by Elena Monroe
The only place to escape to was the giant bathroom off the room. I drew a very hot bath and squeezed the closest thing I had to bubble bath, shampoo, into the water, watching it bubble up. Sinking into the steaming hot water, I forced my knees to fold up so that my face could submerge under the silence.
I always wished I was born in Florida, just to be closer to the water—a real ocean in a town full of people taking it for granted.
My family summered in Cape Cod, but over the years, it's turned into being less about the water and more about making sure YouTube or Instagram showed off all the uniqueness, like Mary Lou’s coffee shop. It drove people away from the beach until they showed up to take selfies.
I envied Hunter having a different childhood, in another state, giving us more to talk about than someone you grew up with your whole life.
The next morning, the goons picked us up in the exact same spot, and this time I was myself: no facade. I was still mad at Hunter for choosing to sulk in his unreturned love for Layla instead of seeing how I felt for what it was. I glued my eyes to the window, perfecting my silent treatment with ease.
“Podemos parar a tomar un café?”
I leaned forward between the two seats, hoping the Spanish I learned from my mom and sister was enough to get by around them. I was better at understanding than responding, but I knew what I needed to.
Goon one, in the passenger seat who hated Hunter more than I did right now, turned to me with a glimmer in his eye that wasn't there before.
Good job, bitch.
I always choose to do the one thing that makes me seem more attractive to men, accidentally. I wasn't even wearing my signature red lipstick when I said it.
He reached towards me with his heavily tattooed hand and silver rings to touch my knee as his response.
Does asking for coffee warrant this much attention?
I ignored him, still looking out the window. I had gotten good at ignoring men when I wanted to, even though that normally made them try harder. Short of wearing a burlap sack, men could find any way to sexualize you. Making the change from my dad’s pasty complexion, and all the other changes, were consciously for me, not for someone to sexualize me easier.
Hunter’s voice snapped, “Hands off.”
The guy already hated him when we pulled into Starbucks, and now he was sulking in the front seat, set off by the bomb sitting next to me.
I wanted to shout in his direction how much I didn't belong to him or anyone, but the whole car would hear instead of just the defendant on trial for questioning my love. Even in this moment, I still loved him. I hated him for one small part of him, but loved the rest of him, until they showed their teeth too.
Pulling up to a small private airport with a jet on the black top, I had to push down the insane Instagram worth moment to add to my feed. I knew the goons wouldn't allow that, and I used my one favor for coffee instead. They weren't a well of favors, not men with guns and smoothed out suits, who now knew Hunter was carrying too.
My chances dissolved into a hostile environment.
Goon one boarded the plane, leaving his sidekick behind near the car. I guess we only needed one goon for this trip.
Maybe we weren't a threat anymore.
Maybe this goon was more trigger happy and able to get the job done if he needed to.
I settled into the seat, shortly falling asleep, until I felt Hunter's unlaced boots kick the side of my Balenciaga bootie sneakers to wake me. He had a lack of grace when speaking at a regular volume in my direction and not in full sentences for someone just waking up. “Hey, wake up. We're here.”
Untangling my limbs that were balled up against me, while I had fit myself in the seat, I could already feel the pressure of the air creep in from the exit. I pushed my sunglasses on and descended the stairs to an identical black SUV with pitch black tints and a second goon to match our first.
I slid against the leather and felt myself stick to the material. I was already feeling hot, and I had only been off the plane for a few minutes.
Forcing my eyes off the window, I tried to gage Hunter’s reaction to being home again, but like normal, nothing about Hunter was easy.
He looked almost uncomfortable, shifting in his seat, until he pulled out his phone to text someone. There was no name, only emojis—one of a baby and an angel, making whoever it was seem important. Hunter never mentioned home, family, or anyone important, except Layla. I wouldn't even know he had friends if they didn't text him after he fell asleep and my nosy ass couldn’t seem to mind my business.
“Are we staying with your parents?”
“No.”
He didn't look up from letting his fingers tap the screen in response to a gray bubble floating on his screen.
“Will we see them since you're here?”
“No.”
Every time he said no to me it got chillier.
We pulled up to a hotel that seemed similar to the last, only now we were in another state this time. It was assaulting my internal clock to know a few hours ago we were in LA, and now we were in yet another time zone.
The goons waited an extra minute to pull away from the curb this time. I don't know why that triggered something in me as odd, but it did. Everything about this trip made me uneasy, like I was waiting for the shoe to drop.
Men who carry guns are collateral damage.
I was all for new experiences, but the ones being offered up didn’t feel good; these kinds of experiences were life changing. You couldn’t just wield a gun and be arm candy to a very successful drug dealer, then forget about your reckless youth. These experiences were going to force you to cut pieces of yourself off and grow new ones in its place, changing you forever.
We weren’t even in the hotel room twenty minutes when Hunter abruptly announced he was leaving. I was tying my swimsuit straps around my neck, and he didn’t glance over once. I knew he was still pissed at me, but there I was, dangling my assets in his face, hoping it made everything better.
Hunter was immune to that kind of charm, and that was what I loved about him. He demanded authenticity that I avoided my whole life. He demanded I be myself, and everything else he was going to ignore – like he knew what was the “real” me better than I did myself.
He probably did. His bullshit detector was unmatched.
I watched him walk out the door, and the familiar feeling of missing him before was gone got lodged in my throat, forcing me quiet. He was always at a distance—close enough to feel his presence, but far away enough to miss.
I was a lot of things for Hunter: admirer, slut, conviction, burning hope. The one thing I wanted to be, and wasn’t, was his.
Hunter
Florida
Florida was something you don’t get out of your veins by moving somewhere else. It stays with you, taunting you; until you admit you miss it.
I hadn’t seen my little sister since I fled for college in New York then fled Columbia for Amherst. I was always trying to find home.
She was a junior in high school now and probably looked nothing like I remembered. She was the lanky, fun loving, soccer star who stayed clear of both our parents in favor of me. Every time I was yanked to juvie for bullshit reasons, like ending a fight I didn’t start, protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves, and doing what I thought was right, I left my sister to fend for herself. Every time I came back, we built more distance between us, until I finally left for college.
Now our relationship was reduced to texts updating each other on life without actually talking.
I was back to Florida for the first time since college ended, only ever coming back for one holiday break and after that I stopped bothering. My mere presence liked to set off friction with my dear old dad, spreading to my mom, and eventually all limbs of our fucked up family.
Layla was a good distraction. She loathed Florida and everything in it, so it made taking on how she felt easy.
My Mustang rental stopped in front of my mom’s ho
use and I lit up a joint, not ready to walk down the small path to her door. She was the women who couldn’t take having me and my trouble around, banishing me to my dad’s circus of a fucking home with his child bride.
The house looked perfect still, with a white picket fence and manicured lawn that kept up with her neighbors. All the perfect I smudged with my angst. I knocked on the door lightly, almost hoping no one would here or be home. With no such luck, I heard the door unlock, and some guy was taking up the space of the doorway. He was at least six feet tall, strong muscles, no scruff or beard, and a kind of tan that made Addi pop into my mind at an inconvenient time.
I studied him, unwilling to draw any conclusions. He didn't look old enough to be dating my mom, and he looked way too old to be dating my sister.
“Who the hell are you?”
The man looked offended, his face frowning like I just said hail Satan instead. My sister must have heard me, because she came running through the doors and into my arms, like no time had passed at all. I squeezed her against my chest, taking in how much she wasn't my baby sister anymore. No, this girl was on the verge of being an adult.
She didn't let go, as she asked what I was doing here.
Off limits.
“Just visiting quick. Who the hell is this guy? Dating older guys?” There she was again, Addi, popping into my mind again.
She glanced behind her, checking if he was still watching our exchange, and he was. “Mom’s fiancé. They're getting married in September.”
I guess being banished means not being privy to information. I am her son after all, but even that's a title you have to earn, not given.
Sam dragged me inside by the hand, pushing past the fiancé I never heard of until now. At least the inside was the same, minus the new guy lurking around us, just as skeptical of me as I was of him. She moved around the kitchen, grabbing two bowls, cereal, and milk. She smiled at me, and I knew exactly what she was doing. She was forcing me to relive her favorite memory. Our mom worked more than she ever had to and poured into bed around the same time we got up for school, leaving me to be the one taking care of Sam.
I didn't have many skills in that department, so it normally started with cereal and ended with take out.
The fiancé shouted my mom’s name up the stairs, and every part of my body tensed, holding every emotion still in my muscles. If I held onto it long enough, maybe I'd finally actualize it and get over it.
Probably not.
The formative years were where all the scar tissue came from, and we just learned to live with it.
“Hunter. What are you doing here?”
I didn't get up or turn around immediately, when I felt her presence behind me, as still as I was. Finally biting the bullet, I spun around on the stool, facing the woman who gave up and banished me to an even worse life. She divorced him. She knew what kind of hell he was, and it made me a demon.
“Well, I'm really glad I don't live here… so welcoming.” The sarcasm in my voice felt vile, but necessary.
Her face was an unmistakable shade of seeing a ghost and her body was rigid from not wanting to bridge the space either. “I didn't expect you. Why are you in Florida?”
“Don't worry. I'm here to visit Sam. You know, your daughter I took care of while you wallowed in your divorce and then midlife crisis?”
Her fiancé coddled her, and now I understood the point of him. He was there to shield her from the ugly truth.
Now I had a child bride stepmom and an “in denial” soon-to-be stepdad. The amount of joy was unreal.
“Hunter…” her shaky voice never could dish it out.
“Don't worry, Mom. I'll be out of your hair in no time.” I turned to Sam, who was used to these dynamics. “Let's get ice cream.”
Our mom stumbled on her words and stressed getting out some parental advice: “Don't be out late! Hunter, I'm serious.” We all knew she was serious—seriously incapable of being the parent either of us needed. Her life in shambles took priority.
Sam slid into the passenger's seat, and I peeled out of her driveway just to drive home how much she didn’t control me and never would.
“You know she's a lot better now…” The remorse was clear in her voice.
“Sometimes sorry isn't enough to fix the past, Sam.”
Her long, honey blonde hair blew back from the window cascading against the car seat. It almost sparkled in the sunlight. She would always be my baby sister, but now she was probably catching attention from boys.
Her bright green eyes with hues of blue captured my attention at the light, as she said, “Any contenders? Layla? Someone new?”
Sam knew everything. She watched me like a hawk when she was younger and I was around. She'd see how much I loved Layla from afar. She just didn't know how much I lost that battle, and Oliver won the war.
“Layla is currently engaged and pregnant with Oliver’s spawn.”
Her undeniable sound of disgust made it clear she was team Hunter.
“Anyone else?” She was desperate for information. Part of me knew it was just because she didn't want me to end up alone. I grew up in hell, shaped into a demon, and whoever I ended up with had to be okay with going to hell too.
“Maybe. I don't know…” I kept trying to look away from her. She had an uncanny ability to dig up information I tried to bury.
“Tell me! Tell me! Please!”
“Her name is Addi. She's probably on the beach right now. She's never been here.” A small, concealable, smile crept up to my mouth as I imagined Addi on a beach, half naked and making men twist their necks to get another look. The smile faded into slight anger realizing she was probably half naked fending off men. “Wanna meet her?”
Two birds, one stone.
Sam’s eyes got as big as the moon when I offered to introduce her, for my own selfish reasons.
I slid my thumb against my phone and texted her quickly at another red light. I needed a location before I drove beach to beach in a beach town.
Addi: I don't do sand. I'm by the pool.
Me: Don't move. Seriously. Want you to meet someone important.
If I had written “don't move” with no context, she would have moved just to piss me off and set off the game of cat and mouse we play. Sam was beaming, smiling, and even happy dancing in her seat to the music she turned on. I acted as her only parent for most of her life, and seeing me happy was all she wanted from me.
No crutch.
No need.
Just want.
Later that night was the big drop I had to oversee. After I brought Sam home, which was actually hard to do, because I had to practically drag Addi away to get them to stop talking so much in the driveway, even while I had the car idled. I knew I had to break the news to Addi that I had to go alone; she didn't have an invite to this one.
“I'll drop you off at the hotel.”
Her hand landed on my thigh, and she felt like mine for the briefest moment I wanted to prolong. “No, I'm coming with you, Hunter. I don't trust them.”
“Well, no shit. That's why you aren't going. This isn't some movie, Addi. This can go sideways in a real way.”
“Exactly. They all have each other and Hector’s back. Who has yours?” She paused for dramatic fucking effect like a true actress before adding on: “Me.”
I couldn't argue with this girl. She always got her way, one way or another. I couldn't overlook she was normally right, even if I wanted to ignore her intelligence like the rest of the world. I was going in blind, had no one on my side, and couldn't hit up my boys to join without Hector’s clearance.
I was anxiety free, unlike when I met Hector. This was the kind of pressure I thrived in—the kind that compressed people into diamonds and demanded better. I didn’t thrive under the pressure to impress.
I didn't bother heading back to the hotel before the drop. I had to drive to bum fuck nowhere for this drop, and I planned on getting lost a few times. Addi controlled the music, trying to hype us
up for something we could plan for, and I had her pull up the directions on her phone.
A modern Bonnie and Clyde.
Two villains falling in love.
The drop sight was exactly like a movie, dark and every bit unsettling. It made me wonder how Addileigh fell into wanting to be an actress, playing a part, all the variables you can’t control. I liked danger, the lure of something the world deems bad for you, but not the vastness of being someone else.
Hector’s idiots were present and accounted for—all armed up and not concealing anything this time. No veil over my eyes. This was what I was in for. All my dangerous behavior had to amount to something: in this case, criminal.
The idiot that followed us from California, Viktor, walked with purpose over to me and didn’t stop until the long barrel of his gun in front of him hit my stomach. He was only inches from my face, and I didn't have to speak his language to know he was pushing my patience.
“What is she doing here, estúpido?”
His scowl was professional grade. “She's with me. Just like your boys are with you.”
He didn't budge, until he realized I was firm and unwavering. Viktor walked away, while talking, and I knew it was directed my way. “The boats will be here in ten minutes. Make sure she stays out of the way. They'll unload. You just stand there and look pretty.”
I didn't hate anything more than being viewed as a pretty face. It wasn't a weapon; it was a burden and distraction. I wanted to be a “do not disturb” sign not a “welcome” sign.
“Look, man… You don't know me. I'm pretty good at what I do.”
He turned to face me, challenging me. “What do you think you do, gringo?”
Now I wasn't just pretty, but the kind of white that's insulting to a whole race—the kind he hated, clearly. “Selling, dealing, making money. You don't have to like me. Hector does though.”
That stung just as much as his gringo comment. His mouth tightened like he was ready to shoot off insults... or maybe bullets.
I watched the boats head straight to the shore in the pitch black water, with no kind of lights. The only light was from the car headlights, which would have to be illuminating enough to transport drugs from the boats to the SUVs. I was piecing together every part of the puzzle they were aiming to create, and I saw the missing pieces already.
