by Amy DeLuca
It was a good thing the company had already successfully launched and he had partners and co-workers to pick up the slack because he knew he hadn’t exactly been pulling his weight lately.
He just couldn’t seem to drum up any interest in anything—except for maybe the drink in his hand.
Lifting it to his mouth, he took another swallow, feeling the mellow burn on his tongue and anticipating the blessed numbness that was coming.
Hap put a hand on his shoulder.
“You know, I’ve been meaning to mention that ‘liquid diet’ you’ve been following the past few weeks is probably not the healthiest. And what are you doing up here all alone? You’re turning into a bigger recluse than your brother ever was. It’s a party, man. Half of Newport is downstairs. You’re the producer—this is your victory lap too. You should be down there having a good time.”
“I’m having a good time,” Hunter deadpanned.
His eyes went back to the screen, which now featured a scene with all the “dwarves” and Kristal piled up together in that very room watching a sappy animated film.
It shifted to a tight shot of Kristal. The tip of her nose was red, and her beautiful green eyes glistened with unshed tears.
Noticing it, Josh and Tuck teased her for crying at a “kiddie movie,” and she laughed, dabbing at her eyes in embarrassment before laughing again when she realized she wasn’t the only one sniffling. Reid had teared up at the emotional scene as well.
Hap sighed, and the tone of his voice softened.
“You gotta move past it, man. I know it sucks. You loved her, and she left. I’m sure I’d be miserable if I—Heaven forbid—ever actually fell in love with someone, and she took off for another state. But what are you gonna do? Hide away up here for the rest of your life?”
“I’m not hiding.”
“You kinda are. And not just tonight. You don’t go anywhere or do anything. You don’t run or work out anymore. I’d say you’re gonna get fat, but you barely eat.” He paused. “We’re all worried about you, man.”
Now Hunter took his eyes from the screen and looked at Hap.
“Don’t be. Okay? I’m fine. I’m just going through… a rough patch, that’s all.”
Hap studied his face. “Okay. I’ll let you work through it at your own pace.” He leaned forward in his chair and started to rise, but then fell back into it. “No. I gotta say it…”
“What?”
“You’re not your dad.”
Hunter snorted and started to take another swallow from his glass, which just so happened to contain his father’s poison of choice.
Little do you know, friend.
“I know that,” he said aloud.
Hap gripped Hunter’s wrist, preventing the glass from reaching its intended destination. “You. Are. Not. Your. Father,” he repeated more deliberately.
Now Hunter turned to glare at his friend, who clearly thought he was helping somehow but really needed to mind his own business.
Hap had some idea of the things that had transpired in Hunter’s childhood, but only his brother Jack understood the full truth.
And well-meaning though he was, Hap hadn’t lost his mother as a child, dealt with a neglectful, alcoholic father—or watched the only woman he’d ever loved slip through his fingers.
Fully annoyed now, Hunter extracted his drink with his other hand then yanked his wrist forcefully from Hap’s grip.
“I know that,” he growled. “You don’t need to say it.”
“I think I do,” Hap argued.
“I’ve been wracking my brain trying to figure out why things fell apart with you and Kristal—and why you haven’t gone down south to get her and bring her back when it’s so obvious you two are meant to be together. She was in love with you, man. We could all see it. And everyone knows you’re in love with her. You’ve been walking around like a zombie since the day she left. The only thing I can come up with is that you pushed her away. On purpose.”
“That’s not true. I told her I wanted her to stay. I offered her anything and everything she wanted.”
“Everything? Really?”
“Yeah. You know I’d do anything for her.”
Hap hesitated. “From the time I spent with Kristal, I’d say she’s about as real and transparent as it gets. She told me the reason she liked me—as a friend of course—was that I wasn’t afraid to be transparent too. I talked to her about my past, about growing up with Jessica and the messed-up Hollywood stuff we both went through. I told her about my regrets, the mistakes I made. She did the same. We got to be really good friends.”
“Good for you. What’s your point?”
“Did you tell her about your dad? About what happened at the jail that night?”
Hunter’s eyes narrowed. Hap was treading dangerous ground here.
“I saw you back way off after that night. And it was pretty clear Kristal was confused about the change. I’m just saying… you’re not your dad… but it sure as heck looks like you’re trying to be.”
Hunter bolted from his chair, gesturing angrily at his friend.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about. Go back to the party, Hap. If I want a psychologist, I’ll hire one—not some ‘actor’ who plays one on TV.”
“Fine.” With a weary sigh, Hap stood and walked to the doorway, turning back just before leaving.
“By the way, your brother and his wife just got here. And that guy from high school… Harry McAllen. I didn’t think you two were friends. I know I couldn’t stand him.”
That got Hunter’s attention. “Harry is here?”
“Yeah, came in about half an hour ago with some smokin’ hot cougar. He’s down there hitting up the open bar and talking smack to the L.A. people about wanting to be a TV producer. I guess the law practice is going well if he’s got that kind of money to invest.” Hap left.
Feeling the first spark of life he’d felt in weeks, Hunter rose from his chair and headed for the theater room exit and the staircase beyond it.
Though he was a little dizzy and somewhat numb, he was pretty sure the spark was anger. What on earth would Harry McAllen be doing here?
From the top of the grand staircase, he surveyed the great room below, taking in the smiling faces, the sparkling glasses, the laughter.
Hap must have selected a lights, camera, action theme for the party because set lights glowed from each corner and there were cameramen roaming the room, interviewing people.
None of it interested Hunter. And he didn’t see Harry McAllen anywhere.
But he did see Margot Bianco.
She stood near the bar, dressed to the nines in a low-cut dress and sky-high heels, chatting up a network executive. As she reached over to play flirtatiously with the man’s tie, a wave of nausea washed over Hunter.
He turned and stumbled to his suite, not eager to encounter Kristal’s vile stepmother up close.
She and Harry McAllen and the rest of their elite Newport crowd were welcome to stay and party all night if they wanted. It was no longer his business, and in two days this would no longer be his home.
He’d be on his own—just like he wanted it.
Just like his father.
Twenty-Seven
Cold Turkey
Staggering downstairs the next morning, Hunter went directly to the kitchen and searched for the ingredients of the hangover cure recipe he’d just located on his phone.
“Hey, Doc. Want me to get you something? Make you some toast and coffee?” Aidan’s sympathetic voice offered.
“I don’t need any help,” Hunter grunted.
He was the caretaker of the house. He didn’t need anyone to take care of him. He didn’t need anything from anyone.
“Okay, boss. Those bloodshot eyeballs beg to differ though.” At Hunter’s baleful glare, Aidan raised both hands to the sides, yielding. “I’ll get out of your way.”
Once Hunter had made the drink—awful tasting stuff—he left the kitchen as well, encou
ntering a few stray members of the film crew packing up their storage cases and chatting over pastries.
“Hey, Hunter,” one of the cameramen, Pete, said. “Didn’t see you around last night. I would’ve gotten a sound bite for the entertainment shows.”
Hunter shook his head then groaned at the resulting pain, shuffling past the guy toward the stairs. “Let Hap do all the talking. It’s his show.”
Hap had certainly done a lot of talking last night. And Hunter should probably have been a little nicer about it.
From his friend’s perspective, it probably did look like Hunter was determined to disappear into a bottle. But Hap was wrong if he thought Hunter was an alcoholic. And he was wrong about him and Kristal being made for each other.
He hadn’t heard from her, but he assumed she was happy in her new life.
She was certainly better off there than she would be with him. He wasn’t worthy of her.
What his father had said to him that night at the jail was right—he was needy, always had been.
Kristal could have anyone, and she didn’t need someone like him dragging her down. He’d never be able to love her in a normal way.
He already needed her so much it was physically painful to be without her, and that was after only a few weeks of having her in his life.
What kind of voracious attention vacuum would he become after a few years with her? A few decades? He was probably better off without her too.
At least now he wouldn’t turn into a walking, talking black hole of need. He’d be self-sufficient and strong and—
“Hoo boy, get a load of those two. Somebody enjoyed the party a little too much.”
Hunter turned at the audio technician’s raucous laughter. The tech stood in front of a tabletop monitor, wearing headphones and watching the screen with a couple of grips.
Gesturing to Aidan and Hunter, he said, “Come here, come here. You guys have gotta see this.”
Hunter waved one hand in a dismissive way, but Aidan pulled him along until they both stood facing the screen. It showed a scene from last night’s party.
A man and woman, who most likely didn’t realize they were being filmed, were entangled with each other, enthusiastically making out in the meager shelter of a tall houseplant.
Hunter rolled his eyes and started to walk away from the distasteful PDA, but the sound guy said, “Wait! This isn’t even the good part. Wait for it…”
Within a few seconds, the woman extracted herself from the lip-lock and whispered something to the man. And Hunter got a look at their faces.
It was Margot Bianco and Harry McAllen.
Were they involved? Or was it just a case of being tipsy and desperate at a party? In any case, things had apparently not worked out for Margot with the network executive.
“Here it comes.” The sound tech cranked the monitor’s speaker volume, removing his headphones.
“You greedy wench,” Harry said, his voice coming through loud and clear. It must have been picked up by the camera’s expensive boom mic.
There was a loud crack as Margot slapped Harry across the face.
“It should all have been mine anyway,” she informed him haughtily. “He left her a ridiculous amount. She doesn’t even like shopping. And you wouldn’t have gotten a dime if I hadn’t given you the security code and password. So when I say I want a bigger cut, the only thing I want to hear from you is ‘how much?’ That’s if you know what’s good for you. The fraud investigators are still sniffing around, you know.”
“If you think you’re going to blackmail me, I warn you, I won’t be going down alone,” Harry promised.
“Hey Hap,” one of the grips called out when Hap came in through the front door. “I think we’ve found your next project for you. Real Housewives of Rhode Island. Lots of drama.”
“I wonder what fraud they’re talking about?” the sound guy asked.
Hunter didn’t wonder. He already knew. There was no doubt in his mind the two of them were referencing the money drained from Kristal’s trust fund.
He had to contact the authorities. He had to tell Kristal.
His heart raced at the thought of calling her. Someone had to, and this was not an instance where she’d be better off without him. She needed that money. She needed his help.
Unless she really was involved with Larson Overstreet.
Hunter doused the burning ball of fury that idea produced and tried to think logically through his next steps. He didn’t even have Kristal’s new number. He’d have to get it from Cinda. But first… he turned to Hap.
“How can I get a copy of this?”
His friend gave him a strange look, as if Hunter might want to save it for his own personal video collection.
“The video of Harry McAllen and his date? Uh, I can ask Gary to make you a copy and email you the file, I guess.”
“That would be great.”
Hunter headed upstairs to shower and dress, powered by a burst of energy that cleared his head and settled his stomach. “I’d like that within the hour if you can manage it. And Aidan?”
His housemate gave him a baffled glance. “Yeah?”
“I’ll take that toast and coffee if the offer’s still good. I’ve got a lot to do today.”
After a quick breakfast, Hunter drove to Cinda’s business, The Fairy Godmother Cleaning Agency. It was located on the second floor of a modest two-story office complex.
Just inside the front entrance, her stepsister Trudy greeted him warmly from the receptionist’s desk. A little too warmly, in fact.
“Hunter Bestia, it’s been too long,” she drawled. “We should have a drink sometime and catch up.”
He gave her a curt response. “I don’t drink.” As of today. “Is Cinda in?”
With a pout, she reached for the phone on her desk. “I’ll see if she’s available.”
After a brief conversation, Trudy hung up the phone and directed him to the closed office door behind her. “She said to go right in.”
Cinda stood from her desk chair as he entered. “Hunter. This is a surprise. How are you? Please, sit down.”
He declined. “Thanks, but I can’t stay. I just need to get Kristal’s new number from you.”
Cinda’s open expression shuttered. “I’m not sure I should give it to you. She changed it for a reason, you know. What’s this regarding? Can I maybe give her a message or something?”
“I just need to speak with her briefly. Something important has come up. I think I’d better explain it to her directly.”
Cinda sat back down and nodded toward the chair in front of her desk, indicating Hunter should sit as well. Her face was sympathetic.
“Hunter… you had months to explain. And you didn’t. Now I’m not sure if it’s the best thing for Kristal to hear from you. She’s finally getting to the point where she can function normally again. She needs a clean break from you—it’s the only way she’ll ever be able to move on and find some happiness.”
The unexpected words thrilled him while simultaneously kicking him in the gut.
“Did she say that? Did she really care that much for me?”
Cinda rolled her eyes. “She was in love with you, you big dope. Believe me, you don’t just move on from that right away.”
Hunter shook his head, fighting a sense of light-headedness that had nothing to do with his lingering hangover. “It’s still hard for me to believe, I guess. But that’s not what I’m here about. I’ve got some news about her trust fund.”
“The one someone emptied out?”
“That’s the one. And I have a pretty good idea who that someone is. Her dad’s law firm is already looking into it, and so are the police.”
“Wow. That’s great. Of course she’ll want to know about that.”
Cinda picked up a pen and dragged a notepad toward her but stopped mid-motion. “I’m still not sure if I should give you her number. She might be furious with me. She said she needed to go cold turkey.”
&nbs
p; Cold turkey. As in one method of breaking an addiction.
Hunter’s belly simmered with excitement, but he kept it out of his tone. “I understand. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
After another moment’s hesitation, Cinda printed some numbers on the pad and ripped the top sheet off, handing it to him.
“It’s her work number.”
Practically leaping out of his chair, Hunter took the paper and strode quickly to the office door. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”
“Hunter.”
He stopped and turned back to face Cinda.
“I miss her too. I’d love nothing more than for her to come home. But just know… even if she recovers that trust fund money… it might be too late. She’s been trying really hard to get over you.”
There was a sinking sensation inside Hunter’s chest, but he pasted on a smile.
“Yeah. It’s okay. I’ll just tell her about the developments and… let her get on with her life. I’d never do anything to hurt her again. I only want what’s best for Kristal.”
Even if that meant living without her.
Twenty-Eight
Voice from the Past
Locking the door of her spacious apartment, Kristal crossed the parking lot to her new car.
She surveyed the compact sedan with pride. It was the first one she’d ever bought with her own money, and though it was small and devoid of bells and whistles, it was reliable and got her to and from work at the museum every day.
It sure beat a bike, especially when it came to navigating the ten-lane highways during Atlanta’s famous rush hour traffic.
Thankfully she lived in an older neighborhood near midtown. It would have been a much worse twice-daily drive if she lived in the suburbs.
Everything here felt like a long drive away when compared to driving in Rhode Island, the nation’s smallest state, which was only forty-eight miles from end to end.
She missed it sometimes. Well, more than sometimes. She missed it all the time, especially Newport.
Her life here in Atlanta was definitely not bad. She enjoyed her job, she’d made some friends through work and church. She loved her apartment with its high ceilings, and big walk-in closet, and garden tub, and the cozy kitchen she’d actually learned to cook in.
