by Noelle Adams
“Yeah.”
He’s never talked so openly about his family with me before, and I want to know more. So after a minute I ask, “When was the last time you talked to your parents.”
“More than three years ago.”
“Three? So even before you went to prison?”
“Yeah. I mostly got kicked out of the family as soon as I quit college, but I’d still see my mom and brother occasionally. My dad didn’t want to talk to me, but he didn’t try to stop me from seeing them until I really started getting in trouble. First he cut off the money. Then he finally told them they weren’t allowed to see me at all. About a year later, I was arrested. He wouldn’t help me out at all, of course. I didn’t even ask him. So I ended up with a mediocre lawyer and two years in prison.” He sighs. “I can’t really complain. It could have been worse.”
I squeeze him with the arm that’s still wrapped around him. I don’t know what to say, but I want him to know that I hear him, that I understand.
I think the conversation is over because I’m not going to press him any further, but after a couple of minutes, he says, “I can’t believe I was actually trying to work with the bastard.”
I know the bastard is his father. “I remember you were planning to join him in business when you were in high school.”
“I’d planned to when I started college too. I majored in business. I interned for him. I...” He trails off with a shake of his head.
“You what?”
“I had this big project I was working on for one of my classes. It was coursework, but I put together this whole business plan for a project for his company. It’s that same one I gave you to send to your sister. I spent almost a whole semester working on it. I worked on it so hard, convinced it was going to impress him.”
My throat is already aching, even though he hasn’t yet finished his story. “Did he not like it?”
“He... laughed. I don’t think he meant it to be mean, but he just... dismissed it.” Hunter closes his eyes, his body suddenly so tense it scares me.
“Oh God, Hunter. I’m so sorry. I never knew about this.”
“I know you didn’t. I never told you. I never told anyone. I wanted to... wow him. Finally. At last.”
“Oh God.” My throat hurts so much I can barely swallow.
“That was the last straw for me,” he says hoarsely. “I quit college. I quit trying. I... shaped my life around showing him I didn’t give a damn what he thought about me. And now I’m still living with the consequences.”
“You’re doing great now. You really are. We all make mistakes. It’s what you do afterward that matters.”
He turns his head toward me at last with a little smile. “Did you read that in a book somewhere?”
“No. I think I heard it in a movie or something.”
He tilts his head down to nuzzle my neck, and it’s such an intimate, affectionate gesture that my heart does a crazy flip-flop.
He’s focusing on the game now, but I’m still thinking about what he told me. I can’t stop thinking about it.
Eventually, I get into the game again too. I’ve never been so into a sports event in my entire life, and it’s a strange feeling to care so much about who wins in the end.
Hunter is grinning—viscerally excited—as his brother assists the final goal that wins the game. I’m happy too.
My eyes are on Hunter, and I see him straining slightly to see as the final buzzer sounds at the end.
I look to see what has his attention and see that one of the boys on the field turns in our direction and makes a flippant little salute.
I have no idea if the boy can see us standing here—I doubt it—but Hunter still does it back.
I really can’t help myself. I pull Hunter into another hug.
He hugs me back with that same urgency as before, but he mumbles against my neck, “What’s this for?”
“Just because I want to.”
His smile is almost tender as I finally pull away.
It’s one of the best afternoons I’ve ever had.
FOR THE NEXT FEW DAYS, I have trouble maintaining my emotional balancing act, but I eventually manage to find it again.
Mostly because Hunter acts like normal as soon as the soccer game is over.
It’s not that he’s standoffish or anything. He’s really nice. He’s funny and thoughtful and sexy and seems to like it when I touch him.
But there’s always that something missing. Something I was feeling while we watched his brother play that disappeared again as soon as the game was over.
And without it I’m not going to let my feelings take control of me.
I’m not stupid. I’ve never been stupid.
I’m not going to fall for a man who will never fall for me.
So I talk myself into reasonableness again, and we go about our daily routine like normal.
It’s not bad. It’s pretty nice. I like having Hunter in my life better than not having him in my life.
I’ve got nothing to whine about, and I’ve never been a whiner anyway.
On Thursday of the following week, I go downtown to have lunch with Melissa. I pick her up outside her building and drive to a sandwich shop we both like.
She talks about work, and I talk about school, and we both talk about our husbands. She tells me Hunter is doing a great job, and everyone is happy with him. Even Pop doesn’t have anything to complain about with his performance.
You have no idea how happy this makes me.
Or maybe you do know.
Anyway, it’s a good lunch for both us, and when I take her back to the building, she says, “Why don’t you come up? You can see where Hunter works and say hi to him.”
I really want to do this, but it also makes me nervous. “He won’t be expecting me.”
“So what? He’s your husband. You really think he’s going to mind if you stop by and say hello? What if he finds out you were here and didn’t say hi? Wouldn’t that hurt his feelings?”
This is what decides me. There’s no way in hell I want to hurt Hunter’s feelings like that.
And maybe it would. I don’t know for sure, but maybe it would. He’s really very sensitive under the beard and the gruffness.
No one but me knows how sensitive he really is.
So I park the car and go up the elevator with Melissa, getting off on the fourth floor while she continues up to the sixth.
I’m ridiculously nervous as I walk down the hall toward the suite where he works. I see his boss, Chip, in the doorway, talking to someone as I approach.
Chip sees me and grins. “Sam! It’s good to see you. What brings you to these parts?”
“Just saying hello,” I reply with a genuine smile. I’ve known Chip for years, and I’ve always liked him. “I was having lunch with Melissa.”
“And you thought you’d check in on your other half?” Chip glances over his shoulder into the suite. “He’s in there. Doing a great job. We’re happy to have him.”
“That’s what Melissa said.”
I feel more relaxed now that Chip has greeted me and acted like it’s perfectly normal for me to stop by to see Hunter. I’m smiling as I walk into the suite and go to the corner where Chip indicated.
There are about eight different workstations in the large space. I always want to call them carrels, like in a library, but I suppose in the business world they’re normally called cubicles.
Hunter’s cubicle is in the far corner. He’s got a desk, a computer, a couple of file drawers, and a large pile of files on his desk. He hasn’t personalized his workstation like everyone else. There’s nothing of his own visible except the travel mug he brought with him that morning. He must have finished the coffee a long time ago.
He looks up as I approach, and he blinks, as if he’s not sure he’s seeing right.
I’m watching his face, and I swear his first expression is pleasure. He’s happy to see me.
But then his face changes, clouds over. He
frowns, his brows pulling together. “What are you doing here?” he says gruffly.
I frown too. This isn’t much of a greeting. “I’m just saying hello.”
“How did you know where I work?”
My mouth drops open for a second. What the hell kind of question is that? “Melissa told me. And then I just saw Chip and he pointed me toward you.”
“Are you checking up on me?”
My spine stiffens dramatically. “No, I’m not checking up on you.” My voice is too loud so I sit down in the side chair in his cubicle and scowl at my husband, making sure to lower my voice as I continue. “Why the fuck would I want to check up on you?”
“I don’t know. But you’re here, aren’t you?”
“I’m here to say hi. I was having lunch with Melissa, so I was at the building. I thought you’d...” I shake my head roughly. “I guess I shouldn’t have bothered.”
“Okay. Sorry. I was just surprised.” His tone is tempered now, but he still doesn’t look happy.
And it hurts.
It really hurts.
I wanted to see him in the middle of the day, but he obviously didn’t want to see me.
He doesn’t want me here.
I’m such an idiot.
“I’ll leave so you can work,” I say, dropping my eyes. “I’ll see you at home.”
I start to stand up, but Hunter grabs my hand and pulls me back down into the chair. “I said I was sorry.”
“I know you did. But you obviously don’t want me here, and I’m not about to stay where I’m not wanted.”
“Don’t be like that.” He’s still holding on to my hand, but he’s frowning again.
My spine snaps straight again. “Don’t be like what? You’re the one who attacked me the moment you saw me.”
“I didn’t attack you.”
“What are you doing here?” I growl, mimicking the greeting I’d gotten from Hunter a couple of minutes ago. “You think that’s not an attack?”
“It’s not an attack.” His voice is low and rough in that way it gets when he’s losing his patience. “But I don’t need you to check up on me.”
“I’m not checking up on you! It never even crossed my mind. What are you worried about anyway? Melissa says you’re doing great. Chip says you’re doing great. Everyone says you’re doing great. I know you’re doing great.”
“So you are checking up on me?”
I yank my hand out of his grip. “I am not.”
“You just listed all the people you asked about me.”
“I didn’t ask them about you. They volunteered the information. What the hell is your problem anyway?”
“I don’t need everyone looking over my shoulder. It’s bad enough to have your sister stopping by almost every day to see what I’m doing. I also have your grandpa lurking about looking for things I’ve done wrong. And now you show up to—” He breaks off the words, jerking his head to the side.
I’m so angry I want to tear his skin off. I really do. “I show up to what? What in your twisted mind do you think I’m trying to do here instead of just be friendly?”
“I’m not going to drop the ball,” he mutters. “I’m not gonna embarrass you.”
“Never for a minute did I think you were going to embarrass me. What the hell has gotten into you? You really think I’m like that?”
“Like what? Always trying to be perfect? Why would I ever think that?”
It feels like he’s just slapped me. It’s that much of a shock. It hurts that much.
I’ve never been a very popular person, but no one has ever really disliked me. I’ve always been a fade-into-the-background kind of person. People just ignore me. They don’t verbally attack me.
Even in high school, the one time boys were making fun of me was pretty mild in the scheme of things, and Hunter showed up a few minutes later to shut them up.
So no one has ever said something to me that’s hurt quite this much.
I’m about to burst into tears, and there’s no way in hell I’m going to let him see it. So I stand up, turn on my heel, and start walking away.
He grabs my arm. “Wait, Sam—”
I shake off his grip.
“Don’t just walk away.”
He says it like I’m doing something wrong. Like I’m the one who’s being unreasonable.
Like this is my fault rather than his.
And it’s the absolute last straw.
I turn around and glare at him.
I swear to God, if I had a slate in my hands, I’d break it right over his infuriating head.
I don’t have a slate, so I just say, “Screw you, Hunter.”
Loud enough for everyone in the suite to hear.
Then I turn my back to him and walk away.
I STAY IN MY APARTMENT all afternoon since I don’t have class until the evening.
I try to get some work done, but I’m way too wound up. I flip the television. Vacuum. Fiddle on my phone.
Mostly just stew about Hunter and his depravities.
I’m fully prepared to admit that a lot of the conflict and confusion in our relationship has been my fault. But this wasn’t.
It wasn’t.
I innocently showed up at his office, and he’s the one who blew his top for no reason.
He’s the one who did this.
He sure as hell better apologize when he gets home.
When five o’clock comes and goes, I get out my laptop and try to focus on a paper I need to write so it will look like I’m busy when Hunter gets home and not just waiting for his arrival.
He unlocks the door at about five twenty. He steps in and toes off his shoes, walking into the living room in his socks.
I look up from my laptop and watch him, waiting to see what he’ll do.
I’m not smiling. Of course I’m not smiling. Not after what happened earlier.
But I’m also not glaring at him or anything. I’m just looking at him.
There’s no justification in the world for him to ask snidely, “Are you still in a snit?”
“A snit!” I gasp, closing my laptop with a snap. “A snit?”
“Yes. You were pissed before.”
“Yes, I was pissed, and I had good reason for it. I was never in a snit.”
“Okay. Call it whatever you want.” He looks tired and rumpled, but he’s got a frown on his face now.
He’s clearly still as angry as I am.
“I can call it what I want. You are not allowed to call it a snit.”
“What’s wrong with a snit?”
“What’s wrong with it is that word is just about as patronizing as you can get. Children have snits. I’m an adult woman, and I was angry before for good reason. It wasn’t a snit.”
“Damn it, Sam. I know you’re an adult.”
“And yet you still called it a snit.”
He groans and rubs his face. “Do we really have to do this right now?”
“No. We don’t.” My voice is as cold as ice because I’m seriously about to cry again. Cry with anger.
And with helplessness.
I have no idea what’s happening with me and Hunter, but it’s terrible.
It’s terrible.
I can’t stay here any longer or I’ll burst into tears in front of him, so I slide my laptop into my bag and hook the strap over my shoulder as I stand up.
Hunter blinks. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to campus.”
“But your class doesn’t start until six thirty.”
“I know that. But I’m not going to hang around here with you.”
He reaches out to take my arm as I pass by him. “You’re really going to just walk away from me again?”
I yank my arm out of his grip the way I did earlier in the day. “Don’t you dare act like this is my fault! I didn’t do anything except stop by to say hi to you. You’re the one who blew up for no reason.”
“I know I did.”
I’m on a roll, an
d I’m about to keep going when I realize that he’s agreeing with me. I jerk slightly. “You know?”
He sighs. “Yes, I know.”
“Then why were you acting like it’s all my fault?”
“I know it’s not all your fault. I was an asshole.”
My anger immediately dies down at this acknowledgment. “Why were you? Why did you act that way? You really think I’d sneak around and try to check up on you? You really think I don’t trust y—”
I break off because I suddenly know exactly what happened.
That’s it.
He doesn’t think I trust him.
At all.
So of course he’ll assume I’m going to check up on him.
“Damn it, Hunter,” I rasp, my hands tightening at my sides, not from anger but from absolute frustration. “What the hell do I have to do to prove that I trust you?”
He’s not looking at me. His eyes focus on the floor across the room. “You don’t have to prove it.”
“Then why won’t you believe that I trust you?”
He stands there, tense and angsty and strangely broken, and he doesn’t answer me.
I wait.
I really do.
But he doesn’t say anything.
And there’s nothing left for me to say, to do.
I mumble, “I’m going to class,” and I just leave.
Eight
THERE’S VERY LITTLE in literature more satisfying than quiet, modest Jane Eyre telling off Rochester when he most deserves it. I sometimes pick up the novel and turn to those scenes just to read her denouncing him again. She’s so passionate. Articulate. Confident in her own value and rightness.
I would have hoped I could feel similarly after telling Hunter what I thought of him, but I don’t.
I don’t feel righteous and vindicated. I feel exhausted and kind of sick. I’m still so upset after class that I go over to Chelsea’s instead of going home.
I just don’t have the energy to fight anymore or hear anything else from Hunter that’s going to hurt me.
I’m not planning to avoid him forever, but I’m not up for another confrontation tonight.
