by Sam Mariano
“Okay. Do you want a medal? Another trophy to add to the case? MVP of apologizing goes to Hunter Maxwell!”
“Stop,” he says, his turbulent gaze locked on mine.
I shrug, raising my eyebrows. “What do you want me to say, Hunter? You’re sorry. Great. So am I. It doesn’t change anything.”
“How does it not change anything?” he demands. “I forgave you. I didn’t even want to, I just couldn’t fucking stay mad at you. I’ve never encountered that before. You fucked up my whole life and I couldn’t even hold it against you when I came back. But me, I fuck up and no matter how sorry I am, it doesn’t matter? You’re done with me? I lose you?”
His words sting, so I drop his gaze. “You didn’t lose me, Hunter. Unless you tripped and fell into Valerie Johnson’s vagina after I expressly asked you not to touch her, you threw me away. And I’m not done with you, I just…”
I’m at a loss for how to explain what I feel, but he deserves an explanation, so I try.
“I can’t shake it. Sometimes I lie awake at night imagining you with her, thinking about how you stayed with her even after you slept with me.” I look back up at him, a glint of remorse in my eyes. “It’s a bridge too far for me, Hunter. I’m sorry. I tried to warn you. I didn’t want it to go this way. I love you, I think I always will, but… I can’t be with you.”
He’s silent for a moment, then he says raggedly, “I must not mean that much to you if you’d let her come between us.”
His words hit somewhere deeper. I think because they come from somewhere deep inside him.
My gaze snaps to his, all of the uncertainty and tiptoeing apology draining out of me. I’m clear and sure as I tell him, “No. Valerie didn’t come between us, Hunter. You did. You could’ve played your games and still respected my one rule, but you chose to disrespect me. I would choose you over almost anyone in the world, but… you made me choose between you and my own self-respect. That’s one fight you’ll never win.”
He stares at me for a moment that seems to go on forever. The air around us is heavy. I know this isn’t how either of us saw this conversation going.
Even I had my doubts about how strong I could be when he had me alone in my room like this, but at the end of the day… I have to make the choice I can live with, even if it hurts.
Finally, seeming to accept my words, Hunter nods. “All right, then.”
My heart sinks. There’s an aching finality to those words. It incites panic. I meant what I said; I’m not issuing empty threats, wanting him to grovel for me, but…
He walks over to the window and lifts it. Before he climbs out, he looks back. “If you’re pregnant, tell me, okay?”
I feel like I can’t breathe. Tears sting my eyes. I can feel fissures cracking open inside me as my composure splinters. I clutch at it desperately, trying to keep myself together until he’s gone.
I only need to be strong for another minute.
I nod my head. Tears well up in my eyes. The panic swells.
He nods, too.
Then he climbs out.
I feel rooted to the spot, but desperate to rip those roots out of the ground and run after him. I want to call him back. I want to tell him I changed my mind. I want to scream at him for putting me in this position to begin with, but beg him not to go.
I don’t move.
I stand there as my composure cracks and the late summer air blows through my open window. I envision him walking through the woods, crossing our footbridge, and walking back to his house to rejoin his stupid friends.
I imagine how alone he’ll feel in a room full of people who don’t really care about him, how much worse it might be if he convinces himself I’m one of them now.
Tears slide down my face one after the other.
I want to unblock his number and text him to come back.
I want to.
But I don’t.
Chapter Thirty Six
Riley
The rest of the weekend drags by at a snail’s pace.
My first day of work is uneventful. I’m tired at the end of it, so I should be able to fall asleep, but I can’t.
I finally manage to get to sleep sometime before the sun comes up, but when my eyes open and it’s Monday morning, they burn with hatred, wishing they were someone else’s eyeballs, someone capable of sleeping like a normal human.
Exhausted, I drag myself to the bathroom.
Still nothing to reassure me I’m not pregnant, so I take a quick shower and head downstairs.
Mom hasn’t left for work yet so she’s giving me a ride this morning. I’m glad I don’t have to walk, I don’t really have the energy, but as I go through my morning routine, I’m vaguely anxious about the possibility of another flower delivery. It’s Monday morning, after all. They always come on Monday morning.
Not this Monday, apparently.
I didn’t expect them. I told myself I didn’t even hope for them, but it doesn’t feel entirely like the truth. The absence of the flowers feels like even more verification that he’s given up on me.
I guess it makes sense. I told him there was no chance. There’s no reason for him not to.
It still feels a bit disappointing.
I tell myself it doesn’t matter. I’ll get over it. I’m disappointed too, there’s just nothing either of us can do about it. He can’t go back in time and not touch Valerie, and I can’t forgive him for doing it, so we’re at an impasse.
It just hurts, that’s all.
We’ll both get over it and be fine, I’m sure.
When I get to school, I’m cautious. I don’t really know what to expect. I have no idea what happened at the party last night—I deliberately stayed off social media—but knowing Hunter’s occasional thirst for vengeance, I am worried about it. It’s the last thing I ever wanted to do, but I know I hurt him last night. It’s not outside the realm of possibility that he wanted to hurt me back.
I hope not. That’s a vicious, unending cycle I don’t want to get trapped in with him. He’s too good at hurting me. If he chooses to keep doing it, eventually he really will destroy me.
I have my guards up as I enter the school and begin the long trek to my locker.
I keep an eye out for trouble as I pass people, but it’s not like before. I don’t feel every gaze on me. A few people look, but nobody says anything. A few people even flash smiles as if we’re on friendly terms.
Hunter isn’t in English class.
I don’t expect to see him at lunch, either, but he shows up.
Uncertainty lingers in the air. The social order has been upset, and no one is clear on how to proceed. Valerie tries to sit at her usual table, but she ends up sitting at the run-off table instead. Not entirely banished, but on thin ice, I guess.
A few of the girls look over at me as I take my seat at my usual table alone. They seem to be confused as to why I’m not sitting with them today. I imagine they expected me to after Hunter was all over me in the limo last night.
Thinking about it makes me sad. Sara is still sitting at the girls’ table, so I pull out the book I brought with me and read while I eat.
The next couple of days pass in a similar fashion. Hunter shows up to class Tuesday, but Wednesday he seems to blow off school altogether because I don’t even see him at lunch.
Thursday he’s in class, but he doesn’t speak to me or even look at me. It’s like I’m invisible, but with a layer of tension that wouldn’t be there in the presence of no one.
After school is the newspaper meeting. I expect to see him there, but when everyone but him shows up, Mr. Lohman says we’re going to get started.
I keep one eye on the door for most of the meeting, so I’m distracted and certainly not contributing like I usually do. I take my time gathering my things afterward, so I’m the last student to leave.
Once the classroom is empty, I sling my bag over my shoulder and approach Mr. Lohman.
He looks up from his things, flashing me a smile. “H
ave a good night.”
I slow to a stop. “Um… Hunter Maxwell didn’t show up today. I have his phone number. If you want me to send him an assignment, I could reach out and catch him up on what he missed.”
“Oh, thanks for the offer, but that won’t be necessary. Hunter reached out to me earlier this week. Unfortunately, his obligations to the football team proved too demanding, so he won’t be able to work on the paper, after all.”
Hearing that shouldn’t make my stomach sink, but it does. “Oh.”
Mr. Lohman nods. “Too bad. His article was really good.”
My chest feels heavy as I make my way out of the school.
I have to walk home today, and instead of taking the long way like I have been, I decide to take the shortcut through the woods.
When I get to our footbridge, I stop. I look around, as if expecting my presence here to summon him, but of course it doesn’t.
I know I should walk the rest of the way home, but I want to feel close to him in some small way, so I sit down on the bridge. I take out some books and attempt to get started on my homework, but I’m too distracted thinking about everything Mr. Lohman said.
Thinking back on how unwelcoming I was when Hunter showed up at the first newspaper meeting, I feel guilty. I don’t own the school paper. If Hunter was interested in it and good at it on top of that, he should write for the paper. I would hate to stand in the way of that. I don’t think he signed up out of genuine interest, but… what if he did, and he only quit because of me?
Setting my books aside, I take out my phone. I navigate to Hunter’s contact information.
I hesitate, but only for a second, then I unblock his number and start a text to him.
“You didn’t have to quit the paper. I hope it wasn’t because of me.”
I press send before I can change my mind, then I stare at the screen, but it doesn’t register as read.
I know I should wait, but I can’t seem to stop myself from texting him again. “Mr. Lohman said your article was really good, and I agree. You’re talented, Hunter. If you want to write for the paper, you should.”
I wait longer that time, but he still doesn’t answer.
It starts to make me feel desperate. A tight, constricting feeling starts in my chest. I haven’t felt this way in a long time.
Not since middle school.
Not since last time he gave me the cold shoulder.
It’s similar to the feeling I get when I’m fighting with my mom, but there’s a desperation with Hunter I don’t feel with her. No matter what it’s about, I know I’ll never lose Mom over a fight, but that’s not the case with Hunter. I can lose him. I did before.
That wasn’t what I wanted.
I know I told him no in my bedroom, but this isn’t what I wanted.
I know I shouldn’t, my rational mind all but expressly forbids me from texting him again when he hasn’t responded to my first two messages, but without my mind’s permission, my thumbs start flying across my phone screen again.
“This isn’t what I wanted, Hunter. I don’t want you out of my life completely. Just because we can’t be together that way… does it have to be all or nothing? Can’t we still be friends? I still care about you.”
I sigh, putting my phone down on the aged wood and trying my best to study again, but it’s impossible when I’m sitting there waiting for messages that aren’t coming.
I finally pack it up and head home.
I hope I’ll accomplish more once I’m there, but when I get to my bedroom and spread out all my school books across the bedspread, I still find my gaze going back to the damn phone.
It’s like that all night. Trying to study is an exercise in futility. I’m so frustrated by the end of it, I give up and go to take a shower. I don’t even need one, I usually shower in the morning, but I need to do something that forces me away from my phone, and showering is all I can think of.
As soon as I’m out, I run back to my bed and grab the phone.
Still nothing.
I sit down on the edge of the bed and sigh, realizing I made a big mistake. I gave up a lot of ground texting him. The ball is in his court now. I don’t know when—or even if—he’ll hit it back, so I’m tempted to just keep throwing balls at him.
I can’t, though. The more I do that, the more power I’m giving him. I’m letting him see that being without him is making me crazy. If he sees that, I’m doomed.
I wish I could give my phone to someone and tell them not to give it back to me, but I tell myself I have more self-discipline than that. I have enough self-control not to text him now that I’ve unblocked his number. Hell, I had the self-discipline to keep his number blocked all this time when what I enjoy the most is talking to him, so I can handle not texting him when he’s not even texting me back.
I manage to, but it’s pure hell.
When I settle in and try to go to sleep, he still hasn’t texted me back. My messages aren’t showing as read, either, so maybe he didn’t even read them. Maybe he did, but he turned his read receipts off so I wouldn’t know and he could make me even crazier.
I’m too frustrated to fall asleep for a long time.
Even past the point of it making sense, I lie there waiting for my phone to light up. There’s little chance he’s going to text me at 3 AM when he’s undoubtedly sleeping, but I lie there tired and unable to fall asleep, just in case.
Friday is hellish, too. I’m exhausted. After sleeping for a few hours, I’ve cleared my cache a bit. I’m dragging and having difficulty staying awake all through school, but I manage to stop waiting for a text I’m clearly not going to get.
When I get to English class and Hunter’s sitting at his desk—with his phone in hand—I accept that there is no exceptional excuse for why he didn’t text me back.
He chose not to.
That definitely doesn’t feel good, but in a strange way, it helps.
As I sit there next to him in class, I pay less attention to Mrs. Dowd and more attention to hammering home certain truths in my stubborn head.
Yes, I love Hunter. I think I have since we were in middle school. I think he stole my heart the night he first kissed me, and it’s been his ever since.
But it can’t be anymore. It’s not fair to either one of us. I don’t know how to stop loving him, and I don’t even want to; I want to believe it isn’t necessary. I think we could still be friends even if we can’t be more, but he must not want that. If he did, he’d at least be speaking to me.
If he wants to be done, then I need to get on the same page.
I leave class that day without looking back at him, that’s the first step.
At lunch, I don’t look at his table.
I have a shift from 4-8, so work keeps me busy and I can’t have my phone on me while I’m at work.
At the end of my shift, I take my meager tips and grab my purse. I head home without even thinking to check my phone.
I take a shower to wash the smell of the restaurant off me. I don’t even take out my phone until afterward, when I curl up on my bed in comfy pajamas and finally set about doing some homework.
I only even take my phone out of my purse to put it on charge, but when I finally do, I see I have a new text message.
My heart sinks.
It’s from Hunter.
It’s not a response to anything I sent him. It’s just one simple question: “Where do you work?”
I frown at the screen, wondering why he’s curious about that. I criss cross my legs and text back, “I wait tables at a restaurant in town. Deb’s Diner. Why?”
It has been a while since he sent that message, so I give him some time to text me back.
I feel a little less tense as I study, figuring he’ll respond when he gets a chance since he was the one to reach out this time. But, as the night wears on, I don’t hear back.
I work again Saturday, then I close on Sunday.
Hunter never texts me back, but on Sunday night when I’m
coming back from the kitchen with an armful of napkins and some silverware to wrap, I see a group of fine-looking football players walk through the door.
My heart jumps when I see Hunter’s face. A stupid smile claims my lips. I try to stop it, but I can’t.
I haven’t seen a trace of amusement on Hunter’s face since I sent him from my bedroom that night, but as he takes in the sight of me in my retro diner garb, his handsome face lights up with pleasure.
“Wow,” he says.
I flash him a big customer service smile. “You fellas want a table or a booth?”
“I want a picture,” Hunter says. “A series of them, with you in various states of undress.”
My face flushes and I bite back a smile, rolling my eyes at him. “Keep it clean, buddy. I’m at work.”
“If I order a milkshake, will you wrap your lips around my straw?” Sherlock asks, winking at me.
I give him a dead-eyed look. “You guys know I’m a waitress, not a sex worker, right?”
“Tell that to your outfit,” Hunter says, shaking his head.
“I shouldn’t have told you where I work,” I mutter, but I don’t mean it. I’m excited that he’s here. I wish we were busier so I wouldn’t be so tempted to give him too much attention, but I’m happy to see him. Maybe this is his way of extending an olive branch. Maybe the awkwardness of shooting him down can finally pass and we can transition into a real friendship.
I’m not sure how sustainable that plan is. If either of us starts dating again, it’ll probably shoot holes through the pretense, but… well, we can try it. I don’t know.
I just know I miss him, and if he’s here, he must miss me, too.
I bring them out a tray of waters for the table and take their drink order. I upsell them on an appetizer, then return to get their food order.
If nothing else, Hunter will probably leave me a good tip, which is rare working at an affordable place like this.
As worried as I am about giving Hunter’s table too much attention, it ends up not being an issue. A few tables come in after them, so I do have other work to do. Hunter and his buddies just eat and talk. Despite giving me a hard time when they first came in, it seems they’re not here to harass me.