Chapter Twenty-One
Dylan
The Four Corners is busier than the last time, loud in the way small-town bars always are. Too much laughter packed into too little space. Cutlery and glasses clink over the hum of conversation and old rock music. The air smells of fried food and beer.
We wind our way between the crowded tables until we find one where Hunter can stretch his leg out into the aisle.
I’m glad he insisted we stop. Neither of us had eaten since breakfast at the inn, and I hadn’t noticed how hungry I was until Hunter said something.
Now, reading the menu, my stomach grumbles unhappily.
Hunter sits across from me, wound tight. He’s been quiet since his call with Alvarez.
Before I can say anything, the server, a fresh-faced girl barely out of high school, bounces over to our table. We order with little discussion. Burgers. Fries. A beer for him, and a soda for me. I’m driving, after all.
Once the server leaves, Hunter scrubs both hands over his face. “I know we’re missing something.”
He doesn’t have to explain what he means. “I know. If Lyle and Peters aren’t suspects, who does that leave?”
“I’m not sure. We need to know more about what Matthew was doing before he turned up at your café.”
“We could ask Justine, maybe, see if she knows anyone else Matthew was spending time with.”
“Maybe,” he says, but he doesn’t sound convinced.
“We could review Matthew’s footage. There must be something in there for someone to take it.”
“I have Linc and Colin going over it all.”
Not that I don’t think his business partners can do the job, but they weren’t here, in Coldwater, dealing with all this firsthand. “Do they know what they’re looking for?”
He exhales slowly. “Hell, I don’t know if we know what we’re looking for.”
“Something about Matthew’s last few days in Coldwater doesn’t add up. He’s here, recording endless footage for his documentary, interviewing people. His film isn’t a secret. But something changes. He’s attacked, and he has to run. Why?”
“Maybe it has nothing to do with his film?” But even as the words leave my mouth, I don’t believe them.
“Unlikely. His parents disappeared, and there were other disappearances in his hometown around the same time.”
“He thinks there’s a connection,” I say.
Hunter taps his fingers against the table, then stills them. “Maybe there is. Something brought him here, and now he’s missing too.”
Before I can say anything else, the server drops off our drinks. I take a long swallow of soda at the same time Hunter takes a swig from his beer.
He sets the bottle on the table, and his gaze shifts to me, assessing in a way that makes me uneasy. “Can I ask you something?”
The change in tone sends a warning through me. “Um... sure.”
He hesitates for a moment, then asks carefully. “Can I ask what happened the first time we dated?”
His words land softly, but still manage to knock the air out of me. I struggle to keep my expression neutral, but inside, everything feels stretched too tight. I’ve known this conversation was coming. I didn’t realize how much I’ve dreaded it.
“You mean... why I ended it,” I say.
Hunter nods. “I get the part about your parents. I understand why you had to run, but you broke things off before you knew they were going to ship you away. I just wondered why.”
Hunter’s quiet voice makes my chest ache. He isn’t angry. He isn’t accusing. He’s just... asking. Vulnerable in a way he rarely lets anyone see.
“I didn’t do it because I stopped wanting you,” I say. I stare down at the scarred tabletop, at the initials carved into the wood over the decades. My fingers curl into my napkin, twisting it tightly.
“Someone saw us making out.” Hunter wasn’t out yet. Hell, he was barely coming to terms with being bi.
“What? Who?”
“Your coach,” I say. Honestly, looking back, I’m surprised someone didn’t catch us sooner.
Hunter freezes. “What?”
“Your football coach,” I repeat. “After your practice. He walked into the equipment room while we were...” I break off, heat flooding my face even now. “While we were together.”
Hunter’s jaw tightens. “Coach Vernon? He never said anything to me.”
“He wouldn’t have,” I say softly. “That wasn’t the point.”
The memory rises unbidden, vivid and sharp. The fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. The smell of sweat and rubber mats. The way Coach Vernon’s face had gone hard and cold when he told me he saw us, his expression twisting with disgust.
I swallow. “He pulled me aside afterward. Told me I was a distraction, that I wanted to ruin your future because I didn’t have one of my own.”
I’d been a fuck-up back then. Everything I touched turned to shit, and I knew it. But I would never have let any of that touch Hunter. Not then, and not now.
His brow furrows. “How could you ruin my future?”
I let out a humorless laugh. “Scholarships. Recruitment. Your future.”
Something ugly flickers across Hunter’s face. “He threatened you?”
“Yes,” I say simply.
“He told me if anyone found out about us, it would damage your chances,” I continue. “Scouts wouldn’t be interested in a gay football player. If that happened, you wouldn’t go to university like you wanted.”
Hunter’s hands curl into fists. “Son of a—”
“And there was the joint,” I admit, my voice tightening despite my best efforts.
The same joint Vernon caught me smoking behind the gym and used as leverage.
“He would have told my parents, and I was one fuck up away from being sent to one of those camps for troubled teens. He must have told them, anyway.”
Hunter’s expression turns stony. “You never told me.”
I shrug. “I didn’t want anyone to know, and I sure as hell didn’t want to drag you down with me. I ruined everything I touched. There was no way I was going to let that happen to you.”
Hunter’s eyes darken. “That’s bullshit.”
“Not back then it wasn’t,” I say. “I’ve changed a lot since then, but in high school, I was an asshole.” Admittedly, I’d been better when I was with Hunter. He’d been so kind and good, he’d made me better, too.
“You never once thought about telling me any of this?”
I shake my head, chest tight. “You would have told Vernon to go to hell.”
“You’re fucking right, I would have.”
“And what good would that have done? You would have lost everything, and I still would have been sent away. You wanted out of Burlington so badly. College. Football. A future that didn’t look like working three jobs just to keep the lights on.”
Hunter looks away, jaw flexing.
“Your mom was doing everything she could,” I continue. “Working double shifts. Taking whatever overtime she could get. You didn’t have the kind of safety net I did.”
I laugh quietly, bitterly. “I could afford to screw up. You couldn’t.”
Hunter’s voice is rough when he speaks. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”
“I know,” I say. “But I did. And I’m sorry.”
The bar noise swells around us, but our table feels suspended in time.
“That night,” I say, “I snuck out of my room. Climbed down the trellis like an idiot. I went to see you because I couldn’t say it over the phone.”
My throat tightens at the memory of his face when he opened the door. Sleepy. Happy. Trusting.
“I told you we were done,” I whisper. “I told you it was a mistake. I watched you believe me.”
Hunter squeezes his eyes shut.
“It broke my heart,” I say. “But I thought if I took myself out of the equation, you’d be free. You’d get your scholarship. You’d get out. You’d have the life you deserved.”
“And what about you?” Hunter asks.
I shrug helplessly. “I figured I’d survive. I always do, and in the end, I did okay.” I think about my café, my cabin in the woods. “Better than I probably had a right to.” I was just lucky to wander into the right café in the right town at the right time.
Silence stretches between us. Hunter’s hard gaze bores into me, and I struggle not to squirm.
I exhale. “I never stopped loving you.”
“Maybe, but tell me something.” He leans closer. “If I hadn’t asked, would you have told me?”
I open my mouth. Close it. “It happened so long ago.”
“Would. You. Have. Told me?”
I sigh and shake my head. “Probably not.”
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “That’s what I thought.” He balls up his napkin, tosses it onto the table next to his untouched meal, and stands. “I have to get out of here.”
He looks at me like he doesn’t recognize me. “Oh... sure... I’ll drive—”
“No, you stay. I need space.” He walks away, maneuvering between the tables and leaving me staring at his retreating back.