47. FORTY-SEVEN
FORTY-SEVEN
The side-eye we received from the security guard—thankfully not Brent —had me chewing into my nailbed.
Alex didn’t seem concerned, but after everything that's happened today, I wasn’t willing to bet that the man would keep quiet if people came asking questions.
Specifically, Hunter’s dad…the governor.
How I’d managed to forget about that temporarily still amazes me.
Getting Hunter into the house and the guest bedroom had been up to me.
There was no way I could drag him upstairs, half-conscious, and Alex was no help.
Something about a ‘bad back’ or other.
Once he was satisfied Hunter was good, he gave me his phone number and told me to text him after 10. I was going to see him out, but Hunter whined pathetically, grabbing my wrist.
That was about five minutes ago, and I’m still sitting beside him as he lingers in some half-awake state. Hooded hazel eyes drift over my face as his fingers lazily stroke over my wrist. I did manage to strip him out of his suit, so he’s in his undershirt and boxer briefs.
I’m still upset with how he ignored me, but I’m also not so selfish as to hold it against him. After all, everything he’s doing with me is new. He’s never had anyone to care like I care. Alex says he does, but Hunter pays him too. That’s what I’m sticking with anyway.
“I’m sorry,” Hunter whispers, his words slurring.
“Go to sleep.”
He shakes his head in this slow roll, being stubborn. “It’s my fault.”
I don’t like the tone of his voice or how that train of thought can derail into darker territory. “Shh.” I push his hair out of his face, tracing his jaw through his beard for a few seconds.
Tears well in his eyes as he swallows hard, never breaking eye contact. “I should make you go.”
“Stop,” I snap. “Stop that.”
“It’s true. Being with me is only going to hurt you. And me.”
Now it’s my turn to shake my head vehemently. I know he’s drunk, and alcohol acts as a truth serum, but I refuse to believe that’s what’s happening. He doesn’t feel this way.
He can’t.
So I remind him how he really feels about me, I’ll prove to him all those rushed confessions seconds before he kissed me stupid were real. That everything we’ve done has meant something. I straddle his hips, forcing him to let go of my wrist so I can hold either side of his shoulders.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He opens his mouth to argue, but I silence him, suffering through his terrible whiskey breath as our lips touch. “You don’t mean it.”
He whimpers like he’s in pain, reaching up to palm my waist. “I don’t. But I’m scared. He’ll be so disappointed.”
I hate seeing him like this. Defeated, distraught, and miserable. It’s not fair. “You don’t need his approval,” I whisper. “You don’t.”
“I do.” His fingers squeeze tighter. “I do. He’s been the only one there, the only one to make sure I do well and make something of myself. That I’ll matter.”
“You matter to me ,” I growl, kissing him harder this time. “I think you came back because you were searching for something. Answers maybe. Validation. Maybe you just wanted to see things from a different perspective.”
His eyes glaze over, the alcohol winning the fight, but I don’t stop. Even if he doesn’t remember, I need to get this off my chest.
“Whatever you saw in me stuck with you. This whole time, I thought that surviving was a greyscale. The metaphor always made sense because I used to think living without a family and home meant all the color from my world was stripped away. I thought that you had all that color and spat on it. Didn’t care that people like me would give up anything and everything just for a glimpse of it.
But I know now, Hunter. Whatever you saw in me, I see in you. ”
The tears fall, telling me that he hears me. He’s listening.
“We both were seeing greyscale, surviving in the bleak. It might be different situations, but the same sunless sky. The same stagnance, the same fucking weight keeping us down. When you saw me, did you feel sorry for me?”
“No,” he says with a wobbly lower lip.
“Did you see someone worth pitying?”
“No.”
“What did you see?”
“Blue,” he gasps. “I saw blue.”
I smile down at him. “Color, babe. You saw fucking color. I know that’s what you saw because I saw it too.”
“Stay,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut. The remaining tears cling to his lashes. “Stay.”
Slowly, I climb off him and nestle into his side. “I’m right here.” I kiss his chest, and he loses the fight, drifting to sleep.
It feels like we’re running.
I texted Alex at 10 am, letting him know Hunter survived the night. I mean, I knew he would, but I was hoping he’d tell me more about what drove Hunter to that point, other than what was said.
All I got back was: Is he calling off?
Obviously, after everything that happened, Hunter wasn’t going to work. But he also shot up out of bed, hungover, and told me to pack.
Now, we’re driving to the summer house. I glance over at Hunter, noting the bags under his eyes and wild look in them. He’s scared. I don’t know how often his dad has tried calling and texting, but it’s enough to spook him.
And so, it feels like we’re running.
Does it bother me? Of course it does.
Even though I told him I’d be his secret indefinitely, a part of me hoped he’d face this problem head on.
That he’d tell his dad to fuck off. I can’t understand what it’s like to be afraid of your parents.
Mine loved me. They loved me so much that even if I committed a murder, they’d be right beside me with lawyers and a shovel.
Maybe that’s why I’m so sure that nothing Hunter does will earn him his dad’s love.
There’s something fucking wrong with his parents.
And, I know it’s probably the last thing I should be focusing on, but Hunter still hasn’t said anything about me passing my GED test. He hasn’t asked what my next moves are, or what jobs I will apply for.
I’m feeling like a meat shield—like I’m only here to give him an excuse to avoid the real problems breathing down his neck.
While I chew on my thumb, I watch the scenery pass by through the car window and stew on this.
If he’d pulled what he did last night a few weeks ago, I probably would’ve forced myself to leave.
It’s been too good to be true from the get-go, and now I’ve seen firsthand how Hunter deals with problems— he doesn’t.
He runs and avoids.
Is that what our relationship will be like?
A hand grabs my wrist, gently tugging my thumb out of my mouth. “Hey,” he says gently. “What’s wrong?”
I glance at him.
I could tell him. The urge is strong.
Since we’ve started this whole thing, I haven’t held back much.
If it means a lot to me, I voice it, and typically he listens.
Somehow, I know this time is different. I know he’s not ready to hear it.
Common sense screams at me to buckle up for the inevitable—that I need to prepare for the worst and brace myself for the bleak…
because it’s coming. It has to. Whenever he faces his dad, Hunter will have to choose.
And as much as my heart insists he won’t abandon me, my brain says otherwise.
He might not be ready to hear it, but I'll snap if I hold it in any longer. Taking a breath, I slowly lace our fingers together and just let it out. “I’m scared.”
Frowning, he flips the turn signal, and we head towards the side road that leads to the summer house. “Why? Nothing is going to happen to you.”
“I’m not afraid of that.” I take another breath.
“When you talk to your dad—because you will—I know what will happen. And…I’m scared.
Being with you has made me lose my edge.
If I have to go back on the street, I don’t know what’ll happen.
And no, this isn’t me trying to manipulate you into saying shit you don’t mean. It’s the truth.”
He’s quiet for a while, only speaking when we park in front of the house. It looks the same as last time we were here, only it feels like a lifetime ago. After killing the engine, he leans back in his seat, closes his eyes, and breathes. “Gray, you know I won’t let you go back there, right?”
“I don’t know that.”
Sighing heavily, he tugs our entwined hands into his lap. “Being with you has changed me. And like you, I’m afraid of what comes next. Hell, I’m fucking shitting myself over it.” I watch him closely since his eyes are still shut. “In six days, I turn thirty. Did you know that?”
“No,” I mumble.
“When is your birthday?”
I snort. “June 19th. But I don’t see how that’s relevant—”
“You make me want to know those things. You make me remember that they’re important. I’ve become so used to the impersonal, the detachment, and the surface level. Sometimes I forget that more exists. And I’m sorry if I haven’t done a good job.”
I’m confused, unsure what the fuck he’s talking about, but his eyes open and land on mine. When he’s angry or horny, those hazels are more green, but right now, mixed in with the golden brown are tiny flecks of blue.
“I’m proud of you,” he tells me with a sweet smile.
It harpoons right through my heart. “I wanted to tell you yesterday, but I let everything else get in the way. I never want to put you second, Gray, but sometimes it’ll happen.
Just know that it doesn’t mean I care any less or forget what’s important.
You worked so hard to pass that test, and I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. ”
I bite my lip to stop it from wobbling and blink fast to stifle the budding tears. “Thanks.”
“I won’t lie and say I’m ready to confront my dad. I’m not. He’s got my mom calling and texting, using her to try and guilt me into responding. Part of me wants to answer, to come crawling on my hands and knees and beg them to believe another lie .”
I stay quiet, letting him get his thoughts out.
“I’m so sick of lying. And I’m sick of pretending to be this person.
That’s why I came here. Yes, it was partly to make sure my parents don’t harass you should they come knocking, which they will.
But this place used to house a happy family every summer.
Before I started hiding, before my mom left, before my dad got sucked into his inner circle and their fucked up views.
We were happy—I was happy here. I want to see if I can find that again.
Maybe give me some courage to do what I know I have to. ”
“What do you have to do?” Because I want to hear him say it.
“I need to tell them the truth. About Xavier. About you. About me. And I will…do it. Just not today.”
Defeated is only touching the precipice of what looms over Hunter.
Every word he speaks feels like he’s trying to convince himself.
Like some weird pep talk to a kid who doesn’t give a fuck what you have to say.
It all sounds good—doable—but still, somewhere deep down in my gut, there’s this inkling insisting I’ll only believe it when I see.
The sensation is fleeting, however, because he pleads with his eyes, and despite myself, I nod.
“Not today,” I hear myself saying.
“Thank you.” And he leans over to kiss me.
This is going to hurt so fucking bad.