by Austin Bates
“I really appreciate the effort you went through.” Hunter forced back the initial wave of nausea and smiled brightly. “I just wish you hadn’t worried so much. I told you I didn’t know how long it would take and I’d text you when I was done.”
“I know,” said Vincent, looking away dejectedly. “I just couldn’t help myself, you know? I lost you once before, and I don’t know what I would do if I lost you again. The very thought sends me into a spiral and I can’t escape it. I don’t want to coddle you or seem overly clingy, but I can’t shake this feeling that something is going to happen and I’m going to lose you all over again. Or else I’m going to wake up and realize all of this has just been a dream.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Hunter assured him. “I’m here to stay.”
“You don’t know that though,” Vincent retorted. “What happened to you that day was just a freak accident. I know it’s not fair of me to act like this. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to feel obligated to deal with my emotional distress on top of everything else.”
Hunter shook his head slowly. He couldn’t fault Vincent for how he was feeling. The accident had far reaching effects on people other than himself. At least Vincent was admitting to being overly clingy. It showed he was aware of his actions but unsure of how to fix them. Communication was the foundation of any good relationship, right?
“I’ll try to text you more,” said Hunter slowly. “Or at least I’ll reply to the messages you send me. You’ve gotta give me time to reply though. I can’t always answer right away. Allen’s going to start training me soon, and I won’t be able to reply if we’re talking to potential customers.”
“Allen? Allen Geoffery? Isn’t that one of Luke’s friends?” Vincent turned to look at him with worry in his eyes. “You didn’t tell me that’s who this interview was with.”
“I don’t see how that matters,” said Hunter with a frown. “He’s offered me a job, and I’m going to take it.”
“You can’t,” said Vincent, stepping towards Hunter. “Luke’s circle of friends are toxic. They’ll just pull you into their web, and you’re not going to be able to escape.”
“Their web? Of what? Paintings?” Hunter laughed. “You’re overreacting, Vincent. Just try to calm down a little. I’ll be fine.”
“You don’t remember what they were like,” continued Vincent. “The way they manipulated you was disgusting. You know why Luke is famous? Because of you. Your job as a lawyer allowed you to cover the costs of his apartment. He mooched off of you until he became successful enough to support himself. But he never once offered to pay you back.”
Hunter shook his head slowly. Even if all of that was true, it was all from a lifetime he couldn’t remember. Besides, Allen was offering him a job. No one was getting manipulated into anything.
“Vincent, I’m taking this job. If I don’t, I won’t have money to pay my bills. Then I’ll have to rely on you and isn’t that the very thing you’re accusing him of doing?” Hunter was trying to remain calm and logical, but Vincent was making it difficult.
“I know you don’t understand where I’m coming from,” said Vincent in a much calmer tone as he approached Hunter and took both of his hands into his own. “I know he probably hasn’t given you any reason to think badly of him this time. He probably sees your amnesia as his chance for redemption in your eyes. I know you told me not to shelter you and I won’t. I just wouldn’t be a very good boyfriend if I didn’t warn you about him.”
“Are we boyfriends now?” asked Hunter, frowning slightly as Vincent returned to the pile of takeout food in the kitchen.
“It was a slip of the tongue.” Vincent waved his hand dismissively. “Old habits, old memories, still trying to get past them all.”
Hunter said nothing as Vincent began to fill one of the plates with food.
“Go ahead and help yourself,” invited Vincent, gesturing to the empty plate on the counter.
Hunter shifted his gaze back to the pile of food on Vincent’s plate. At another point in time, he knew he would have been excited to try all of the different dishes on display on his counter. Right now, however, his stomach sounded the trumpets of rebellion.
Spinning on his heel, Hunter ran towards the bathroom. Fear that he wouldn’t make it in time propelled him forward. He had barely reached the toilet when his stomach heaved.
“I CAN CALL IN SICK,” insisted Vincent, sitting on the edge of Hunter’s bed later that evening. “I’ve got plenty of sick leave saved up, it’ll be fine. I can stay here and take care of you.”
“I’m fine,” insisted Hunter as he tried to pull the blankets a little higher around himself. “It’s just a stomach bug. I’ll be fine.”
“Sure, sure. You’re probably right,” said Vincent, looking down at his feet. “I can sleep on the couch. I’ll be just a few feet away if you need anything at all. Just for tonight.”
Hunter was tempted to relent and give him what he wanted, but he wasn’t sure it was such a good idea. Something in the back of his head was warning him not to give in to Vincent’s demands, and he was inclined to listen to it, if only because he wasn’t sure he was going to get any sleep if he did.
“I’ll be fine,” insisted Hunter. “I’ll text you in the morning to let you know I’m not dead.” He laughed.
Vincent didn’t see the humor in his joke. “Please, don’t make light of things like that. I couldn’t bear to lose you again.”
Hunter sighed to himself. “Fine, I won’t. I promise. Now go on. I need to sleep if I’m going to get over this.”
“One last time,” said Vincent, rising to his feet. “I can take the day off. I’ll wait on you hand and foot.”
“Please, Vincent. Just let me sleep,” pleaded Hunter. “It’s just a stomach bug. There’s no reason for you to miss work over this. Okay?”
Reluctantly, Vincent withdrew from Hunter’s bedside. For a moment, Hunter thought he was going to camp out on the couch anyway, but in the end he left without another word.
Chapter Eight
“You don’t look very well,” said Luke as Hunter answered his apartment door the next morning.
“Sorry,” sniffled Hunter, partially hiding behind the door. “I was throwing up all night. Did you need something?”
“I thought I could teach you how to cook something for breakfast, but that’ll have to wait. Have you managed to eat anything since lunch yesterday?” asked Luke, concern flooding him as he looked at the pallid face of the sickly little omega standing across from him. He barely managed to suppress the urge to touch his forehead and check for a fever.
“No.” Hunter shook his head. “I can’t even go near the kitchen right now without dry heaving. My friend brought over a bunch of takeout food last night, and the smell of it still hasn’t gone away.”
“Okay, you’ve got to eat something, and I’m assuming you haven’t gotten any fluids in you either. Let me go back to my apartment and get some things, and then I’ll cook you some soup,” suggested Luke.
“I don’t want you to go through all that trouble if I’m just going to throw up again,” protested Hunter.
“Nonsense, this soup recipe has been in my family for generations. It’s the ultimate treatment for nausea of all kinds. My mom swore by it. She said it was what got her through all four of her pregnancies.” Luke smiled. “So don’t worry, just go sit down. Leave the door unlocked, I’ll be right back to take care of you.”
“Okay,” relented Hunter, withdrawing from the door and retreating further into the apartment.
Luke quickly returned to his apartment and grabbed the ingredients he needed for the soup. He would have to remember to call his mother later and thank her again for sending him the cans of soup stock she’d made over the summer.
When he got back to Hunter’s loft, Hunter had curled into a ball on the sofa near the window and was staring absently at the blank wall across from him.
“Before I get started, do you need anything?” asked
Luke as he set his pile of ingredients in the kitchen. He sniffed the air experimentally, but didn’t smell any of the takeout that Hunter had mentioned.
“No.” Hunter’s voice was barely audible from the other room. “You don’t have to go through all this trouble for me.”
“Nonsense,” said Luke as he pulled out a large pot from one of the cupboards. “I’m not going to let you waste away when I live right next door.”
Hunter said nothing, but sank down into the cushion on the sofa as Luke got to work.
The soup was basically just an amped up version of chicken soup. It used fresh ingredients and his mother’s own homemade soup stock that she canned herself. Everyone in his family swore by it. As far as Luke was concerned, there was nothing better for nursing someone back to health than a great big bowl of this soup made with love.
By the time the soup was done, Hunter had fallen asleep.
Luke didn’t want to wake him, but he didn’t want to risk letting him become dehydrated either. He hovered uncertainly beside Hunter’s sleeping form, before kneeling beside the sofa.
When they’d first started dating, someone at Hunter’s law firm had caught chicken pox from their kid and was spreading it around. Hunter had gotten it and become extremely ill. Adults that had never had chickenpox before always got it far worse than if they’d had it as a child. Hunter’s case was particularly brutal, and he’d ended up having to go to the hospital for treatment.
Luke had sat beside him every single day and simply watched him sleep. Hunter hadn’t needed him for anything. All his needs were being met by the doctors and nurses in the hospital, but Luke had never left his side.
For a moment, sitting there on the floor of Hunter’s apartment, he felt a stab of agony that Hunter would never remember that. He’d never recall waking up and seeing Luke sitting there ready to assist him.
It took several seconds for Luke to steady himself. Those memories didn’t matter anymore. They were from another lifetime. What mattered the most in this moment was making sure Hunter was healthy.
Luke laid a hand on Hunter’s forehead. No fever. That was good at least. Whatever it was probably wasn’t too serious then.
Hunter stirred beneath his hand and slowly opened his eyes.
“Hey, I was just checking to see if you had a fever,” explained Luke, withdrawing his hand and smiling softly. “How are you feeling?”
“A little better,” said Hunter, stifling a yawn and stretching back against the couch cushions.
“Do you think you could eat something?” asked Luke, sitting back on his heels.
“I could try.” Hunter shifted slightly on the sofa and looked directly at him. He seemed to be studying Luke’s face in detail.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing really,” said Hunter, shaking his head. “I just had a weird dream that’s all.” He slowly dragged himself upright. “It’s no big deal.”
If this had been another lifetime, Luke might have pressed him for details. For now, no matter how aggravating, he had to remember his current role in Hunter’s life.
“I’ll get you some bread and a little soup. If you can keep that down then I’ll get you some more,” explained Luke as he returned to the kitchen.
“I can get it,” insisted Hunter making no move to leave the couch. He was clearly feeling under the weather. Whatever it was had completely knocked him off his feet.
“Hunter, you’re sick,” said Luke as he returned with a small bowl and a slice of bread. “It’s okay to let people take care of you once in awhile. It doesn’t mean you’re weak or any less capable. It just means you’re sick. Everyone needs someone to take care of them from time to time. Today that’s me taking care of you.”
Hunter took the bowl and the bread and began sampling the food cautiously.
Luke busied himself with cleaning up the kitchen. There wasn’t much of a mess because he was such a careful cook, but he didn’t want to leave any extra work for Hunter. A few minutes passed before Hunter’s voice drew his attention.
“Do you think I could have a little more?” he asked.
Luke smiled. “Coming right up.”
BY THE TIME HE LEFT Hunter’s apartment, some color had started to return to Hunter’s cheeks. He was sitting up and watching TV with a bowl of soup nearby. Luke had given him instructions to text him if he threw up again.
Unfortunately, however, Luke couldn’t focus on the fact that he’d successfully nursed Hunter back to some semblance of health. He was preoccupied with the ‘friend’ that kept popping up in Hunter’s life. He was almost certain this was the same friend that had texted him after they had left the gallery yesterday. Whoever it was had already taken Hunter on a date and gone job hunting with him as well.
As he reached his own apartment, he came to the somber realization that nearly all of his interactions with Hunter had taken place on the fourth floor of this building. As far as Hunter was concerned, they’d never gone anywhere and done anything together just for fun. Even their trip to the gallery today was because Hunter had an interview with Allen.
But that wasn’t important right now. Luke refocused on the mysterious friend that had invaded Hunter’s life. He needed to get to the bottom of the situation without pressuring Hunter into sharing personal details. He couldn’t risk upsetting the balance of trust he had begun to establish in Hunter’s life.
So he dug out his cell phone and called up the only person who might know the answer. Hunter’s mother.
Truth be told, it was a long shot. He knew Hunter had withdrawn from his family almost entirely since returning to his apartment. Still, she was the only tool he had without staking out Hunter’s front door like some sort of obsessive stalker.
“Luke?” she sounded genuinely surprised when she answered the phone. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever hear from you again.”
“Sorry Melinda, I’ve been busy lately.” It was a lame excuse. They both knew why he hadn’t called to catch up recently. Thankfully, she didn’t call him out on it.
“I suppose this isn’t a social call then?” she asked, sounding somewhat disappointed.
“I just had a quick question,” explained Luke. Melinda was capable of talking for hours on end and he wasn’t particularly interested in dragging out this phone conversation. “There’s someone in Hunter’s life right now, and I don’t know who it is. The only clue he’s given me is that it’s someone from before he lost his memory. They’ve already taken him out on a date and they’re spending more and more time together.”
“What makes you think I know anything?” she laughed derisively. “The last time I talked to him was a few days ago. He promised to come to Easter dinner and then hung up. Didn’t mention anyone he was spending time with.”
Luke felt his heart sink a little. He didn’t relish the idea of going into stalker mode.
“All of this could have been avoided you know,” continued Melinda. Her tone had softened a little. “In fact, you could probably still avoid it.”
“We went over this all already,” said Luke, staring out the window of his apartment and pressing his forehead against the glass. “I can’t tell him anything.”
“You two were about to get married, Luke,” insisted Melinda. “I’ve never seen two people more in love than the two of you. You can’t just throw that all away.”
“It’s because of that love that I can’t tell him. Imagine if you woke up and didn’t remember your husband. You know he’s desperately in love with you, bending over backwards to take care of you. You’ve got decades of memories together. So what do you do? You end up staying with him because you feel obligated by the old commitment you made. A commitment you don’t even remember. Maybe you eventually manage to fall in love with him again, but it is more likely you just resent your past self’s decisions.”
“How long did it take you to come up with that speech?” asked Melinda. If nothing else, she was the sort of person to call you out when she thought you were bei
ng an idiot. It was both endearing and annoying. “We both know why you made me delete your number from his phone and why you made me help you steal all of your pictures from his loft. We both know why you swore everyone to secrecy and cut yourself completely out of his life.”
Luke said nothing as she prepared her accusations. This was exactly why he had avoided calling her for as long as possible. He wasn’t ready to face the wrath of a mother concerned for her son. He wasn’t ready to face the indignation of the woman that would have been his mother-in-law.
“You did it because you blame yourself,” continued Melinda, her tone softening. “You blamed yourself when he wound up in the hospital. You blamed yourself for the coma. And you blamed yourself for the amnesia. You’re punishing yourself because you think you’re responsible for what happened. But you’re not. No one else blames you.”
“Why not?” retorted Luke.
“Because it was out of your control. You didn’t cause any of it. You’re not responsible for a freak cold snap and a patch of ice on the sidewalk. So stop blaming yourself.”
“Bu—“
“I said, ‘stop blaming yourself,’” repeated Melinda. “You’re a good man, Luke. As far as I’m concerned you’re already part of the family. I’m not going to force you to tell Hunter anything, but if you’re dead set on keeping this secret then you’ve got to open yourself up to the possibility that you might lose him.”
“No,” said Luke, firmly. “I can’t.”
“Then you’ve got to figure something out because it sounds like someone is moving in on your territory, fast.”
Chapter Nine
“How are you feeling?” asked Vincent as he entered the apartment. He was carrying several armloads of groceries.
“Better,” said Hunter, closing the front door. It was true too. He still felt a little queasy and the thought of most foods made him want to run for the bathroom, but he had managed to keep down all of the soup that Luke had given him.
