by J. R. Rogue
“I didn’t…I didn’t call you,” I stammer.
“I know. And I knew you never would.” His jaw is set.
“You’re a traitor.” I point at Andrew.
He holds his hands up in a show of surrender. “I’m sorry. But, I am his wingman. Only for you, though.” Andrew winks, and I roll my eyes, walking into the street, around to Hunter’s door.
I climb into his truck and cross my arms. “I’m tired. I just want to be home in my bed,” I say, turning to the window. I don’t know why I’m so pissed, but one look at the neon sign glowing outside the bar settles the truth into my gut.
Rosewood in red and pink stares back at me, painting me in shades of regret. I published under that name. I met Hunter here. I let my heart break as I sat on the little wrought iron table on the patio. Hunter nods and hops out of his truck.
Hunter won’t be coming in. Hunter won’t be coming in. Hunter won’t be coming in. I glance over at him as he talks outside to Andrew. I don’t know why he drives up here so often. Is there nothing to do in Georgia? No high school exes, other than his ex-wife, hanging on his every word?
Hunter and the traitor talk outside for a bit. Finally, Hunter gets a clap on the back, and he climbs back into his truck. I turn the music up loud. He turns it off.
“I was listening to that,” I say.
“You’re gonna listen to me. Because I know as soon as you walk into that apartment of yours, I won’t be able to reach you. You haven’t answered my calls or texts.”
When Sera asked if I’d heard from Hunter, I lied. “What’s there to say?” I continue to stare out the window, my chin in my hand.
“I miss you,” he says, pulling away from the curb. His voice is low and the combative tone has softened.
“Relationships don’t work when two people live eight hours from each other. The mere mention of something akin to a relationship at the cabin made you fucking panic,” I mutter.
“People have survived more dire circumstances. It’s not a permanent thing. And, I didn’t panic, I just thought you were suggesting I move you to Georgia. But if ya wanna twist it all up or somethin’, okay.”
We leave downtown, the lights of Nashville fading away, and Hunter doesn’t talk like I thought he would. Maybe I’ve finally pissed him off.
It’s so infuriating that he never gets mad at me. He just takes my anger and immature shit.
When we pull onto my street, I turn to him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m like this.” I can feel the tears, and to know they are entirely my own—sober tears—is scary.
“You like to fight too much. But I won’t fight back,” Hunter says, pulling into my apartment complex.
“Ignoring problems won’t make them go away.” I think that’s why my mother’s marriages always end. She never confronts anything head-on. I learned to do the same in some areas of my life. The only way I could confront anything was with my words on paper, or to ignore them with liquor.
“They’re problems for you, not for me,” Hunter argues, parking his truck.
“They were before.”
“I was an idiot before,” he says, reaching behind me. He hands me a water bottle, then reaches into his glove box, across my lap. There’s a bottle of Advil in there. He doles out two pills, handing them to me.
I remember the night we slept together. All the water he fed me. The shoes he bought me when I broke mine. I think of the cabin and the wine I drank. The water Hunter fed me, the cold rag he placed on my forehead. He likes to take care of me. I see it now.
But I’m ready to be able to take care of myself. I stare at the pills in my palm, then hand them back. “I didn’t drink tonight.”
Hunter stares at my hand, bewildered, then into my eyes. “Really?”
“Really. I decided to…” I hesitate because I hate the way the next few words will likely be perceived by anyone who hears them. “I decided to stop drinking. Completely.”
“Really?” He’s smiling, and I don’t know how to take it.
Is it laughable that I don’t want to drink anymore? Is it hard to believe? He met me when I turned to alcohol to numb pain. When we met again, though my usage had lessened, I was still turning to the depressant for comfort.
“Yes,” I reply.
“Good.”
“Good?”
“The shit is bad for you.”
I think back to the cabin, to our songwriting, our naked skin. I think of the fire and Truth or Dare. Hunter had a beer here and there, but he didn’t really drink. When I met him, he was sober. I was the one who clung too tightly to the vice.
I straighten in my seat, run my palms down my jeans. They’re sweaty.
“I want you to come to Georgia,” Hunter says, turning in his seat to me.
I feel a tear gliding down my face; luckily, it’s not on the side facing him. “Why?”
“I miss you. You won’t answer my calls. You won’t text me back. I can’t survive on Instagram likes and Snaps alone.”
“I didn’t freeze you out,” I argue.
“It’s worse. I almost wish you would have just frozen me out completely. It’s like you’re dangling yourself in front of me again. It was easier before, but now I know it isn’t some other guy keeping you from me. It’s you.”
“It’s you,” I say, barely above a whisper. “It’s your life. I don’t fit into it. I can’t fit into it right now. Maybe next year.” I don’t want to wait. I don’t want to wish my life away for someone.
“You’re not going to date?”
“I don’t know. I can’t predict that.”
“It’s a choice,” Hunter says, crossing his arms, leaning back against his window.
“So, you’re not going to date?” I ask, knowing the question is ridiculous.
“I haven’t, Sonnet. I’ve only dated one girl since I met you. It’s been ten years, and I have to admit to myself what everyone’s been saying to me. You’re the reason. I’ve been waiting, why can’t you?”
I don’t answer him. I don’t have an answer he’ll listen to anymore. I just get out of his truck and leave him behind.
He doesn’t stop me.
I Know That Hurt by Heart
Sonnet
Time moves achingly slow when it’s approaching Christmas. I don’t know if I’m excited or ready for it to be over. The holiday is stitched together with the haphazard family I’m forming. My apartment has a small tree in the corner. The multicolored lights keep me sane, and my pets keep me warm.
I plan to spend the twenty-fifth alone, binge-watching Christmas movies and Friends Christmas episodes. I’ll drink eggnog and sing at the top of my lungs, belting Mariah, with no one there to stop me.
I won’t drink any wine. I won’t text Hunter back when he asks me how I’m spending the day.
My phone hovers on the Facebook profile of my father more than I would like, though, making me take a hard look at my reason for settling down in Nashville.
My keyboard is a steady punching bag as the days inch forward, until I’m forced to leave the house for Sera’s Friend Christmas celebration.
Sera’s house is white, clean grays, and taupe. Her Christmas décor of choice is silver, gold, and white. Classic, fresh, and not surprising. She reminds me of rebirth. I told her that once, and she laughed, saying, “You still trying to say you’re not a poet?”
Maybe it doesn’t hurt to have friends peer inside of you, after all. I tell her everything about the night downtown, the conversation with Hunter.
I arrive with my dog, Seven, at eleven in the morning, slipping through her back gate to put Seven in the backyard. Then I go in through the back door. I promised to help her in the kitchen, even though I’m likely the worst cook there is.
“Are you doing the turkey yourself?” I ask her, nervous. Maybe I can just make some boxed stuffing.
“No, Chace is all over that. I want to bake pies,” she beams. “I don’t know why, but it’s all I can think about lately. I want to do a
pple, pumpkin, and peach. I have my mom’s recipes. She emailed them to me last week.”
I’ve never seen someone so excited to bake, but to be honest, baking makes me feel more at ease. There’s an art to baking; it’s similar to assembling a story. “Will she be here?” I ask, leaning on the granite countertop.
“No, we do our family Christmas on New Year’s Day, actually. So she’ll be down soon.”
“Oh, that’s different.”
“Yeah, it just works out better that way. And I like to volunteer on the twenty-fifth.”
Christmas is three days away, but Sera wanted to do a Friend Christmas. I feel so lucky to be included in her small circle, especially with my mother being so far away.
As Sera flips through recipes on her iPad, I walk back to the sliding glass door that leads to the backyard. Behind me, I can hear voices in the den, where the pool table is. It’s my favorite room in the house. All four walls have floor to ceiling bookcases. It’s the kind of library I want for myself one day.
“Do you think I could help you and Chace on Christmas when you volunteer?” I ask, turning around.
Sera looks up from her iPad. “We’d love that. Yes.”
“Perfect,” I say, antsy. I’d scanned the vehicles before I walked into Chace and Sera’s home, seeing no sign of Hunter’s truck. But still, the hairs on the back of my neck have not settled. “Okay, what do you need me to help with now?”
“Cutting up apples?” Sera grabs a brown bag from the counter, bringing it to the island.
“Give me a knife. I’m good with that.” I walk to the sink, washing my hands and breathing deep.
“Hey, Ser, I’m gonna run to town to get more beer for dinner. What do you want?” a voice says as someone walks in from the other room. “You’re out of the apple kind you like, and Chace doesn’t know what you might want for tonight.”
I still as Sera answers with, “I have wine in the cellar. I’m good.”
My shaky hands reach for the hand towel beneath the sink, in slow motion. Behind me, I don’t hear a retreat.
Hunter is still in the kitchen when I turn around. When we lock eyes, I feel it. The jolt. The kick of my heart. The reason for my nervous energy. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
We stay like that a moment, and then Hunter turns, leaving the room.
I look at Sera, who’s biting her lip.
“I didn’t see his truck out there,” I accuse. It’s been weeks since he dropped me at my apartment. When I stepped out of his vehicle, and he didn’t stop me.
“You wouldn’t know it. He got a new one.” She grimaces.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I don’t feel anger, just the urge to throw up. She and her brother are both traitors.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t show. And I don’t want you to be alone in a new city for the biggest holiday of the year—your favorite holiday.”
“I wouldn’t have stayed home,” I admit, “but I wouldn’t look like this.” I point to my T-shirt and messy bun simultaneously. We laugh, but I’m serious. I would’ve made sure I looked the way I did when Hunter dropped me off at my apartment the last time I saw him. Like a knockout, not someone who’s just been knocked over by a ghost.
“You could wear a sack and he wouldn’t care.” Sera rolls her eyes, reaching for a large container of sugar.
“Whatever,” I say, burying my face in my hands as I lean on the counter, the apples forgotten.
“He’s not alone, Sonnet.”
I shoot up, eyes wide. “Who’s with him?”
“His youngest.”
His youngest daughter, Harper Lee. Seventeen years old, and the last one to graduate.
This is something that would have kept me home. I don’t want to meet either of his daughters because I just happen to be in the same place as Hunter. I want to meet them because he wants me to meet them.
“Okay, I need to go.” I walk around the island, going for my purse, which dangles on a barstool. I fumble with my keys as they spill from a side pocket. It’s loud, and I feel like I might fall over.
“Sonnet, no. Please don’t leave,” Sera begs, walking around the island. She looks guilty, regretful, and I feel numb suddenly.
“I don’t want it to be this way. This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen. I don’t want to force him into anything—at all—when it comes to me.” He’s pursuing, though hesitantly, and it still feels wrong. Like I’m begging for the chase. The kind I damned him for.
I rush past Sera, through her foyer, and out onto her front steps. I’m greeted with the sight of Hunter, leaning on my car. His arms are crossed, and he’s staring at his boots.
They’re not the ones he always wears—scuffed, worn in. They look new.
Retreat is easy when there are no obstacles in your way, no one begging you not to go, but he hasn’t given me that grace since we collided again.
“Hi,” he says again, not moving. “Where ya goin’?”
“Home.”
“Without your dog?”
Jesus Merry Christmas, I forgot. “No, I was heading around the side to get him.” I hike my thumb in the direction of the backyard, but even I don’t believe me.
“Without talking to me?” He smirks.
“Why would I need to talk to you about getting my dog?” I take the steps slowly.
“No, I mean leaving without talking to me.” He humors me, even though he knows I knew precisely what he meant.
“That was the plan.”
“How about this,” he says as he pushes off my car, walking toward me with his palms up. “You go to the store with me. And when we get back, you can leave if you want, if you still feel like this isn’t where you want to spend your day.”
Wordlessly, I walk to Hunter, staring him in the eye. I nod, and he smiles, then leads me to his vehicle. I get into the truck I hadn’t recognized, and we head to the grocery store. His radio isn’t on as we leave the driveway, and I offer nothing.
I want to text Sera—scold her—but I can’t bring myself to. This is the same kind of thing that ruined my friendship with Joanne. You can’t expect people to take sides when your heart and theirs don’t line up. I won’t create more casualties. I won’t let my own hurt feelings push someone away.
Finally, after we’ve taken too many turns with me nearly bumping into his arm on the center console, I speak. “Sera said you have your youngest with you.”
He spoke of the differences in his daughters before. His youngest is wild, funny, and just like him. He’s her favorite, whereas his oldest daughter prefers their mother.
You can say you don’t pick favorites all you want. But we all do.
And Hunter Hart is mine.
“Yep. She’s mad at her mom, and her grandma. So she doesn’t want to spend Christmas with them. I think she’s also mad that her sister’s gone. She misses her, and she’s taking it out on us a little. It doesn’t matter how much you know something is comin’, sometimes it hurts just the same.”
I know he’s talking about his daughters, but I feel like he’s talking about us.
Because it’s true. Even when I knew we wouldn’t work out, and our time would eventually come to an end, it still hurt. Even when I knew my father and I couldn’t just pretend the years after he abandoned me weren’t there, it hurt.
“I hope she forgives her,” I say, staring out the passenger window.
“Oh, she will. And she knows it’ll calm down. They just need their space for a minute.”
“So, when we get back there, do I have to go?” I wanted to take it into my own hands when I tried to sneak out. I decided to leave willingly. The truth is, I’m scared he won’t want me there.
“Why would you have to go?” Hunter glances over, brow furrowed.
“I know how you are about mixing everything in life.” I wave my hand flippantly, aiming for a light tone.
“My daughters have met my friends.”
“Is that what we are? I didn’t return your texts or ca
lls. The last two times we’ve been near each other, we’ve fought. That’s not what friends do.” So close to him, I feel the guilt. I push him away like he tore my heart apart. Like we spent years together, and he cheated. I push him away like he wronged me. But he hasn’t; he’s wronged himself, for years.
“Like I said before, you wanna fight, but I won’t fight. And I figured you would reach out to me when you were ready. I’m not gonna blow up your phone anymore. I’m trying to respect your space.” He shrugs.
“Respect. That’s a funny word. You seemed to have a weird relationship with it when it came to me in the past.” I want his melancholy to wash away. He gives it to me so rarely, I find myself uncomfortable in its presence.
“Are you saying I didn’t respect you?” he asks, annoyance coloring his tone.
“No,” I ease, “but maybe you didn’t respect the relationship I was in.” In the space Tennessee has offered me, I’ve come to terms with regret. With my part in the failure of my marriage. I considered offering Preston an apology but realized he wasn’t waiting for one.
“You didn’t respect the relationship you were in. Why would I, if you didn’t?” He laughs.
“You’re right.” I nod. “I’m ashamed of the woman I was then. You know, women bitch about men cheating, how worthless they are. Then when we stray ourselves, we give out free passes. We do it for our friends as well. It’s bullshit. I was in the wrong.”
Hunter stares at me when he parks in the Kroger parking lot. I want to do a nosedive out of the passenger window, but I stay steady.
His brown eyes are warm, and a smile plays at the corner of his lips. “You comin’ in with me?”
I don’t answer; I just open my door and walk around the truck.
Hunter grabs a cart when we reach the grocery store, and it’s such a domestic thing—to be trailing him, the two of us with one cart. It takes me back to our Target trip. To the laughter and the way he knew exactly what I needed to feel at home in those mountains.
How do I speak to him with his daughter back at Sera’s? I can’t joke with him. I can’t hit on him in the silly way I used to. I don’t feel like doing any of those things, but knowing I can’t, just sucks.