Unmaking Hunter Kennedy

by Anne Eliot

  “You’re normal enough.”

  He smiled, turning back to the scenery. As they drove along, Hunter realized this was the first comfortable silence he’d had with another person in a long time.

  **

  They pulled up to a three story, brick office building. Vere parked the car in the half filled lot, cut the engine and turned to face him. “Before we get out, I have a bunch of questions. Working—unmaking—kinds of questions.”

  He met her gaze dead on. “Fine. Shoot.”

  “Well.” She flushed slightly. “Um. These are really awkward questions...”

  He bit back a grin. “Ask me anything. Go. I swear I’m not easily embarrassed.”

  She swallowed and rushed on in a flurry as she’d done before: “Okay. Fine. First. The eyes. I’m figuring you are wearing colored contacts. Only dolls, the Caribbean sea and glow-sticks are that insane, pure color blue. Second. Your lashes...are they false? I read in a magazine that lots of stars have fake lashes stuck on somehow—with glue that can blind you—glue your eyes shut forever if it’s done wrong! If that’s the case, and those feathery things need to come off. And your tan. Is that sprayed on? All the fake stuff has got to go. Please confess what on your person is plastic, washable and hopefully removable.”

  He shook his head and swallowed down his urge to bust out laughing.

  She had to be kidding.

  “The lashes are real. The color is genuine. The tan was carefully acquired on a deck, using real sun. You sure like noticing my assets, though.”

  When she looked over at him he winked so she would know he was kidding.

  “God—you’re—so—stuck up,” she stuttered. “That ego thing is going to have to stop. As is the disconcerting, show-off winking thing! Honestly!”

  He raised his brows because she actually sounded somewhat pissed-off. “I swear. I’m not stuck up. Why do you think that?”

  “Only stuck up people talk about their assets.”

  He blinked. “Ah, I see. I’m sorry if it came across that way. If you could take that comment from my point of view, maybe you’d understand.”

  “I’m listening.” She crossed her arms.

  “You already caught on to the eyes and the voice, but that’s not all of it. See, I have entire websites devoted to my hair alone. And well, there’s my height, my melodious singing voice, my wild musical talent and don’t forget my perfectly sculpted biceps, wide shoulders, six-pack and ass.”

  Her mouth dropped open.

  He shrugged, working to make her understand. “There’s whole YouTube montages playing still shots of my butt to music. I don’t take credit for it. My mom’s been paying a trainer for years. Oh, and my six-pack won a Fan’s Choice Award called the SixPackAttack. Three years running.”

  She clamped her mouth shut as though she were seriously holding back, raised up one of her arched brows and rolled her eyes.

  “What? You seriously don’t believe me? ” He pulled halfheartedly at his shirt so she could catch a glimpse of a perfectly flat, washboard stomach. “Want to give it a fist tap? It’s solid.”

  “No! No. And no!!” She gasped. “Oh. My. God! Keep that shirt down. OHMYGOD.” She choked out an embarrassed sounding laugh. “And the part where you aren’t stuck up begins...UH...when? Who says stuff like that? You’re a complete bragger.”

  “I’m not,” he protested. “I’m listing my products. You did it too. Just now. Though no one has ever brought up my eye lashes! My manager and my mom go through my ‘products’, taking notes and suggesting changes every year.”

  “No way!”

  He nodded. “I’m not stuck up about that stuff. I actually feel very disconnected from myself on the asset level, hell, on every level. I consider all the bits of me are like a bunch of specialized car parts. People are obsessed with each singular item but they never go beyond that. I make fun of it all, I suppose.”

  “This is your attempt at making fun of it?”

  “Yeah.” He shrugged, watching as a flurry of changing expressions crossed her face, ranging from horrified to confused.

  “Is it not funny?” he asked finally.

  She giggled then. “I guess. I don’t know. It must be really freaky to have your entire body chopped up and made into websites, huh?”

  “It’s my life.”

  “I think I’m beginning to understand you a little. But you have to know, your perspective is completely twisted! You could possibly be a very messed up person.”

  He smiled and met her gaze. “Trust me, it’s not a possibility. It’s a fact you should be aware of about me.”

  She smiled back. “Who knew we had something in common. Don’t worry, you are in good company, BGF! I’m completely messed up too.”

  “Please. I’m a total broken disaster compared to wholesome, good-girl, you. You’ve only scratched my surface stuff. The information on me only goes downhill from here,” he added, testing the waters on her reaction to that small truth.

  “Duh. You’re assuming that I buy into your strange, sob story. There is no way you could possibly be more pitiful than I am. Your assets alone float you higher by default.”

  “I’d disagree, but hmm....” He eyed her hoodie, shooting her his most skeptical look, hoping she couldn’t see through how attractive he thought she was.

  She bought it. “Okay. Hold. We are not going to start a list on what I don’t have in the way of assets.”

  He reached forward and fiddled absently with the stereo buttons, wondering why she was so hard on herself, but left it alone. It was not his place to start calling this girl pretty, so he changed the subject.“I don’t know why I’m trying to explain myself to you. I guess I’d feel better if we could re-start all this with you believing that I’m not a complete jerk, okay?”

  “Fine. I won’t jump down your throat for your random, stuck up sounding comments without giving you the ‘whacked-childhod-star-raised-by-wolves’ grains of salt. But you are going to have to keep all of your clothes on, okay?”

  He laughed, tossing her a teasing grin. “Okay. You too, though. We’re in the friend-zone only.”

  She shook her head. “God. Yes, Dustin McHugh.” She smiled and gestured to the building in front of them. “This is my dad’s building. Let’s go in.”

  Hunter located a small sign that read: Roth Orthodontics and he freaked. “Your dad’s a dentist?!! What are you planning? Hell no. No way. I am not going in there. You’ll have to drag me out of this car. What are you going to do? Pop out one of my front teeth and make me a hillbilly?”

  She laughed again, a peal of pure sunshine that he found himself wishing would last longer.

  “This is Colorado, you dork. There are no hillbillies around here, only cowboys and hippies.”

  “Really? None?” He frowned.

  “Really.” She flung her arms wide. “For a guy who’s supposed to be worldly, you sure seem like you’ve never been outside your own back yard. Weren’t you listening back at my house? We told you my dad was an orthodontist!”

  She bit her upper lip.

  He tore his gaze away from her face.

  No I wasn’t listening back at your house, because I was ogling your list of adorable assets like the complete ASS I swore not to be. Now, as your proclaimed BGF, I can’t seem to take my eyes off your lips. So please stop chewing the plump, pouting, upper one because it’s distracting as hell.

  Vere continued on, not expecting him to answer, and thankfully she stopped chewing that lip.

  “We have to do something major with that ridiculously perfect smile. Asset number one—or twenty—or wherever you’ve placed it on that messed-up list of yours. If we can’t hide that line of sparkling perfection then the whole disguise will be sunk. Like you said, your smile is the stuff of teen girl dreams so we need to turn it into a nightmare!”

  “Oh, well that makes me feel much better,” he sighed.

  She frowned. “Hey, don’t worry. Dad’s not going to hurt you. He’s going to f
it you with a huge, ugly retainer, that’s all. When we’re done, I’m going to buy you a milkshake to cheer you up.”

  “How do you know I’ll need cheering up?” For some reason her sympathy had caused that damn twisting pain to return somewhere behind his heart.

  “You’ve needed cheering up since we met. I’ve been staring at your sad face all afternoon.” Her tone had switched to cajoling encouragement, and her smile reminded him to breathe.

  “Things might get a little worse before they get better. But...like...you’re not going to be alone anymore,” she added.

  What will get worse?

  The twisting pain in my chest, or the strange way I feel like I suddenly can’t breathe without you helping me?

  He blinked at her, feeling stunned. Grateful she’d said that, and more grateful that he could tell she’d meant every word.

  He let a cryptic laugh escape. “I’ll be fine. But I’m holding you to that milkshake though. I haven’t had one since I was ten. I’m thinking Dustin McHugh is allowed to ingest way more calories than Hunter Kennedy ever was.”

  “That’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard anyone say.” Her eyes were solemn and thoughtful as she shot him another sympathetic smile. “Luckily, my BGF Dustin loves milkshakes. Rumor has it, he always has. Trust me?”

  “Maybe I do,” he answered with a smile that reached all the way to his soul.

  He took in another huge breath and let a small part of his heart be pulled into her deep brown eyes.

  Maybe I do.

  13: shopping with hell’s princess

  HUNTER

  If Hunter wasn’t convinced he’d landed on another planet after meeting Vere’s ‘jolly-dentist-daddy’ (who’d helped him order one, hellish, neon-green retainer) the signs painted all over Ricks Western Emporium & Feed Supply nailed his new reality down for good.

  The sign appeared to be hand painted and read: Quality Western Ranch Wear, Oats, Fencing, Kitchen Cabinets, Feed, Tools and General Tack Supply. The sign duct-taped to the larger sign was best of all: PLEASE BAG YOUR OWN MANURE OUT BACK, it’s FREE.

  Hell.

  I’m about to go shopping in hell.

  Hell that sells poop.

  “We’re going in the back door.”

  “By the manure pile?” Hunter shuddered.

  “Yes. Follow me and stay close. Your wardrobe will be epic coming from here.” Vere pulled him along.

  Shopping with hell’s princess.

  Hunter had to force himself not to drag his feet.

  Rick’s Emporium was housed in a giant metal barn the size of a mega-shopping mall. A building, Vere had proudly informed him, had once been the state’s snow-plow storage unit in the seventies.

  The whole thing looked as if it might collapse at any minute.

  Vere led him through a wide, metal, barn-looking door, and then ushered him through a giant aisle that boasted every possible type of chicken farming product he’d ever seen.

  Chicken food, and chicken feeders, chicken coops, and chicken wash—not to mention chicken bedding and chicken vitamins?

  Hunter froze in front of some hats, t-shirts, and bumper stickers that read: Get Your Chicks at Rick’s. “Wow. Is this where guys go to hook-up?”

  Vere shook her head. “In the spring, Rick’s sells baby chickens. They set up the whole back of the store with little self-enclosed heated pens with fuzzy baby chicks in them. They have tons of breeds. All colors. Even ducklings and goslings. Sometimes they let you watch them hatch. It’s so cool when that’s happening. I’ll bring you back in April, if not sooner. This place is addictive.”

  No. You are addictive.

  He smiled, hiding that thought in a small eye roll.

  She walked ahead and looked right, then left, at the end of the aisle “Wait here. I’m going to do a crowd check.” She dashed into the larger aisle ahead.

  Hunter loved the way her eyes had been sparkling when she’d talked about the baby chicks. It was like Vere Roth enjoyed everything on the whole planet to some sort of maximum high.

  She’d almost freaked out over the fresh peaches in the milkshakes they’d eaten. Hunter admitted the late summer peaches were better than usual, but according to Vere they’d been beyond perfect.

  “All clear.” She skipped back down the aisle, bun bobbing all around.

  “I’ve decided I need one of these chick shirts,” he said, wondering when he’d be able to stop staring at her. He’d get used to her eventually, right?

  “They go on sale when the chicks are hatching. We can wait?”

  “I won’t be here. If all goes well, I could be home in a few weeks,” he reminded.

  “Oh, but maybe not? Maybe things will take longer? It’s something to see.” The light from her eyes dimmed, and her hand snuck up to straighten her bun.

  He felt bad to have rained on her excitement.

  For a moment, he wished he could come back here with her. Mostly only so he could watch her gush at the baby animals. She’d probably be maximum-cute that day. But April was when final songs for the album were due...so...by then he’d be lifetimes away from here.

  “I don’t think I should chance it. I must have one of these awesome shirts now. For the memories, and for my new persona. Dustin McHugh loves baby chicks.”

  He grabbed a size XL and tried to focus their conversation back to the task at hand.

  “Maybe I can be disguised as a farming kid or a farm-dude or...heck...what do you even call farm kids?” he finished, feeling disoriented.

  She giggled. “Kids. Who live on farms? How about farmers?”

  “Right. DUH. Lost my mind.”

  She giggled again and his heart jumped. He turned away as though to study the chicken feed display while she chattered on behind him, “No way would you be able play off a farming disguise. Too many people will call you on the details. Farm kids know farm equipment inside and out.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like if your family raised chickens.” She swung her arm wide like a game show hostess around the aisle. “You would know every single product here by heart. And, by the time you were six. If your family raised wheat, you would be able to talk about droughts, seasons, trucks, harvest, pesticides and everything John Deere. Get me?”

  Hunter shrugged, pretending he was on board. He did not want to let on that he had no clue who John Deere might be. “I could do horses. Be a cowboy?”

  “Ha. You wish. Data ramp up on that is even worse. Besides, cowboys are hot. For real hot. You’re trying to be for real NOT?” She scrunched her nose and looked him up and down. “Dressing six-foot-you in cowboy boots and a hat, even with the new retainer, would make you a stalking-beacon for all the girls in our neighborhood who own horses.”

  “Shit. Are there lots of those?”

  “Tons. Half our county is zoned for horses. Besides, the products and skills needed for equestrian knowledge would be epic. You don’t have that much time to memorize stuff. And I bet,” she shot him a smug teasing glance. “You don’t have what it takes to sit a horse without freaking out.”

  Hunter shuddered. “I forgot about the cowboys going with horses part. Please say your family doesn’t have horses. Please say I don’t have to ride horses. I’m actually afraid of livestock animals. Cows, miniature goats, pigs, and even some dogs freak me out. As a kid, I once flipped out at a petting zoo. Not my proudest moment.”

  Vere shook her head and laughed. “No horses. Too expensive. In the summer, we’re mountain lake lovers. Boating, fishing, hiking, all that kind of stuff. Winter, we ski.”

  Hunter grimaced. Mostly because he didn’t want to encourage an invitation to any of the activities she’d listed.

  Hunter was a city boy, and he wanted to stay a city boy.

  Vere took his ‘Rick’s Chicks’ tee out of his hands. “Let’s go to the general clothing section and start there. This shirt is giving me a good idea. Come on. They’re only open for another forty minutes.”

&
nbsp; She led him past feed troughs, giant water buckets, weird goat feeders and an entire section of pig fencing before ushering him across another brightly lit aisle and into what was apparently the clothing area.

  Designated by the wooden, split rail fence surrounding the section. The entry into this section boasted two, hand-carved logs, holding up a knotty pine sign that had been burned to look like a brand. It read: Duds.

  Hunter looked wildly at the racks.

  “Holy shit! You can’t be serious.”

  Vere had frozen in the entryway and was scanning his face. Her brows had drawn down, causing a little crease to form in the center of her forehead. She spoke in a low—almost desperate sounding—whisper. “Lower your voice, and yes, I am serious. They’ve got tons of options here. If anyone comes near, turn your head and pull down that cap? Okay?”

  “Jesus, okay. Why are you freaking out?”

  “You—the darn eyes—look like moonbeams or light sabers under these lights.” She paused and shook her head.

  Hunter teased, “Is this your twisted way of calling me handsome again? Don’t worry, I’ve got sunglasses.” He laughed, pulling them out. “Ironically, blue light sabers are for the good guys. Don’t let the color fool you.”

  “Oh shut up, would you?” She closed in on him, way too close and peered up at his eyes while he couldn’t stop himself from staring at the little line of peach milkshake running near that damn perfect upper lip.

  “I swear I can still see the color behind your sunglasses. There aren’t going to be eye-glasses dark enough. We’re going to have to pay double and probably special order you a trash bag to cover your whole face.”

  “Maybe if we’re lucky I’ll suffocate to death and then we won’t have to do this?”

  “Don’t joke about stuff like that. Don’t. Ever.” She sucked in a breath, her anger apparently evaporating as quickly as it came. “I’m sorry. I’m being totally mean to you again. What is it about you that makes me act crazy?”

  Safe behind the glasses, Hunter shot a longing glance at that line of peach milkshake again. “It’s not you. It’s me. I habitually drive people nuts. I’ll stop baiting you. I’m doing it on purpose. I’ll stop.”