Sex, Not Love

by Vi Keeland

  Hunter ran his fingers through his hair and blew out a deep breath. “You’re right. We were always more. But that doesn’t change that I need things to end.”

  It felt like someone had sliced right into my heart. I swallowed.

  “Maybe not. But you know what it does change?”

  “What?”

  “You owe me an explanation.”

  Hunter looked me directly in the eyes. “I’m sorry, Nat. I really am.”

  I couldn’t stop the tears that started to fall. But I also wanted some shred of dignity. “Just go. Please.”

  I felt him staring at me, but I wouldn’t look up. Eventually, he stood. He caressed my hair one more time before he leaned down and kissed my forehead. Then he left without another word.

  I cried the most awful cry after the door clicked shut. The funny thing was, with everything I’d gone through with Garrett, I didn’t cry once. My marriage had imploded in an instant. After the initial shock of my husband being arrested and finding out he wasn’t the man I’d thought he was, I’d moved directly to anger—almost skipping the entire phase of loss where I should’ve been upset.

  Yet even with all of the chaos Garrett had thrown my way, I’d never felt hope was gone. I’d felt disappointed, dejected, foolish, let down in a million ways, but I’d never doubted that I deserved something better that was out there just for me.

  Today I finally realized why I’d felt that way—because there was someone better out there who was exactly right for me. The only problem was, that someone had just walked out my door, taking the last of my hope with him.

  Chapter 32

  Natalia

  A week later, my health was back to normal, but my heart hadn’t even begun to mend. A part of me regretted how Hunter and I had said goodbye, or rather how I’d said goodbye. I’d acted immaturely, blaming him for something that really wasn’t his fault. He’d been up front with me from the start. Yet in the end, it was me who hung on to hope that he’d change his mind. It was foolish.

  The thing was, I knew Hunter had feelings for me. I just didn’t know why he wouldn’t do anything about them or try to make us work. And because of that, I didn’t get real closure. It was more like I was moving on and leaving something important behind.

  Yesterday, one of the dads I often spoke to during Izzy’s basketball games had asked me if the guy who’d come to the games recently was my boyfriend. It hurt so much to say no—to admit aloud that Hunter was gone from my life for good—that I hadn’t even realized why he’d asked me. When the next question came, asking if I had plans Friday night, I was completely oblivious to the fact that he was asking me out to dinner.

  The poor guy had to explain what he’d meant, only to be rejected. But there was no way in hell I felt ready to jump back into the dating world yet.

  So here I was, alone on Friday night, eating a pint of Cherry Garcia straight from the container while my sixteen year old got ready to go bowling with a boy. At least one of us had a life.

  “Be home by ten,” I told her. “And Yakshit walks you up to the apartment door and waits for you to get in, or you’ll have two parents in prison when I’m done with him.”

  “You’re not even scary. Now, if Hunter said that, Yak might…” Izzy smirked, “…shit his pants.”

  I laughed, telling her to watch her language. She hugged me goodbye—something new she’d started doing the last few days. It made me wonder if she felt bad that I’d been dumped. Either way, I’d take whatever I could get from her, however I could get it.

  Just as ice-cream-overload nausea began to set in, my cell phone rang. A picture of Anna and me, cheek to cheek on her wedding day, popped up. I set the carton down on the coffee table and propped up my feet.

  “Thank God. I was on track to finish off an entire pint of Ben and Jerry’s without a distraction.”

  “Mmm…. Chunky Monkey?”

  “Nope.” I rubbed my bloated stomach. “Cherry Garcia.”

  “Well, save some for after we hang up, because you’re going to need it.”

  My heart started to pound in my chest. Anna and I had just talked a few days ago after I made my flight reservations for the christening. She’d mentioned that they hadn’t seen Hunter since he’d been back, but that he was coming over for dinner last night. Obviously whatever she was about to tell me was about him.

  “What? If he brought a date, I don’t think I want to hear about it, Anna.”

  “He came alone. He didn’t bring a date.”

  I felt infinitesimally better. “Is he bringing one to the christening?”

  “No. That’s not what this is about.”

  I started to panic. “What’s going on?”

  “Hunter got drunk last night. I mean, really drunk. And he started talking about his brother’s death and got really upset. Did you know his brother committed suicide? I didn’t until last night.”

  Before the gravity of her words could sink in, I heard a wail in the background. “Shoot, Nat. Caroline just woke up. I’m sorry. I thought she’d be down for longer. Let me call you back in two minutes. I’ll grab her and settle her so we can talk.”

  “Oh my God. You can’t leave me hanging for long. Hurry.”

  “I will!”

  ***

  I’d swapped my pint of ice cream for a glass of wine, downed the entire thing, and was filling glass two before my cell started to ring. “God, that was ten minutes, not two.”

  “I’m sorry. She was fussy.”

  “Can you talk now?”

  “Yes. She just latched on, so I’m going to have to talk low while I breastfeed. But it’s either that or I call you back when she’s done.”

  “Start talking.”

  “I don’t even know where to start.”

  “At the beginning. Tell me everything.”

  “Okay, well…it was a strange evening right from the start. Normally he has a beer or two. But when Derek offered him a Stella, he said he’d rather have a Jack and Coke. To be honest, it looks like he’s been hitting the bottle lately. His hair’s always a little disheveled—you know, he has that naturally messy but owns it kinda look, but last night he looked like shit. He had dark circles under his eyes, hadn’t shaved in a while, and it seemed like he’d slept in his clothes. There was some sort of unspoken communication between Derek and Hunter when he said he needed a drink. Derek nodded as if he understood, as if the two of them had done this dance before.”

  I’d wanted him to struggle after we parted ways, but hearing it didn’t give me the gratification I’d assumed it would. Instead, it felt like I’d been punched in the gut.

  “I didn’t know his brother committed suicide,” I told her. “He said he was sick. But I don’t understand what brought it all to the surface now. He died years ago, right? Was it the anniversary of his death or something?”

  “None of it makes sense. Let me keep going and maybe you’ll understand it better.”

  “Okay…”

  “So he throws back the first drink in, like, three minutes. I watched Derek make it. The thing was basically whiskey in a glass with a splash of Coke. Hunter didn’t even wince swallowing it down. After the second one, he grumbled that he’d gotten a promotion at work.”

  “He grumbled about a promotion?”

  “Yep. When I congratulated him and said that was great news, he told me life wasn’t about the news—it was about the first person you wanted to tell that news to.”

  Ironic. Two days ago Izzy had been named game MVP, and my first instinct was to text Hunter to let him know. It was a small thing, and it took all of two seconds to remember I had no reason to text Hunter anymore, but my gut reaction had hit me funny, and the rest of my evening had been tarnished by that moment. I’d felt sad after that, instead of happy. I hadn’t allowed myself to analyze why it had affected me so much, but Hunter had nailed it—life is about the person you want to call first to tell good news.

  I sighed into my cell. “He was sad he couldn’t ca
ll his brother?”

  “No. He was referring to you, Nat.”

  “I’m confused. I thought you said he was sad about his brother.”

  “I did. That’s the confusing part. One minute he’d be saying he missed you, and the next he’d be talking about his brother. It was like you two were connected in his mind.”

  I’d gotten stuck a few words back. “He said he missed me?”

  “He said he didn’t give a shit about the promotion when he didn’t have you to share it with.”

  My heart thumped against my ribcage. “I don’t understand. I never understood. If he wants to share things with me, then why say goodbye?”

  “I asked him that very question.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “He said it was for your own good.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I couldn’t get him to talk about it more. He just kept refilling his glass and talking about random stuff the rest of the night.”

  “Like what?”

  “So much of it made no sense. For example, he rattled on about wanting to put birdseed in the birdhouses in the yard, and then he started to talk about random memories of his brother. Apparently Jayce’s birthday is coming up. I honestly had no idea he’d committed suicide. I guess I never pushed Derek to talk about it much because he was close with both Hunter and Jayce. I knew Jayce had died young, and when I asked how he died, Derek had said he had a genetic disorder and was sick for a long time. Last night, after Hunter passed out on our couch, I questioned Derek about why he’d lied.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said he hadn’t really lied. That Jayce was sick, and that he chose to remember that as why he died, even if it wasn’t technically the way his life ended.”

  Jesus. “So he was sick and took his own life?”

  “Yes. And Hunter never fully moved on from it. They were close.”

  Anna was quiet for a while, both of us taking in the enormity of her words. “He’d hung himself, Nat. In his bathroom.”

  My chest began to shudder with tears. Losing a loved one to illness was tough enough, but adding the tragedy of suicide…the people left behind often felt so much guilt.

  “You okay?” Anna asked. I knew from the shake in her voice that she was crying, too.

  “No.”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s awful to think about. I couldn’t even be pissed off at Derek for keeping it from me. Because once he told me the truth, I felt sick and wished he hadn’t. Now I can’t stop imagining it.”

  Anna and I talked for two more hours after that. I made her tell me every detail she could remember from the entire night—three times. I had a rip-roaring headache by the time we hung up, but the ache in my skull dimmed in comparison to the ache inside my chest.

  I wanted to fly out to California and hold Hunter while he grieved for his brother. It didn’t even matter that we weren’t a we anymore—I just wanted to be there for him.

  That night I tossed and turned in my bed for hours. My mind raced over so many thoughts. Was Hunter’s loss related to why he didn’t want to have a relationship with me? Could he have attachment fears after such a trauma? He’d lost his mother and his brother at such a young age. Maybe the losses had left traumatic battle scars that made him afraid to go to war for his heart anymore?

  Even though Anna had cast a bright light on the psyche of Hunter Delucia, I felt more in the dark about the man than ever. It was almost midnight when I grabbed my cell off the bedside table. My fingers hovered over Hunter’s name. Only nine on the west coast—not too late to call him. If I did, he’d definitely put two and two together and know that Anna had called to tell me about last night. If I didn’t, I’d never be able to sleep.

  Deciding to text, rather than call, I figured I’d crack the communication door open and he could either chose to talk to me or shut it in my face once again. After another ten minutes of deliberating the right words to send, I went with simple.

  Natalia: Thinking of you. Up to talk?

  My pulse raced as I hit send and waited for a response. Immediately the text showed as delivered. After another ten seconds, it changed from delivered to read. I held my breath when the dots started to jump around. Anticipation throbbed in my veins as I waited for a response. After a few seconds, the dots stopped moving, and I let out an audible breath. I stayed frozen, staring at my screen and assuming the dots had stopped moving because he’d finished typing and the words were racing through the air on their way to my phone. I waited for them to arrive.

  Five minutes.

  Ten minutes.

  A half an hour.

  An entire hour of waiting.

  But the words never came.

  It would’ve been easier to accept that he didn’t respond if my text had gone unopened, or if I’d never seen those dots jumping around as he considered writing back. Then I could’ve always wondered if he’d received my text—clung to a morsel of hope that was the case. But there was no wondering. Hunter had read my text and decided not to bother responding.

  Chapter 33

  Hunter

  7 years ago

  “Come on, Jayce. Pick up the damn phone.” My leg bounced up and down as I counted the rings. After the fourth, it went to voicemail. I disconnected and immediately hit redial.

  No answer again.

  Something was off. I grabbed my laptop and the files I needed to work on and stopped at my boss’s office on the way out.

  “I need to do research down at the building department,” I lied. “Be back in a few hours.”

  In my car, I turned on some music in an attempt to relax for the thirty-minute drive to Jayce’s. But it did the exact opposite. Every song that came on, every mile I drove toward my brother’s house, intensified the shitty feeling I had.

  Jayce had been depressed lately. I couldn’t blame him. He struggled to do simple things now—speaking and sitting up were hard work. Somehow he managed to get himself into and out of bed each day, and he even walked around some still, but by the end of the day, he was exhausted and dependent on the wheelchair he despised. The involuntary jerking in his arms and shoulders had intensified so much that it woke him up at night, so he rarely slept more than an hour or two straight. Other than doctors’ appointments, he hadn’t left the house in months. Most of his days consisted of watching TV and waiting for the different visiting nurses to come by so he could shave or move to the yard for some scenery.

  We tried to get him to move back in with Uncle Joe and Aunt Elizabeth or come live with me. But he refused, preferring to stay in his depressing rental house by himself, rather than be surrounded by family who wanted to help. I visited him a few nights a week after work, and so did our uncle, but not even that cheered him up anymore. I used to think the worst thing in the world was death. But these days, I’m pretty sure sitting around waiting to die is much worse.

  Still twenty minutes out, I hit redial on my cell as I drove. No fucking answer again. I’d been in a meeting when he called and left a message this morning, so my ringer was off. A sick feeling twisted in my gut as I hit play to listen to the message he’d left again.

  “Bro (Quiet for ten seconds)

  I was never mad about Summer. (A few deep breaths as he struggled to speak.)

  I just wanted to make sure you knew that. (Another long pause)

  Love you, man.”

  Huntington’s had affected his mind—the way he thought, the things he thought of. Manic ups and downs had developed in his personality. I’d read enough to know everything he was going through was the norm, but something in his voicemail told me his message was more than just a random thought during a downswing. I hadn’t spoken to Summer in years. Even though I’d come clean to Jayce about my relationship with her, I’d ended things not long after he got out of the hospital. Why was he thinking about it now? It felt like he wanted to make sure I didn’t carry that weight with me after he was gone. I prayed I was wrong.

  Every mile a
dded to my bad feeling, and my foot pressed the pedal a little harder. By the time I hit his exit off the freeway, I realized I was going ninety-five miles an hour. I’d made the half-hour drive to Jayce’s in twenty minutes.

  My brother didn’t answer the front door—not that I gave him much of a chance before I used the key he’d given me last year.

  “Jayce!”

  No answer.

  “Jayce!”

  No answer.

  I flexed my hands open and shut a few times. So cold. My hands were so cold.

  Not in the kitchen.

  Not in the living room or small dining room.

  The bedroom door was wide open.

  Nothing.

  There weren’t many more places to look in the small house.

  Not in the yard.

  I walked down the hall that led from the back door to the kitchen and found the bathroom door closed. Facing it, the hair on the back of my neck stood up.

  Fuck. I’m making myself crazy.

  I took a deep breath and knocked. “Jayce. You in there?”

  No answer.

  I knocked one more time, and the door pushed open as I did.

  I froze.

  My breathing halted.

  The earth shifted, and a fault line ran up my heart.

  No.

  No.

  “Nooooo!” I screamed.

  I rushed toward my brother’s limp body hanging from a rope tied to the ceiling fixture. He’d removed the light to reach up to the beams in the rafters.

  Panicked, I lifted his body to give the rope slack.

  His eyes were open and bulged from their sockets.

  His lips and face were blue.

  Dried blood stained the corners of his mouth.

  But I refused to believe it was too late.