Chapter 8 #2
Strangers continue approaching me throughout the evening, thanking me for saving Hannah’s life.
They offer to pay for my drinks, and I let them.
My brain feels floaty, which is a welcomed change from the uncomfortable anguish I felt earlier.
Suddenly, all the weight I normally carry feels much more manageable.
The bills. The stress. The near drowning.
Someone drops onto the stool beside me.
It’s Hunter. He watches me with an uneasy expression, eyeing the empty beer glasses gathered on the bar top. He gives me a lopsided smile. “Hey, Superman.”
“Hey,” I reply, my voice embarrassingly shaky.
“I saw your truck out front. Thought I’d check in. Heard what happened at the beach today.”
“Are you gonna buy me a drink, too?” I ask, slurring.
He shakes his head. “No. I think you’ve had enough.”
I huff. “Whatever.”
His expression softens as his gaze drifts over me, like he’s scanning for injuries. When his eyes lift to mine, the air catches in my throat. God, his eyes are beautiful—warm and brown, like honey. I could drown in them.
“Seriously, though,” he says quietly. “Are you okay? That was… a lot.”
I wave a hand dismissively. “I’m fine.”
“Alright, tough guy,” he teases.
I scowl. “I am tough.”
“I know you are,” he says, gently humoring me like I’m a child. “Did you get my flowers?”
I pause mid-sip, the rim of my glass hovering against my lips. The bitter, hoppy flavor lingers on my tongue. “Yes.”
“Did you like them?”
“They were pretty,” I admit. The next words slip out before I can stop them, surging out like water through a broken dam. “Pretty like you.”
Hunter’s face freezes before a small, nervous smile cracks on his lips. I watch the lump in his throat bob up and down. His lashes flutter slowly, uncertain.
“I think that’s the beer talking, Mason.”
I gulp. “Maybe.”
I wouldn’t have the nerve to tell him I think he’s pretty when I’m sober. I’m never that bold, but drunk words are sober thoughts, or whatever.
“So… do you forgive me?” he asks quietly.
“Huh?”
“The flowers were an apology. I was kind of a dick to you yesterday.”
“Oh. Right.” I shrug. “It’s fine. In case you haven’t noticed, I can be a dick too.”
Hunter laughs, and my stomach bubbles. Ugh, he’s so cute when he laughs. He looks like the human embodiment of a sunflower—bright and delicate and beautiful. Maybe that’s why I like him so much.
“I meant what I said in the note,” he continues. “I’d like to be friends, if that’s possible. We’re going to be sharing the beach all summer, and I think it’d be easier if we could just get along.”
I grunt. “You don’t want to be my friend.”
“I think that’s for me to decide.”
“Fine. Your funeral.”
Hunter laughs again. My heart accelerates in my chest. I need to get away from him before I say something I might regret, like telling him how badly I want to kiss him. Plus, we’re in public, and I’m likely staring at him with very obvious heart-eyes.
“Well, I should head home. My sister is probably wondering where I am,” I mumble, standing up.
The room tilts around me, and I immediately stumble. Fuck, my head’s spinning, and my CGM won’t shut up—another alert flashing that my blood sugar’s too high. I know I shouldn’t be drinking like this. I know better. But right now, I don’t care.
“Woah there,” Hunter says, grabbing my elbow.
The simple brush of his fingertips against my skin feels life-altering. I want to melt into his touch, but I can’t. Not here.
“You’re not driving,” he says firmly. “I’ll take you home.”
“No—”
“Just shut up and follow me.”
He rests his hand on my arm as he leads me out of the bar, keeping me balanced. It feels like there’s an anchor on one side of my body, trying to drag me down. It takes everything in my power to stay upright.
Hunter helps me into his car and closes the door like a gentleman. I slump into the comfortable leather seat. The interior of the car is futuristic, like a spaceship from a movie. The front console glows with buttons and screens. It makes my head spin.
“Where do you live?” he asks.
“Willow Brook Trailer Park. Near the post office.”
He jabs his thumb into a button to turn on the car. We roll forward, sending a wave of nausea rippling through my stomach. His car drives too smoothly. In my pickup truck, I can feel every pothole and crack in the road.
My head presses against the window as he drives. The glass is cold against my temple, which feels nice. I close my eyes and focus on taking a few steadying breaths so I don’t throw up in Hunter’s fancy car.
That would be humiliating.
“Which house is yours?” Hunter asks.
I feel the subtle vibration of gravel roads beneath the car as we pull into the trailer park. I look up to give him directions, too quickly, and a piercing pain rips through my skull. I rub my temples and exhale slowly.
“Third trailer on the left,” I manage to say.
The car stills when Hunter parks. My stomach lurches, and I know I need to get the hell out of here before I embarrass myself.
“Thanks for the ride,” I mutter, swinging open the car door.
I hear Hunter shout something behind me, but I ignore him. I rush inside and barely reach the bathroom before I’m on my knees, emptying everything I drank into the toilet.