13. Hunter
Thirteen
Hunter
End of December
Even I could never have anticipated just how much tapping into Ella’s phone would come in clutch.
My life would be so much more complicated, and I’d be at risk of missing out on critical information.
Like the fact that my girl had a blind date tonight.
A normal person would’ve let it go. Would’ve told themselves it was none of their business.
That she was free to sit across from some stranger and let him make her laugh, let him imagine he had a chance.
But I was not fucking wired that way.
So I waited.
I knew they were meeting in a gastro-pub off campus with lights far too dim for my taste. It served craft beer and, frankly, tried too hard to be something it wasn’t.
I got there ten minutes early, took a seat at the bar in the shadow of a TV screen, and ordered a Diet Coke. The waiter could throw me annoyed looks all he wanted, but I didn’t need food.
I needed to be on top of this.
When Ella walked in with her hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders, I had to bite my knuckles to stop myself from reacting.
She was wearing it down. Fuck!
Her navy dress wasn’t flashy, but it hugged her in all the right places. It was modest until she moved, and the hem shifted just enough to remind you her legs could fucking ruin a man.
She clutched her purse like it was armor, and her eyes scanned the room once, twice, three times before she spotted him.
The guy was already sitting at a table near the window.
Average build paired with an average face, sporting a polo shirt ironed too crisp, like his mom still did his laundry. His smile stretched wide when she stepped through the door, all teeth and no sincerity.
I hated him on sight. To be fair, I hated them all on sight, so he wasn’t anything special.
I cataloged everything in seconds: The way his eyes darted down her body before he stood up and the limp handshake he gave her, which lasted too long and involved his thumb dragging against her wrist.
But it was the nervous, overeager laugh he let out before she had even opened her mouth that told me everything.
I could smell his weakness from here.
They were close enough for me to catch most of the conversation if I leaned the right way. He asked about her major, pretended to care, and interrupted her answer twice .
She smiled anyway, because Ella was nice, even when people didn’t deserve it.
He told her about his internship, about how “crazy busy” he was, and about how he barely had time for dating. I’d bet my fucking truck it was a lie.
Men like him always had time. What they didn’t have was the spine to admit when they were desperate.
Ella laughed once, softly, at something he said. It wasn’t real, though. I knew her real laugh, and this one was paper-thin, almost brittle. A laugh meant to smooth things over.
Her hands fidgeted with her napkin, twisting it under the table.
I wanted to take them in mine and steady them. Scratch that. I wanted to pull her in my lap, or better yet, fucking haul her out of here completely.
But I stayed put.
Because the time wasn’t right, not yet. Which meant right now, he was a problem I needed to solve.
The edges of my vision darkened the longer I watched.
Every careless smirk, every time he leaned too close across the table, and every flash of hunger in his eyes fueled the low simmering but steadily climbing fury inside of me.
He didn’t see her. Not the way I did.
This idiot saw nothing but a girl he might impress, a body he might touch if he said the right words. A fucking conquest. I sucked my teeth before taking an aggressive sip of my drink.
Ella deserved better than him .
So when he excused himself to the bathroom, I followed.
Whistling tunelessly, he was washing his hands, like he’d already decided the night was his. When he glanced up, he caught sight of me in the mirror.
I stepped up beside him, close enough to make him flinch. I was not above physical intimidation — if you’ve got it, flaunt it.
At six-six, I was already a big motherfucker, and as someone who pushed himself hard in the gym, my biceps were about as thick as his puny thighs.
“You Ella’s date?” I asked, my voice low and even.
He glanced sideways, his hands twitching. “Uh, yeah. Who’s asking?”
I smiled at my reflection, not him. “Someone who knows she deserves better.”
His brow furrowed. “What?”
I didn’t repeat myself. Instead, I leaned forward, bracing my hands on the counter, caging his reflection in the mirror. He tried to straighten, but I was taller. Broader. And I wasn’t moving.
“You look at her again like you did when she walked in,” I said softly, “and I’ll break your fucking hands.”
His mouth opened, then closed again. A nervous, disbelieving laugh followed, as if he wanted so badly to believe I was joking.
“Dude, what the hell is wrong with you? I don’t even know you!”
“That’s right.” My eyes found his in the glass, and I let the smile slip.
“You don’t know me. But I know her , and I know you’re not good enough.
So here’s how this is going to work: You’re going to walk back out there, apologize for having to cut the night short, and then you’ll disappear.
If I ever see you near her again, I’ll make sure you remember the lesson. ”
He scoffed, but his voice cracked halfway through. “You’re a psycho, dude.”
Probably.
I turned to face him fully then, closing the gap so fast he stumbled back into the tiled wall.
My hand shot out, fisting the collar of his polo, and I lifted just enough for his shoes to squeak against the floor.
He tried to shove me off, but I didn’t budge. Even if I hadn’t been prepared for this move, it would’ve taken a lot more to actually move someone my size.
“Psycho?” I murmured. “You have no idea.”
His pulse throbbed in his throat, right under my knuckles.
“You think this is a coincidence? You think you just happened to get matched with her? No. I let this happen. I wanted to see what kind of man you were, and I was right; you’re nothing . You’re practice. You’re a footnote in her story.”
I dropped him suddenly, and he staggered, catching himself on the sink. His face was pale now, his breath ragged.
I leaned in one last time.
“Walk away. Don’t text her. Don’t call her.
Fuck, don’t even think her name . If you do, I’ll know, and I promise you …
” I let my hand curl into a fist, slamming it once into the tiled wall an inch from his ear.
He flinched so hard he nearly crumpled to the floor. “Next time, I won’t stop at the wall.”
I left him there shaking, water dripping from the faucet where his hand had slipped.
By the time I returned to the bar, he was already gone, bolting past the hostess stand, mumbling something about an emergency. He didn’t even look back.
Knew he wasn’t good enough for her.
Ella sat alone at the table by the window, her napkin twisted in her hands, her eyes flicking toward the door with confusion. She checked her phone, her teeth sinking into her lip, and then sighed.
She looked so small just then. Small, but not broken.
I wanted to go to her. Slide into the seat across from her and tell her the truth: that she was mine, that no one would ever touch her without my permission.
But she wasn’t ready to hear those words yet.
So I stayed in the shadows and watched her gather her purse, rise to her feet, and walk out into the night.
I followed her at a safe distance.
My girl was never as alone as she thought herself to be.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and opened my text thread with Colt.
Hunter: I helped you with your little problem with Hailey’s dad. Time you returned the favor.
Colt: Okay, crazy way to start a convo, bro … slow down. WHAT exactly do you want me to do?
Hunter: Nudge Hailey to mention to Ella that I haven’t gotten a new roommate since you moved out. Room’s free. Keep it casual. Make it seem like nothing’s planned.
Colt: Ella? Why?
Hunter: Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.
Colt: I DO WANT TO KNOW
Colt: That’s why I asked
Hunter: …
Colt: You could’ve told me you had a thing for Ella, you know.
Hunter: I could have
Hunter: But I didn’t want to
Colt: HOLD ON!
Colt: All the shit that’s been happening to her … was that you?!
Hunter: …
Colt: I can NOT believe you didn’t tell me!
Colt: Also … you’re psycho.
Hunter: You’re one to talk.
Colt: Touché. But seriously, dude … this is next-level. Like, disturbingly meticulous next-level, even for you.
Hunter: I’ll take that as a compliment.
Colt: You’re like some deranged chess master of obsession. This is wild.
Hunter: Efficient obsession is my specialty.
Colt: Efficient obsession … got it. Okay. Fine. I’ll do it. But I swear if this blows up, I’m holding you personally responsible. And I’m not gonna lie to Hailey if she asks me outright.
Hunter: Fair enough. Already accounted for that.
Colt: You’re terrifying.
Hunter: Noted.
Colt: Alright … casual, subtle, nothing suspicious. Got it. Totally normal. Definitely not creepy.
Hunter: Correct. Definitely not creepy.
Colt: … you really are unhinged.
Hunter: Yeah, we’ll talk about unhinged next time you need me to secure one of your little folders full of pictures of Hailey.
Colt: Damn, bro.
Colt: Don’t worry. I got you.
***
The stadium lights poured down like a second sun, bathing the field in a blinding white light reflecting off every helmet.
The smell was always the same: a mixture of sweat, rubber pellets ground into damp grass, and the faint metallic tang of blood, even before the first hit.
Noise pressed in from all sides. The band blared, and the student section chanted as the mass of bodies shifted and shouted in the bleachers.
A thousand voices demanding, begging, threatening.
I sat in my locker with my elbows braced on my knees and my eyes on the tape wrapped around my wrists.
The pattern was the same every time: tight enough to make my veins bulge, the tape white against my skin.