The Hunt - Monica James

by James, Monica

  This is what spurs me to say, “I’m going to say hello.”

  “No, Hunt, don’t!” he all but screams, latching onto my arm. It’s too late as I push through the crowd to find her.

  It’s a warm night and the sidewalk is bustling, but my six-foot-four frame allows me the height gain I need. I use her trademark red waves as my beacon and push my way through the crowd. Dixon and Finch are hollering behind me to stop, but now that she’s within grasp, the devil is at my heels and I sprint forward, desperate to see her.

  It feels like years since I last saw her. My heart beats like crazy, and I suddenly wish I wasn’t so fucking drunk, because my brain and mouth are so not attached right now. “Mary!” I bellow, cupping my mouth with both palms, but she doesn’t turn.

  With sheer determination, I excuse myself as I charge through the throngs of people, most of which move off to the side when they see me coming. When she’s a few feet away, I call out to her again. “Shortcake!”

  Bingo.

  She stops and turns her ear, as if questioning whether she really heard me or not. I clear up any confusion when I race toward her, tapping her on the shoulder. The moment she turns, fucking angels sing and a ray of light shines down from above. It may be a streetlight, but I don’t care because she’s here, standing before me, taking my breath away.

  I want to say so many things, but I can’t. I need a moment, because after so many weeks, I feel like my heart has kickstarted back to life. She looks slender, like she’s lost weight, but those killer curves have me salivating, remembering how I traced my tongue over each one. Her long waves are flowing freely, framing her beautiful heart-shaped face. Fuck, I’ve missed her.

  “Hunter?” I’ve caught her off guard, as she shakes her head, appearing to only just realize it’s me. A flash of pink darts out to wet her upper lip, and it takes all my willpower not to drop to my knees and worship her like the goddess that she is.

  Nothing else matters but telling her how I feel. I know I’ve said it once before, but now, I plan on screaming it at the top of my lungs. I’m not ashamed, because I love this woman with everything that I am and I want everyone to know. Dixon’s advice of giving her time can blow me.

  “Mar…” Sadly, my confession gets shot down in flames when someone juts their hand out, drawing attention to the fact that we’re not alone.

  “Hunter? I can’t believe it. I’ve heard so much about you. It’s so nice to finally meet you.” I get doused with an icy cold bucket of ‘what in the ever-living, fucking hell is going on.’

  Standing in front of me is a Kung-Fu god. He could easily be related to Bruce Lee, because he has the movie star looks and a body made of pure granite. I’ve never seen this dude before, but Mary’s reddening cheeks reveal that she has.

  There must be some mistake. In my alcoholic state, I must be hallucinating. I rub my eyes to make sure. But when he’s still here, palm still extended, waiting to shake the loser’s hand, I know this is real.

  They’re both dressed nicely, probably because they just finished up with dinner, maybe a movie, and now they’re going back to someone’s apartment to do unspeakable nasties with the other while I go home to cry into my pillow.

  Ripples of anger roll over me and I get ready to throw down. “Who the fuck are you?” I slap his hand away, as I have no intention shaking it. Now or ever.

  “Hunter!” Mary snaps, quickly apologizing for my behavior, but this is only the tip of the iceberg. I lunge for him, ready to tear off his head and play lacrosse with it.

  “C’mon, man, walk it off.” Dix is at my back, dragging me away, but I shrug him off.

  “You’ve heard so much about me? Funny that, because I’ve never heard of you. I should feel honored Mary mentioned me at all, I mean, it’s been radio silence on her end for weeks…now I know why.”

  She glares at me, but fuck this. She was supposed to be clearing her head, finding herself, all of that Oprah shit, but now I see she was only finding some other sucker to play head games with.

  “Dixon, take him home. He’s drunk,” she spits, gently tugging on her admirer’s arm. The simple touch ignites a wrath so manic, I act before I can think this through. My heart is broken—what do I care if my arm is too?

  With a warrior cry, I charge forward, fists swinging, and hook the motherfucker right in the jaw. Mary screams at me to stop, which only incites me to hit him again. The impact doesn’t alleviate my pain or anger, so I attempt to strike him once more. My lucky streak is over with however, because my initial thought of him being a martial arts god wasn’t too far off the mark. He bends low and fucking karate chops my neck, which drops me to the ground, winded and clutching my throat.

  Finch drops to his knees, asking if I’m okay, but when I hear Dixon cry, “You motherfucker!” I know in about three seconds, he’ll be tending to both our wounds. I underestimated Bruce Lee Junior, because it only takes him two. Dixon drops to the ground beside me, clutching his bleeding nose.

  “Oh my god! He broke your nose!” Finch exclaims, paling.

  “No shit, Sherlock,” Dixon mutters from around his cupped hand. “I’m fine.”

  Finch however, is anything but fine because he goes from white to green to gray before my eyes. “Wow, it’s so red. Blood is red. Blood…”

  “Shit!” both Dixon and I shout, lunging forward to catch Finch, because he just fainted. I totally forgot he’s squeamish.

  “Finch!” I hoarsely say in barely a whisper, because I’m still attempting to retrieve my windpipe from the pavement. I slap his cheeks. “Fuck, he’s out cold.” Dixon rips off his sash and uses it as a makeshift pillow to place under Finch’s head.

  This would be fucking hilarious if it was happening to anyone other than me, but thanks to my recklessness, my two best friends look like roadkill. Some best man I am.

  “I’ll get a cab.” As Mary attempts to hail a taxi, I thrust out my palm.

  “No, you’ve done enough. Just go.” Lifting my eyes to meet hers, I squash down the need to console her because I know I’ve just hurt her feelings. This isn’t tit for tat, but she fucking destroyed me the moment she gave me a taste of something that was always going to be out of my reach.

  “Hunter…”

  “I said go, Mary.” A crowd has formed, and I know the NYPD aren’t too far away. Her poignant eyes glisten with tears, but she’s made her choice, and I’ve made mine.

  “Looks like some things never change.”

  “Looks that way, although the same can’t be said for the men you welcome into your bed.” Her mouth parts, as I’ve just offended her, but she’s not just offended me, she’s ruined me.

  I know when she leaves because that emptiness returns.

  In the cab ride back to my apartment, with Dixon and Finch by my side, I can’t help but wonder if this is what closure feels like, because if it is…it can blow me.

  “I’m sorry for being the world’s suckiest friend,” I say to Dixon. Finch is slouched in a comatose ball, probably regretting the day he met me.

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself.” The fact Dix looks like he just massacred an entire village only cements my point. “You did just see…”

  But I wave him off, not wanting to talk about this ever again. “I needed to see what I saw, man. I need to move on and accept this for what it was.”

  “And what was that?”

  “Something that was bound to end in tears,” I conclude.

  Dixon sighs, moving his mouth from side to side. “At least you know.”

  I nod, wishing like hell that throat punch knocked me out cold. “I know I wasn’t wired for this relationship shit, and I was stupid ever believing that I was. I thought this was amicable, that we were on the same page. What a fucking idiot I am.”

  “Hunt…”

  But I’m done talking. “From now on, I forget about Mary. I thought our break-up”—I can’t help but air quote our sham—“was anti-climatic, but now I know the reason is because we weren’t eve
r really together. If we were, she wouldn’t be so quick to replace me. The thought of touching another woman makes me sick, but it seems you’re right, Dix.”

  He waits for me to continue.

  “Mary did run away and I guess now…it’s time I do the same.”

  Now is the time Dixon would reprimand me for giving up, but when he remains tight-lipped and gives me a manly hug, I know it’s time I stopped moping and take a page out of Mary’s book and move the fuck on.

  Here Comes The Bride…Hunter

  “On a scale of one to ten…how angry is Cherry Pie?”

  Dixon pauses from looping his tie, looking at my reflection in the full-length mirror. “Eleven.” Groaning, I tip my head toward the ceiling, wishing I had some scotch.

  Today is the big day—the day my best friend gets married to the love of his life. Readers at home, I know what you’re thinking—about fucking time. But this story is about me, and my uncanny ability to create a shitstorm wherever I go.

  Thanks to Dix being the chivalrous brute that he is, his nose resembles a potato. The swelling has gone down, but the bruising is every color of the rainbow. If you look over the rainbow, you just may see Dixon’s nose. The doctors said it should straighten, but I think from now on he’ll be known as Mr. Potato Head.

  “Dude, I’m so fucking sorry. I can’t believe he fly kicked you in the nose. That takes some skill.” Dixon chuckles.

  It goes without saying I am DONE with women. After the bachelor party from hell where us three amigos ended up in the ER and a cucumber wasn’t even involved, I promised myself that this was the last time.

  This is for the best. I was crazy to think Mary and I would work. I mean, all we do is fight. She obviously thinks the same way, seeing as she’s now shacking up with the karate kid. I made Dixon promise to mind his own business and not go snooping. Sometimes, the truth can be so much worse than what you could ever imagine, and I have a feeling this is one of those times.

  “Don’t worry about it. What’s done is done. Besides, it adds character.” I know he’s only trying to make me feel better, but when Maddy and him are old and gray, they will look back on their wedding photos remembering what a jackass their best man is.

  Ugh, I need a drink.

  “Have you got the rings?” Patting down my pockets, I open my mouth, faking horror. When Dixon looks about ready to cry, I smirk.

  “Of course I have the rings.” I grip my crotch, while Dixon blanches.

  “Please tell me your cock is not minding the ring I’m about to slip onto my beloved’s finger.”

  “It’s the safest place to be. He hardly sees the light of day anymore, thanks to my newfound no pussy rule. Besides, your jewels next to my jewels. How fucking romantic is that?” Dixon shakes his head, not swayed. Fucking party pooper.

  He reaches for his suit jacket, hinting it’s time to get this show on the road. “Let me take a look at you.”

  Dixon grins, turning in a showy circle, but jokes aside, I think I’m about to fucking tear up. He looks like a groom from the gods, showcasing a rocking navy three-piece suit. A matching tie complements the crispness of his white shirt. A white rose is pinned to the lapel of his jacket. All in all, this entire ensemble represents just how far my best friend has come. He’s jumped many hurdles and he’s swam through tough tides, but in the end, he’s here, about to marry his soulmate, and I couldn’t be prouder to be standing by his side when he does.

  “Are you fucking crying?” And just like that, I’m reminded why I love this man more than life itself.

  “I’m not crying,” I claim, discreetly wiping my eye. “I have something in my eye.” Dixon laughs, slapping me on the back.

  “Come on. We’re about to break tradition and be the ones who are late.”

  Swallowing down my drama queen episode, I slip into my matching suit jacket, and if I do say so myself, we’re two fine looking cats. Dixon’s father comes into the room, making that equation three cool dudes.

  “Ciao, Papa. Pronto?” Mr. Di Matteo nods, and I’ve never seen him happier.

  We make our way into the living room, Dixon doing a last look around his home to ensure he has everything. When he’s set, he exhales. “Holy shit. I’m fucking nervous.”

  “Don’t be. You’ve got this.”

  Dixon nods, rubbing his hands together, appearing to take in the fact that when he returns here tonight, he will be a married man. “Thank you, Hunt. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

  But what he doesn’t realize is that he’s been my rock as well. “You can make out in the car. Let’s go already.” The front door opens and in strolls my other half—Finch.

  There was no way Dixon was only having one of us up there with him. In his eyes, we’re both his best men, so it only seems fitting that is reflected on the big day.

  “Sorry, Mr. Di Matteo.” Finch quickly excuses his quip, while Mr. Di Matteo waves him off with a laugh. I can see where Dixon gets his sense of humor from.

  With nothing but the road ahead, we make our way toward the car. When Dixon sees the beast in front of him, he stops and turns to me with a grin. “Your doing, I assume?”

  The sexy ass, stretched, Hummer limo, is begging I take her for a spin around the block. “Damn straight. I’m getting hard just looking at it.”

  “I’m going to have to get those rings sanitized.”

  The driver arranges the ramp so we’re able to wheel Mr. Di Matteo into the limo. We follow once he’s settled in. Move over, Kitt, the inside of this thing is a disco on wheels. The moment the engine roars to life, I holler and crack open the good stuff.

  “Champagne is the more traditional drink,” Finch says as I pour a decent helping of scotch into three glasses. Dixon reaches for a bottle of water for his dad.

  “Champagne can suck a dick. My best friend is getting married and he’s hitting the hard stuff before he officially surrenders his balls.”

  As I pass around our drinks, I decide to call a toast—one of many, I presume. “Here’s to you, Dix. I’d say good luck, but you don’t need it.”

  “Cheers!” Finch says as we smash our glasses and throw back our drinks. The venue is about thirty minutes away, so we have a lot of drinking time to spare.

  I’m onto my third scotch when Finch says, “You going to be okay, Hunt?” I don’t need a roadmap. I know exactly what he’s asking. I could brush it off, but sitting here in my Sunday best has me feeling like a fraud if I don’t confess that I’m fucking nervous.

  Considering the last time I saw Mary, I pretty much hinted she can fuck off and never be found, I don’t know how she’ll react to being my partner for the day. I’ve missed all the rehearsals, but how hard can it be? Stand by the big man, produce the rings, sign some shit, then we’re done. This is going to be a breeze.

  “I’ll be okay. I promise to be on my best behavior.” Dixon’s dad is the first one to snort in laughter, while the other two chumps follow suit.

  When we pull up to The Ivy, Dixon rubs his palms onto his legs. “Fuck me, this is really happening.” It’s almost unheard of to see him nervous, but one can’t blame him for wanting to shit a brick.

  “It’s okay. Just breathe. Think of Maddy,” Finch wisely says. My words of wisdom are to pass Dixon the bottle of scotch, which he happily accepts.

  Once he takes a decent gulp, he nods. “Let’s do this.”

  The moment the driver opens the door, we’re assaulted by flashes from the wedding photographer, who is photo happy. He has us posing in every position possible, and after a while, we go a little stir crazy and the last photo he takes is of me carrying Dixon over an imaginary threshold.

  We walk into the grand foyer, where we’re greeted by an overzealous man in a bright orange suit. “You look absolutely ravishing,” he says to Dixon, kissing both his cheeks. When he sets eyes on me, he winks. “You too, handsome.”

  “Thanks, Thomas. Thomas, this is my other best man, Hunter.”

  Thomas puts a hand to his
hip. “You’re the one I’ve heard so much about.”

  “Trust me, it’s all lies,” I reply with a grin.

  “That’s a shame then,” he counters with a sly grin of his own. “Come on then, I’ll show you where to stand.”

  Taking a look around at all the white, I realize this is really happening. Just beyond those double doors is where Dixon will be saying I do. Without further ado, I clap my hands together and smile. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  Thomas nods happily, pushing open the doors to reveal a fucking Garden of Eden. The ceremony is to be held outdoors, so the backdrop is green and lush. A white curtained arch is yards away, and on top sits an array of roses. A white, makeshift aisle has rose petals scattered on and alongside it, where white chairs, filled to the brim with people, are lined up either side. Bouquets of colorful flowers are attached to the end chairs, a white curtain sash draped between each. The final touch is the lake behind the archway. It doesn’t get any more romantic than this.

  “Like it?” Thomas asks when we’re standing around, dicks in hand.

  “You’ve outdone yourself,” Dixon says in awe.

  We walk down the aisle, Dixon shaking hands with family and friends, while Finch, Mr. Di Matteo, and I follow behind. It’s a full house and the excitement is palpable. I forget my Mary woes and concentrate on what’s important, and that’s standing by my brother.

  Thomas arranges us, changing the angle of our bodies until we’re perfect. When he dallies a little too long, hands around my waist, I know he’s sweet on me. “Save me a dance?” he says light-heartedly.

  I nod. “You better have packed your dancing shoes.”

  When we’re arranged with military precision, Thomas runs off, gesturing for something to commence. I find out what that is soon enough when a soft piece of music sounds over the speakers. Dixon stands tall, all nerves long gone, because in mere minutes, his soulmate will walk down this aisle and be his forever.

  Finch beats me to the punch and blows his nose. “I always cry at weddings.”

  As we’re waiting for the girls to arrive, Mr. Di Matteo wheels his chair over to Dixon and gestures he’s to come close. Dixon does, and when I hear why, the waterworks threaten to start early. “Sono fiero di te, mio figlio.”