Tall, Dork and Handsome

Prologue

“Jim, please. Don’t do this. We need to talk.”

James Hunter grimaced as a vivid dark red swirl of emotional shrapnel gathered strength inside him, became a cyclone, rising swiftly, before breaking apart in an explosion over his head. As blood-red shards showered down, his hands became fists and a rage so deep he had to rein it in, took hold.

“Your words are empty Darlene. Just like your soul,” he snidely bit back.

Darlene Bell Hunter, his soon-to-be ex-wife, made a dramatic point of clutching her middle. She was out of her fucking mind for thinking the ploy would earn her anything except contempt.

Before the ever-present photographers making his life miserable had a chance to take any more goddamn pictures, he slapped an unforgiving expression on his face, pushed past her, and squared his shoulders.

Facing the heavy wood door of Courtroom B in the Blairsburg County Courthouse he took a deep breath. Today he got his life back, what was left of it anyway, and all he cared about was the judge signing off on the details dissolving the union of Darlene, the two-faced whore, and James, the betrayed laughingstock of a patsy.

Inside the courtroom his legal team were gathered around a table at the front. They’d prepared him for what to expect and advised that the best way to get through the proceedings was to block out everything and everybody except his representatives, so with that in mind he made a beeline in their direction.

“Good morning, James,” his gravel voiced lead attorney said with his hand out. “This shouldn’t take long.”

Nodding, he shook the man’s hand, and replied, “Don’t take this personally, John, but I hope never to see your face ever again after this.”

John Prentiss, attorney at law, and the best damn divorce lawyer in the state, chuckled. “I’m just happy to help.”

Help? Jesus. What an understatement.

A black robed judge entered several minutes later and took his seat at the raised desk dominating the front of the courtroom.

Swirling butterflies performed a frenzied ballet in his gut. His nerves were the result of way too much early morning caffeine and lingering dread over the possibility, however unlikely, of this horrendous situation dragging out.

After the preliminaries were addressed the judge got down to the important part of the proceedings.

“Defendant’s motion to revisit spousal support is denied,” the somber judge announced. He put up his hand to stop Darlene’s attorney from launching into what would most likely be a long-winded speech about how she was a victim too. “Save it, counselor. The affidavit from Mrs. Hunter’s obstetrician and the results of the fetal cell analysis make it clear that Mr. Hunter is not the biological father of the child Mrs. Hunter carries.”

“But your honor,” the sniveling weasel said in a voice ripe with outrage. “My client is as much a victim in this unhappy predicament as the plaintiff. Surely some grace is called for. After all…”

The terse way the judge shut down the attempt to curry pity eased much of James’ tension.

“Counselor, we’ve been over this. The evidence speaks loud and clear. Mrs. Hunter knowingly, willingly, and at times gleefully acted with complete disregard for the state of her marriage. The court will not reward her behavior.”

James relaxed. Not a lot, but even a little bit was welcome relief. Thank god someone was finally going to shut Darlene down and give him the clean slate he needed to start over.

There was a long, boring back and forth about the property settlement. He didn’t want anything from the last decade of his life. Darlene could have it all as far as he was concerned.

In the end it was the standard fifty-fifty arrangement.

His mother, god bless her, went through the house like a shark and had quite dramatically taken possession of any Hunter family heirlooms and whatever else she felt her son might want some day, leaving everything else in a shit pile.

As for the property he once imagined was his forever home, the red-hot real estate market led to several offers before it was listed. Feeling especially dickish at the time, he’d forced Darlene to sign off on the one closest to asking price despite several far weightier. He didn’t give a fuck about the money – not after all he’d lost – but she did.

Maybe his lying shitbag wife shoulda thought about that before she started whoring herself out.

When the proceedings got round to the matter of legal names, James triumphed over Darlene’s incessant woe is me whining with a very public slap in the face.

“Furthermore,” the judge read from the filing, “the Court approves Plaintiff’s stipulation that following the granting of the divorce decree, Defendant shall be prohibited from using the Hunter name. This stipulation includes Defendant’s offspring and heirs.”

His lawyer sniggered softly. John Prentiss had supported James’ desire that Darlene be wiped off the Hunter tree. It wasn’t his lawyer’s job to feel sorry for him or care about his feelings but male solidarity accounted for a lot. No man with a conscience or a heart took delight in another man’s public humiliation. Sometimes, and definitely in this case, betrayal had a heavy price tag.

As prepared as he was, James didn’t know how to react when the judge abruptly went off-piste, offering his brutal critique of the wrong this legal proceeding sought to correct.

It was uncomfortable to sit there while someone talked about his life as if he wasn’t in the room. The facts, as they stood, spoke loud and clear. He was a nice guy from a good family. After completing his undergraduate degree in veterinary science, he married his college girlfriend and joined the Blairsburg Police Department. Over the next few years, he continued training to become a veterinarian while working in the department’s animal division. At the same time his wife pursued a career in real estate. They bought a house and planned for a family. It was, according to the judge, the American dream.

Working as a police officer full-time and going to vet school part-time, James kept it real, while Darlene took a much different path.

Just after his thirty-first birthday and only six months shy of becoming a licensed veterinarian, James and a specially trained canine were assigned to an undercover team working with an informant planted deep inside a local crime family.

Revisiting his emotional destruction made him hella uncomfortable. James shifted in his seat as the judge continued.

On August twenty-fourth, at approximately nine ten in the evening, James was inside a surveillance van parked a block away from the private residence of a well-known crime boss. Inside the home a party was in full swing, complete with high dollar escorts, one or two local celebrities, and the deep cover informant.

His presence in the van was required after the police canine masquerading as a service dog reacted in a manner consistent with the presence of illegal drugs.

Darlene had texted earlier saying not to expect her home till late. She was wining and dining a potential client interested in a commercial real estate deal so, in no hurry to get home, James lingered in the van.

Surveillance was a strange world and the folks who did it were a bit dry and businesslike. Watching them do their thing was surreal. Fascinated, he put on a set of headphones and studied the video monitor showing people gathered on the back patio of the house.

Scantily clad females, playthings of the powerful and rich, partied it up with a bunch of modern day mobsters.

He was about to call it a night and maybe go grab a burger when a previously unnoticed female entered the picture. There was no audio but her authority came through when she appeared to direct the human sex toys.

“Oh great,” the detective next to him griped. “Camp Blow Job is in session.”

Horrified by the debauched scene, James was repulsed by the woman’s behavior. She appeared to orchestrate the cock gobbling and at one point even pushed a girl’s head down.

The woman struck alarms inside him. She had a way of moving that was familiar, but he didn’t know anyone with a chin length black bob.

And then she turned to leave the patio. As she walked toward the hidden camera he got a good look at her face and groaned when hell opened to suck him in.

Sickened and free-falling with panic, he made a hasty retreat and ran from the van to his nearby car. Gagging on bile rising from his stomach, James grasped the car door’s handle and spat the bitter fluid onto the pavement.

Certain a heart attack was heading his way, he climbed behind the wheel and gulped air into his lungs. His wife of over ten years wasn’t with clients – she was in disguise and seemingly up to her fake tits in criminal activity. The way she instructed the girls as they sucked the cocks of the party goers made him physically ill.

Darlene didn’t like oral sex. She said it made her feel cheap. The woman in the black wig didn’t look overly concerned about the cheap and sordid scene she commanded.

Jesus Christ.

Driving with shaking hands wasn’t easy. Same for not killing her when she came home a little after midnight announcing she needed a long soak in a hot tub before feeling human again.

For two days he said nothing. Coming to terms with the shitshow heading his way kept him from acting rashly. In the end, he went straight to the precinct captain and told him what he knew.

When his world exploded, he thought he was ready, but man, was he wrong.

The headline he expected was, Suburban housewife caught in undercover sting operation.

The headlines he got were far more detailed and devastating.

Suburban housewife and mob connected realtor exposed!

Drugs, deals, call girls, and money laundering!

Knocked up but who’s the daddy? The married mobster or the cuckold cop?

As long as he lived James knew he’d never recover from the prurient viciousness of the media labeling him the cuckold cop.

He’d also never forget the sight of Darlene being publicly hauled from her car in the driveway and placed under arrest while the press descended on the tawdry scene and their neighbors videoed the drama.

By the time the judge’s speech ended, Darlene was quietly sobbing while her lawyers sat stoically silent.

Inside James, the ice that gathered the night he learned of his wife’s heinous betrayal had grown steadily until a solid glacier formed. His emotions were encased—frozen solid, so when the judge said the words that eradicated his marriage, he felt nothing.

Maybe he had a sense of relief—a lessening of the 24/7 tension that was slowly killing him, but nothing more.

Only six months had passed since then, but a lot had changed.

When the powerful wife of the corrupt businessman she’d been sleeping with threatened her, Darlene went into damage control mode and cooperated with the investigation. As far as James knew, she was living an hour away from Blairsburg. If his math was correct, she was also nearing her due date.

Unwilling to be used for click bait by the salacious media, he hid at his parents’ house for a bit—eventually moving into a residence hotel near the veterinary school. If he could stay focused, he’d be a doctor soon. The only bad news was his separation from the police department.

James liked working in law enforcement and enjoyed the non-humans he was in charge of. Maybe someone with a thicker skin than his would see the point in sticking it out but the notoriety from what happened was never going to go away. As long as he stayed on the force, he would always be the cuckold cop.

Cuckold cop. Jesus.

Pranks and practical jokes at work were one thing. Guys did shit to each other all the time—mostly for shits and grins. But the derision, vitriol, and downright meanness displayed by his brothers on the force affected him so deeply his very foundation shook.

There was nothing for him anymore—not here, not anywhere near this town or his home state. He knew leaving was the only way forward.

His family didn’t try to stop him. Why would they when what Darlene had done caused so much upset? Robbie, his younger brother, a photo journalist, headed to the Middle East right after James’ divorce was finalized. It said a lot that his brother preferred a war zone over small town U.S.A.

Same for Nora. At twenty-six her professional life was just beginning until Darlene’s scandal ripped the Hunter family apart. Her dream was to helm a design studio. Armed with a business degree and a solid plan, her aspirations fueled immediate success—but her triumph waned as the tabloids trashed him, and by association, his entire family.

She was the first to encourage him to leave.

He responded by suggesting she do the same.

And now, here he was, working his way through a checklist of things to do before he took his new Doctor of Veterinary Medicine degree on an adventure far from home.

An animal clinic on the other side of the country offered him a position with their team of mobile veterinarians. They specialized in farm, rodeo, and show animals—quite a departure from police work.

Everyone in his family hoped the change would turn out to be good for him.

It didn’t matter to James if it was or wasn’t—all he cared about was getting the fuck out of the state and starting over.

Taping up a moving box, he used a thick black marker to label it with a description of the contents.

“Random shit,” he muttered aloud. “Another box for storage.”

Tomorrow, or maybe the next day, he planned to kiss his folks goodbye, climb in the hefty pick-up truck he bought on a whim, and head west.

Spying the shiny black orb Nora gave him, he shook it and murmured a question, “Am I doing the right thing?”

The sound of his heavy sigh filled the air when he turned the ball over and read the reply.

Ask again later.

Isn’t that always the way?