a basic recipe online; thankfully, we had the ingredients. Not to toot my own horn, but it came out good.
But it’s cold now.
I put a bowl in the microwave and covered it like my mom used to when my dad was studying or working late. And then I waited.
And fucking waited.
My phone has been glued to my fist for hours.
All the streetlights are on, the neighbors’ cars are in their driveways or garages, and I’m still waiting.
My texts have gone unanswered, and I did try calling…
once—when it was past 8 pm. Hunter was supposed to go to his parents’ after work, but he doesn’t usually linger. He gets in and out as fast as possible.
And he always texts.
My thumb is bleeding, but I keep chewing on it, pacing between the entryway and the kitchen. There’s a literal pain in my ears from straining to listen. I’m crawling out of my skin, worried something bad happened, and I have no way to find out what.
I’m a secret, after all, it’s not like I can ask anyone where he is. Dr. Perry's is the only other number I have saved in my phone. I doubt he’ll know where Hunter is or why he hasn’t called me or texted.
I glance down at the clock on my phone, noting it’s a little after 1 am. It’s the next day.
Where are you, Hunter?
Waiting for another thirty minutes, I double-check that the doors are locked, and then I head upstairs. I climb into Hunter’s bed, curling on my side, and call him again. It doesn’t even ring—it goes straight to voicemail. I listen to his soothing voice, wait for the beep, and leave a message.
“It’s…me. Where are you? Are you okay? I—I don’t know who to call or what to do. P-Please just…c-call me, o-okay?” I’m crying. “Call me.”
Hanging up before embarrassing myself, I double check that the ringer is on and stuff the phone between the pillow and my cheek.
The sheets smell like his soap, so I inhale deeply, stuffing the fabric into my nostrils.
A million thoughts run through my head, and at some point, I doze off.
I’m startled awake by the garage door opening.
My body jack-knifes up, and I all but fall out of the bed. Thundering down the stairs, I round the corner and stop dead when an unfamiliar man stands in the kitchen.
He’s short with neat blonde hair. Thin, red glasses perch on his nose, and the tie around his neck hangs loose.
My hackles rise, eyes darting to the knife block by the toaster, and just as I’m going to make a move for it, the man slumps into a bar stool and shoves his face in his hands.
The glasses shoot up his forehead, and he groans.
“Damn it. Damn it. Fuck my life .”
“Who the hell are you?” I yell, hurrying to grab a knife just in case. Feeling only marginally better now that the biggest one is in my fist, I aim it at him. “What the fuck are you doing in here?”
A delicate keychain with a little pink penis dangling from it lifts in the air, hung around his index finger. “I have a key,” he drawls in exasperation. With a quick scrub down his face, the man finally looks at me, his glasses not moving from his forehead. “You must be Gray.”
My hand lowers briefly, but then I put it right back. “Start talking or I’ll stab you,” I growl.
The man dramatically lets his head fall onto the island counter, just missing his glasses.
“ Dude .”
A few seconds tick by, and he lifts his head. “I am not paid nearly enough for this.”
It finally registers that I recognize his nasally voice. I’ve heard it many times on the other end of Hunter’s phone calls. “Alex?”
“The one and only.” His hand flicks out with sarcastic flare. “Put the knife down, kid. Do I look like a home invader?”
“How the hell should I know?”
He slaps his forehead, again, narrowly missing his glasses. It’s like a skill…or something.
“Hunter is MIA. I’ve only had to deal with this twice since he hired me, but I swear to god, if he’s dead in a ditch, I quit.” He folds his arms defiantly. “Whole ass quit. ”
My heart lurches up my throat. “Dead? Dead? Why would he—what the fuck man! Why are you here?” I wave the knife around.
He studies me for long seconds before smirking. “You’re cool. Alright, so here’s the tea…”
For the next five minutes, he sums up the events that led to Hunter essentially disappearing off the face of the planet.
Someone— Xavier —managed to get pictures—plural—of me inside and outside Hunter’s house, and leaked them to the news.
All my dirt and some not-so-nice things about his dad are in the article.
Alex says this is very bad press , but not the worst thing ever.
He assures me that Hunter’s identity is well and intact.
Not one mention of his sexuality or our relationship is in the article.
By the time he’s done talking, I’m sitting next to him, the knife loose in my fist, and my jaw on my lap. He quickly pops my mouth closed with a flick of his wrist, and I scowl.
“I thought he’d just do what he usually does when everything gets to be too much. Find a quick fuck, get drunk, and Uber home. But as we can see, we are missing a six-foot-something, boring, closeted businessman. So, I’m at a loss.”
My scowl twists into something hideous at the mention of what he could be doing. “He’s not with anyone else,” I grumble.
I don’t know that for sure, but my gut says it’s true. He wouldn’t…he wouldn’t do that. But if everything that Alex said is true, then Hunter is freaking out. Hell, his dad is going to freak out. And it’s all my fault.
“No,” Alex barks when my face falls. “Don’t start that pity party. It’s too late. We need to find Hunter and do damage control.”
I get off the stool, put the knife away, and glance at the microwave. My heart pinches painfully, and worry strangles me. “What if he’s hurt, Alex?”
“He’s not.”
“But what if he is ?”
Alex sighs. “If I know one thing about Hunter, he’s similar to a cockroach. You can step on him, squish him, set him on fire, and he’ll still crawl away.”
“Don’t fucking talk about him like that,” I snap, tears welling in my eyes.
“It comes from a place of strictly platonic love, I can assure you.” He stands up too, eyeing me while I chew on my raw thumb. “He tells me a lot, but I don’t know everything. You two are…close, right?”
I’d like to think we are. We’ve shared secrets, hopes, and dreams. He’s shown me his scars just like I’ve shown him mine. “Yeah,” I say carefully.
“Does he like…go anywhere? When he’s upset?”
My hand drops as it strikes me like lightning. “The airport.”
Alex frowns. “Airport?”
I nod quickly, darting out of the kitchen and rushing upstairs to get my shoes and jacket. Snow is coming down thick tonight, so it’s probably freezing out on the tarmac. I grab one of Hunter’s thicker coats from the closet before heading back down. Alex’s eyes soften.
“Which airport?”
“I…I don’t know.” I hadn’t been paying attention. Too shaken by seeing my art on display in that studio. Another bolt strikes my brain. “Leonard is the security guard.”
“Dark and handsome?” Alex purrs.
I scowl. “Past tense and lackluster.”
A smirk. “I know which airport. Come on, toots, we've got a broody millionaire to drag off the ledge.”