by Anne Eliot
“You understand why I did it? Why I was so afraid?”
“Yeah. And shit, I’m angry about it, but I get why you went this far. I also get how a possible suicide about a dad I can’t even remember would be hard to bring up. We’ve never talked about deep stuff like that. That would have been one crap conversation between us. I was a kid...so yeah.”
She nodded, and moved his hair out of his eyes. “But you’re not a kid anymore. Are you?” She smiled tremulously. “When did that happen?”
He shot her a small smile back and shook his hair back down. “It’s a recent development. Your whacked plan kind of worked. I’ve got a completely different perspective on life. Even thought it’s only been a few weeks, this place has changed me.”
“You do? It has?” Her eyes filled with hope. Happiness, and what looked like relief.
Hunter nodded. “Parts of me. Yes. You’d really sign those emancipation papers? Just let me go like that?”
“I never want to let you go. Maybe it’s time for me to admit that I might not be very good at keeping you, though. After this latest screw up regarding your life, I’m thinking you’ve earned the right to make your own decisions. At this point, I only want what you want. I will support you. But you’ll have to think it over. Choose on your own. You’re almost eighteen.”
“Why do I feel like I’m fifty right now?” Hunter snorted.
“I suppose our Los Angeles years have been like dog years, huh? They age you fast.”
She looked over, still seeming really forlorn.
Hunter just wanted her to smile, that same smile she’d had for him on the porch just an hour ago. “You know, if I’m fifty, then that makes you like 350, right?”
She smiled up at him, but he could see tears filling her eyes. “I know. I know. I feel older than that. God. I’m so sorry. Will you ever forgive me?”
Hell. Total backfire. Again.
I fail at communicating with women.
He let out a long, heavy sigh, unable not to think of Vere, crying the same way when he’d tried to make a joke at the wrong time.
Hunter stood. He could not sit around and watch his mom cry. He also wasn’t quite ready to go into the bigger conversations and apologies that needed to come from him. He needed time to think.
A lump formed in his throat. He had to get out of here. Hunter nodded again and looked away. “Guess I better go plug in my cell phone, huh? Read Martin’s emails. Hear his side of all this.”
His mom nodded. “Yes. Please do that. It’s only fair.”
**
Hunter walked through the hallway and up to his room to drag out his phone and plug it in. His mind flying again to Vere. Wishing he could talk to her. Hear what she thought about all this. Without thinking, he dashed back down the stairs and put his hand on the doorknob.
The hall clock said 10:30.
Could she be home already? Would she even agree to see me?
Probably making out with Curtis right now, you idiot.
He let his hand drop off the knob.
The party’s probably ramping up, not ramping down.
A soft, tentative tapping at the front door startled him. It stopped and started up again. Someone was knocking!
His heart raced. Who else could it be but her? Maybe she’d been thinking the same thing! That she wanted to see him. That they just needed to hash things out a bit more.
The tapping grew more insistent, and then turned into a loud, firm knock.
“Don’t answer that, Hunter. It’s late. Let me get it.” His aunt called down the stairs, sounding agitated. “I’m just getting a robe. Don’t you open that!” she shouted.
Hunter shot a startled look up the stairs.
His Aunt Nan was obsessed with home invasions. She was probably getting out her baseball bat to haul down here. It was way past her bedtime. No one ever knocked after eight.
“I’ve got it. It’s probably Vere,” he called up to her.
The phone rang then. Hunter had to laugh. More chaos? No one ever called after nine. Not in this town.
Maybe that’s Vere too. Calling from her cellphone while on the porch!
“I’ll just get that phone then and be right there. Don’t you open that door without me,” Nan yelled again from the top of the stairs.
The knocking continued.
It had to be Vere. The girl had no patience.
“I’ve got it, no worries!” Hunter grinned, thinking of her cute elfin face all scrunched up and annoyed that he was taking so long. He swung open the door.
Blinding flashes of light overtook him. Startled, he threw his hands up in front of his face as though he’d been struck.
Every ounce of air whooshed out of his lungs.
“It’s him! He’s in here! Hunter. Hunter Kennedy! This way, turn this way. Just one shot. Hunter!”
More flashes and someone started up a noisy generator that put a floodlight on the porch.
Hunter was totally unprepared for the sight of his aunt’s front lawn with at least fifty reporters on it. Not to mention the entire neighborhood that had come out to stare at the house.
Hunter realized he wasn’t wearing one part of his disguise. No glasses, no cap, and his retainer was sitting upstairs in the bathroom, resting in a dish of mouthwash. His plaid shirt had been tossed, forgotten onto his bed. He only had on a pair of canvas pants and a short sleeved, grey tee-shirt.
He felt totally exposed.
The questions fired at him like bullets. He felt each and every one hit him in his chest, slamming out more of his breath, as the flashes from the camera held him frozen.
“Is it true you’re hiding out here disguised as a dork?”
“Are you really attending Palmer Divide High?”
“Let us in on it.”
“Why are you here? Have you quit GuardeRobe?”
A man rushed up onto the porch and flashed about 20 fast shutter pictures. “Who’s Dustin McHugh?” he hollered as he fought back the mob of paparazzi all pushing in to take the very same shots.
Hunter managed to close his mouth and throw on his best media smile. “Just visiting my aunt. Little family time, that’s all. Don’t know what all the fuss is about, dudes.” Hunter gave a quick wave and tried to shut the door, but was blocked by a big guy who had at least seven cameras slung around his neck. He’d wedged his boot into the doorjamb, snapping shots of him relentlessly.
The man pressed his camera into Hunter’s face and Hunter felt like he was suffocating. He had the odd sensation that he actually might faint because he’d truly couldn’t breathe normally right now. The burning feeling in his chest hurt so much it threatened to make him black out.
Hell. I’d forgotten...
Hunter realized just then that he hadn’t forgotten, he’d never actually thought about all this in a coherent, detached way before. He was thinking about it now, though.
And he hated it—from the bottom of his heart.
He stood still and did something he learned from watching Vere get through her panic attacks. He closed his eyes. After a moment, he no longer had to make himself breathe. He heard the cameras going off all around him. It sounded like a video game battlefield—and he was the sole target.
He opened his eyes and shook his head at the annoying paparazzi ass in front of him.
Game. On.
“People, stand back. I gave you your shots, now back the hell off.”
The man pressed closer, snapping shot after shot as the questions continued to fire at him.
“Is it true you’ve been in trouble with the law?”
“Los Angeles County police records show a report of vandalism and a wrecked car at your house a number of weeks ago. Was it you?”
“Can you add anything to the rumor that you tried to kill yourself? What do you say about that? Throw me a bone, dude. I haven’t sold a good story in weeks.” The annoying guy on the porch pushed closer, his gaze hungry, almost wild.
Hunter realized the questions no
longer hurt at all. They were just questions. Questions to be answered, and he was going to choose which ones he’d answer, and what the answers would be.
He sucked in another deep breath and looked behind him. His mom, hearing the commotion had made it into the hallway just as Aunt Nan came barreling down the stairs.
And yes, she did have her baseball bat in tow.
It felt great to have his family standing behind him.
Hunter had to hide a smile as he listened to his aunt talking a mile a minute. “Darn television recorder. If I hadn’t been watching that vampire show again, I would have seen this on the news. And, if I weren’t so damn old, I’d have heard the commotion outside. Step aside, Hunter. Let me get these bastards off our property.”
He realized the man with the cameras had taken at least fifty shots of the scars on his wrists. Who knew what photos the others had taken.
The press crowd grew louder. “Hunter! Tell us if it’s true. Did you try to kill yourself! We see the scars. Why is that woman holding up a bat?”
Moving in front of Nan to block her from view, Hunter spoke to his aunt through his grin. “Put the bat down, Aunt Nan. I think we should go with one crazy person in the family at a time.”
He flicked a glance back at her. She nodded and put the bat behind her.
His mom stepped forward as though she would say something to the press. “Let me handle this, Mom. I’ve got it.”
She nodded and stepped back too.
Hunter pushed past the obnoxious guy with the too many cameras and stepped out onto the porch. The night air cooled his lungs and he got a better look at the crowd. He couldn’t miss Charlie Roth standing front and center with his arms crossed and a smug grin on his face.
Traitor.
Charlie met his gaze and shot Hunter the chin-in-the-air jock salute.
Hunter returned it with his best you-suck-glare.
Charlie obviously wanted Hunter to know exactly how his cover had been blown.
Hunter grimaced, not wanting to admit how much that knowledge hurt. Charlie had warned him to stay away from Vere, and Hunter had broken his promise. Hunter didn’t blame the guy. But he also didn’t give a damn what Charlie thought anymore.
His only regrets were that he’d botched his attempt at being honest with Vere and how he lost her in the process.
The girl should never forgive me. I took advantage of the situation—of our friendship, and I didn’t play fair.
I owe that girl a major apology.
But Charlie? Well, he can kiss my ass.
Hunter would not be passing out any apologies for being in love. Hell. The guy had actually done him a favor and didn’t even know it. More resolved than ever to speak to the press, Hunter held up both hands and made no move to hide his scars. He layered on his very best, photo shoot smile. “You’ve found me. Not sure how.” He tossed a glare at Charlie before adding, “Yes. These are scars on my wrists. I’ve got nothing to hide. Now that you’ve seen them, I mean to make a press statement to all of you. Soon.”
Everyone on the lawn and in the street and driveway quieted.
Charlie’s mouth dropped open, and even from this distance Hunter watched as the kid visibly paled.
That’s right, bastard. Nothing to hide. Not anymore.
Hunter kept his hands up. Again, making sure his scars were well and truly visible under the bright lights. “Until I get my statement organized, or if you need details about my life here in Colorado, I will ask you to direct your questions to one of my best friends here, Charlie Roth,” Hunter said, using a scathing voice that said the opposite, while he pointed his index finger at Charlie. “I totally trust him to speak for me. He thinks he knows me really well, and he’s always wanted a bit of the spotlight so I hope you give him a chance.”
Charlie twisted his head around as though looking for an escape.
HA. I’d love to see you try and run from this bunch.
If the situation didn’t suck so much, Hunter thought this could be more than funny to watch. Hunter tossed Charlie his widest grin and waved. A few paparazzi had already reached the poor sucker.
Good. Let the ambush begin.
Hunter continued, “In the meantime, you are all standing on my aunt’s garden. If you could please...” Hunter gulped.
As if on cue, a long black limo pulled in behind the media circus blocking the street.
SHIT. JUST PERFECT. This has to be Martin.
He shook his head and almost had to laugh.
Hunter counted it down in his head: 5. 4. 3. 2. 1.
The crowd shifted and some of the teen spectators at the end of the street started to scream as they, too, spied the limo.
His mom had not been making any of it up. Only Martin would orchestrate a spectacle like this in a quiet suburb. The driver opened the door and his agent stepped out, followed by two familiar looking guys.
No way. He brought Adam and Royce with him to Colorado? What new, screwed up game was this?
Hunter scanned to see if anyone else came out of the limo. Thankfully, there was no sign of the grinning, fake Hunter Kennedy. If Martin brought the band along minus that freak, then Martin had meant to blow his cover big time with this limo-stunt. Who wouldn’t have noticed that limo and GuardeRobe in this town?
Martin had probably tweeted the arrival and called some of the paparazzi here ahead of time, which would explain the monster crowd already assembled. Charlie was probably only responsible for the local news van.
It felt great to know he wouldn’t have to hide his scars anymore. His ‘crazy’ was out in the open, and didn’t even care. The corporate office at NewtNet would have to take him or leave him, as is.
Hunter shook his head resignedly. He had to plan his next moves. In the meantime, Martin would be the next victim to frost this parasite-press-cake for him.
“Oh my God, it’s the rest of the band! GuardeRobe is here! Right there!” A girl screamed, then another, then another. Half the high school’s student body had flooded into the cul-de-sac. The crowd and all the paparazzi rushed around the limo.
Hunter nodded to Charlie who’d been left in the dust by the press.
Lucky bastard, got off easy for now. But they’ll be back. You’ll see how it is, friend.
Hunter turned around and shut the door and locked it, but not before witnessing Martin and the band needing to haul-ass back into the limo for safety.
Hell yes. Colorado had some awesome, dedicated fans!
Hunter had the strangest urge to smile at his mom, so he did. “Wait till Martin hears that I’ve spilled everything. It’ll take them at least thirty minutes to make it to the front door. I only wish I could hear the string of flip flopping lies as they pour out of his mouth.”
“Maybe we should turn on the TV so we can watch him.” Aunt Nan fisted her hands, as though she wanted to battle.
“I’m proud of you, Hunter,” his mom added. She hugged him and he returned it. They both smiled at his aunt who had turned to shove the baseball bat into the hall closet. “I’m going to keep this down here in case I need to take a couple of whacks at that Martin fellow,” she said, head still in the closet.
“I’m going to keep this down here in case I need to take a couple of whacks at that Martin fellow,” she was muttering, head still in the closet.
Hunter made his way to the foot of the stairs. “Mom, I’ve still got some thinking to do. Could you put a hold on packing your bags for a bit? I need some time before I face Martin and the guys. Please don’t let them in. Tell him he can take the guys to a hotel. That should disperse half of this press. Tell him I’ll talk to him tomorrow. Not one second before.”
“I’d love to.” She looked happy, really happy.
“I’ll be the first to tell that Martin that he’s not allowed to enter this house.” Aunt Nan reopened the hall closet as quickly as she’d closed it.
“No baseball bats, okay? Martin shouldn’t be hated for being the best in the business. I might need him
someday.”
“Humph. Speak for yourself.” Aunt Nan glowered, but she shut the closet and left the bat inside.
“What do you mean by someday?” His mom wrinkled her brow.
Hunter took a deep breath and let it out. “Maybe you two can help me come up with the right way to tell Martin and the guys that I’m staying here. I will only be working during summers. Through high school at least and maybe even college.”
42: too little too late
VERE
“I know. I know. I suck. I totally suck and you have every right to disown me. But you have to know my parents swore me to secrecy. I was not allowed to tell you about Hunter.”
Vere and Jenna had stopped to catch their breath at the swings in their neighborhood park just around the corner from Vere’s cul-de-sac. After the mad dash from the Hodjwick hell-party, this was the perfect place to debrief and stuff her brain back into her head.
Not to mention make Jenna understand. “But. BUT HE WAS LIVING NEXT DOOR. GOING TO THE CABIN! PLAYING CARDS WITH ME. AAhhh. AHHAHHAHH.”
Vere sat on a swing. She also had to gather her thoughts before killing Charlie for calling the press.
Wait till Mom hears that Charlie outed Hunter.
God. Wait till Charlie retaliates and tells Mom that I, full on, made out with Hunter!
Whatever. I’m not ashamed of the making out. I’m ashamed that I was the world’s worst friend.
That I abandoned him. That I refused to listen.
That I was completely, utterly, and absolutely stupid!
Jenna followed suit and sat in the swing next to hers. She’d been babbling and cursing the whole way here and she obviously still needed to sort through some of this.
“Hunter Kennedy? Hunter Kennedy this whole time, and I never even knew?” Jenna gasped, still catching her breath. She let out a low whistle and dragged her feet through the dirt under the swing. “You. Made out. With Hunter Kennedy! Pinch me, please. OMG.” She giggled. “OMG. You. At the party. Saying all that stuff.” She giggled again.
“Pinch me back. YES!” Vere rolled her eyes, pushed off and started swinging. “He wasn’t exactly Hunter Kennedy when I kissed him. He was only a great guy. You know, my friend?”
