19. Hunter
nineteen
hunter
SEX WITH STEVIE is a little too mind-blowing.
I’ve never been so sexually compatible with someone, and being with her also helps me sleep through the night? You’ve got to be kidding me.
I have to wife her up.
The thought doesn’t freak me out as much as it should.
I’ve never thought about marrying someone before in my life.
My parents’ marriage wasn’t exactly a shining example of a happy union.
When my father wasn’t ignoring my mom, he was beating her.
And I was the little boy cowering in my room, unable to do a damn thing about it.
Now, I want to kill any man I see hurting a woman, and I should’ve killed that asshole who attacked Stevie outside the diner instead of just knocking him to the ground. I regret that.
Lately, I’ve also been thinking about my mom’s death more and more, and I can feel the rage and regret swirling and bubbling inside me like a pot of water on a hot stove.
There was a long period in my life where I didn’t think about it at all.
I pushed it all down, locked it up in a dark corner of my mind, and threw away the key – but I can’t seem to keep the monster at bay the way I used to anymore.
I have to show up to dinner with my family tonight.
I’ve been dodging my father’s calls and messages, even ignoring my uncle, but I couldn’t ignore my grandfather when he called this morning.
He’s the one that has the most power over me.
I fucking hate it. How can I be a grown-ass man and still feel like a little kid when my grandfather summons me? It’s pathetic.
But there’s no way I’m going to this fucking dinner alone.
I’m taking Stevie with me. Anytime there’s a non-family member at family functions, things are a lot more chill and my father is typically less of an asshole.
He’s still an asshole, but not as aggressive as usual.
He also tends to drink a little less. The thing about my dad – he cares what other people think of him and that colors how he acts and carries himself around others.
He’s a functioning alcoholic who knows how to hide his true self.
Everyone outside of the family sees him as a stand-up member of the community, an obscenely wealthy, successful man from a prominent family who’s deserving of admiration and awe.
That’s due in no small part to my grandfather protecting him and covering up for him throughout his life. My grandfather is a true enabler, so concerned about the family legacy that he lets his son get away with murder. Literally.
When I was eight years old, I saw my father push my mother down the stairs after a big, terrifying fight.
My bedroom was right by the stairwell. I tended to hide in the closet when they were fighting, but this time I had crept out and stood by the door, keeping it ajar and peeking out.
I don’t know what had compelled me to do it.
I remember he had her by the throat, keeping her teetering right on the edge of the stairwell.
A moment later, he let go and pushed, sending her down the stairs.
I’ll never forget the terrified look on my mother’s face.
Her hands clutching air, desperate to hold onto something.
I had run out of my room screaming, about to hurl myself down the stairs to try and catch her.
My father had grabbed me by my shirt collar and hauled me back.
He’d dragged me kicking, screaming, and crying into my room and locked me inside. I’d slammed my fists against the door and kicked it and screamed for him to let me out until I’d tired myself out and cried myself to sleep on the floor, in the fetal position.
Every time I remember that day I’m overwhelmed by my emotions: anger, guilt, deep regret. On those days, I usually hit the ice or the gym until I’m too spent to have any thoughts. Or feelings.
This morning, I hit my building’s state-of-the-art gym for three hours, but as soon as I got back to my place, the memories assaulted me again. Fuck me.
Now, I’m in my car, off to pick up Stevie for dinner.
When I asked her to come, she hesitated, but I told her that she had no choice.
I’ve noticed she loves it when I issue commands, and that’s fine by me.
I’m more than happy to tell her what to do and have her obey me. It deeply satisfies my dark side.
I park outside her building and get out of the car, walking towards the entrance.
She steps out in a pretty red dress with a flared skirt that reaches her knees, a long black coat worn over it.
She’s wearing matching red heels. Her hair is pinned up in a bun with soft strands framing her face.
A thrill goes through me when she smiles.
“Hello, princess,” I say, leaning down to kiss her on the lips. Fuck, she tastes good.
“Hi.” She looks up at me through her lashes, her sweet smile making my heart thump.
“Nice earrings,” I tell her, gently touching the hoops.
“Oh, thank you.” She blushes. “I made them myself.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I make jewelry as a side hustle.” She looks down at the ground. “It’s nothing.”
“You’re talented.”
She blushes harder, not saying anything.
The drive to my family estate is mostly silent. I’m too in my head to try to make conversation, but I have my hand on Stevie’s knee the whole time, because touching her is crucial. It steadies me. I’m not about to tell her that though.
She puts her hand on mine on her knee and rubs small circles with her thumb. “I was watching a hockey game on TV today,” she says.
“Really? Who was playing?”
“Um, I don’t remember. The Bruins? And some other team.”
I chuckle. “Uh huh.”
“It’s more fun when I watch you at the arena,” she admits. “But I’m trying to understand the game better. It was a replay though.”
“Yeah?”
“I just don’t understand how they let the players beat each other up. That doesn’t happen in any other sport. Right?”
“Fighting is part of the game in hockey. People love it.”
“But some hockey players don’t have teeth!”
I laugh. “It’s the price they’re willing to pay.”
Stevie frowns. “I just don’t get it.”
I rub her knee. “That’s alright, baby. I promise I’ll try to keep all my teeth for you.”
She grins. “You’d better.”
We pull into the drive leading up to my family estate, where only my father lives now. A large wrought-iron gate opens smoothly, ushering us inside. It’s a few minutes of driving before the mansion comes into view. Beside me, Stevie sucks in a breath.
“This is where you grew up?” she asks, incredulous.
“Unfortunately,” I mutter.
When I pull up in front of the mansion, two servants are waiting to open mine and Stevie’s doors, another little detail that seems to unnerve Stevie, although she doesn’t say anything.
I round the front of my car and come to stand beside her.
Taking her hand in mine and intertwining our fingers, I lead her up the stairs to the front door.
She’s uncharacteristically quiet the whole way up.
“Don’t be intimidated,” I tell her. “It’s all a bunch of bullshit. And if you wanna leave at any point, just give me a signal.”
She nods, still quiet.
Finally, we’re inside, and Davis, the butler, takes our coats. “Your family are gathered in the dining room, Mr. Cruise,” he tells me. I nod and walk towards it, letting Stevie precede me with a hand on her lower back.
“I’ll give you the tour later, if you want,” I whisper low in her ear, and then we’re in the dining room.
The enormous table is set for six. Plates of food are hidden under silver domes.
The chandelier looks like it’s been polished to within an inch of its life.
I give it all a cursory glance. What really gets my attention is the petite woman standing to my father’s right, smiling up at him as they speak.
My father is swirling brown liquid inside a crystal glass, looking smug.
Gramps is the first to notice us. “Hunter, my boy. Glad you and your lady friend could make it.” He approaches us with a twinkle in his eye. Taking Stevie’s hand, he presses a kiss to her knuckles. “Forgive me my old-fashioned mannerisms, my dear.”
Stevie beams. “I don’t mind at all, Mr. Cruise.”
Uncle Jack is next to greet us. He gives me the old handshake into half hug with a few thumps on the back maneuver. “Looking good, nephew.”
“Thanks, Jack. You too.”
Next, he looks Stevie up and down. “Lovely dress on a lovely girl.”
Stevie’s cheeks pinken slightly. “Thank you,” she says in a shy voice.
My father is the only one who doesn’t move toward us, instead remaining standing next to the mystery woman and watching as Stevie and I greet my grandfather and uncle.
He remains as far away as possible, on the other side of the dining table, and I hate to say it, but it irks me. He clears his throat.
“This is Celeste,” my father announces, snaking an arm around the woman’s lower back. “My wife.”
For a moment, the world seems to tilt. I think I see stars in my vision. By some herculean effort, I keep my countenance. At least I hope I do. My jaw isn’t on the floor, so that’s a huge mark in my favor.
I stare at my father, feeling my grandfather and uncle’s eyes on me. It’s so quiet in the dining room, you could hear a pin drop.
Stevie is the first to do anything.
“Oh my goodness,” she chirps. “Congratulations!” She walks around the dining table and gives my father and Celeste a hug.
Then she asks if she can see Celeste’s ring and the both of them coo over it for a while.
I’m doubly grateful that I brought her with me tonight.
Holy shit, I would not have been able to handle this on my own.
My grandfather clears his throat, and I somehow move my legs, walking around the table and shaking my father’s hand.
“Congratulations,” I tell him, my voice gruff.
Then I hug my new stepmother. There’s a wary look in her eyes, like she expects me to bite her head off.
But she keeps her smile on. It’s impossible for me to smile back.