“It’snotthe same.” His shoulders cave forward; he hunches into himself. “What happened to you is nothing like what I did—what I will live withevery secondfor the rest of my life.”
The haunted agony exposed in every facet of his being—his eyes, his mouth, his fisted hands—is more than I can bear. “Hunter, I’m so—”
“Don’t.” He turns his back to me. “Don’t youdaresay you’re sorry. I deserve these scars. I deserve to look like the monster I am—to have people recoil when they see me. I deserveeveryhorrible thing that has happened since then. Ishouldsuffer. What Idon’tdeserve is to be here when she isn’t.” He makes a noise, like a choked sob. “Now you know why I can never be your friend—or anything else.”
“Hunter—” I reach for him, but I’m too slow. He stalks away. The slamming front door makes me flinch.
I don’t know how long I sit there looking at the closed door, dazed, before a cell phone on the table starts buzzing, startling me. I glance down and realize it’s Hunter’s phone next to the plans he made for the bakery.
The screen is lit up with a picture of a blonde woman standing in the circle of Hunter’s arms, both of them smiling at the camera. Underneath the picture is the nameColette.
I can’t tear my eyes away from the picture of the two of them. Something hot and sour coils within me. Something far too close to jealousy. I flip the phone over on the table, hiding their grins, and wait until it stops vibrating.
I don’t know if I should tell him I saw the call or not. But it doesn’t end up mattering because he doesn’t come back. I’m left alone on the couch, staring at the now-cold toast.
14.
Iforce myself to eat a piece of toast even though I’ve lost my appetite. After my mom finally reassures me that Farmor is holding steady—no better but also no worse—I make myself take a shower and put on some sweats. And Hunter still hasn’t reappeared when I’m done. I don’t know if he’s next door or if he left entirely.
I rub more peppermint on the back of my neck as I sit on the couch, responding to the dozens of texts I have from my mom, Lou, Talia, my brothers, even Austin—all worried about me and wanting reassurance that I’m okay and not getting worse.
But through it all, I can’t stop thinking about what Hunter admitted.
The skin grafts that cover so much of his face and body ... I assumed he’d been through something traumatic. But not ...this.
He drove drunk.
He crashed his car because he drove drunk.
And his sisterdied.
With nothing left to do, I sit staring, unseeing, trying to wrap my mind around it.
Hunter’s right, after all. Even though I’ve been through a lot, and I can even understand survivor’s guilt, Ican’timagine whathe’sbeen through—what he’sstillgoing through. The memories he must battle ... the trauma, the shame, the self-loathing ...
I grab the remote and turn on the TV to some new Netflix movie. I need to distract myself; my brain is spinning from his confession. The plans he wanted to show me for the bakery are still sitting there, but it feels wrong to look at them without him.
The show does little to capture my focus. Instead, I wait with my heart in my throat for the moment when Hunter finally relents and comes back. I know he will because he promised my mom. But I have no idea how long it’ll be before he remembers that.
His phone buzzes at least five more times with phone calls or texts. He left his computer, too, so there’s no way he can be working.
I keep replaying every one of our interactions, trying to decode them with this unexpected flash of light illuminating some of the darkness he carries. Why he’s afraid to connect with anyone, even if only as a friend. His angry insistence that he doesn’t drink at dinner. The glimpses of kindness, of a teasing side, of a considerate person who cares deeply for others, only to have him retreat behind his facade of hostility—the armor he dons to keep everyone at bay.
It all makes so much more sense.
But if he assumed telling me the truth would make menotwant to be friends, he was wrong. My heart is cracked open by the pain he carries. I ache for his sorrow and guilt. And it only makes me more certain that a friend is exactly what hedoesneed. His admission did the opposite of what heintended; instead of scaring me off, it crumbled my defenses against him.
I’m summoning every ounce of courage I have to march next door, knock on his door, and demand he talk to me whenmyphone buzzes. I quickly check the text and groan when I realize it’s Austin again.
Talia told me you’re sick now, on top of everything else! I hope you get feeling better soon. I know you’re going through a lot, but I want you to know I had a great time the other night. In fact ... I can’t stop thinking about you.
His text makes my stomach sink. I should bethrilledthat he’s still interested in me. But all I can think of is Hunter somewhere nearby in such unbearable pain, so lost and alone.
Another text comes through before I can decide how to respond.
If you’re feeling better and if your grandma is doing better, are you free Saturday? I have reservations to this amazing new restaurant in Phoenix ...
And of course, it’s that moment, when I’m staring at my screen, indecision probably written all over my face, when Hunter comes through the front door.
