“Are you still close to your parents?” I ask, taking another bite of paella.
Hunter gets what I can only describe as a wistful smile on his face. “Yeah. We talk quite a bit, but they had me a lot later in life, so they’re getting older and it’s hard for them to travel. They still haven’t been to Dogwood Cove.”
“Where do they live?”
“The house I grew up in, in southern Alberta. I was hoping to visit them over Christmas, but I couldn’t get enough days off to make the trip worthwhile. Hopefully, I can go home in the new year.”
“They must be so proud of you.” I give him a warm smile, but shadows cross his face. “Hunter? Did I say something wrong?”
His stare bores holes into the table in front of him for a moment or two before he lifts his eyes to meet mine. There’s a distance there that wasn’t present before and it confuses me, as does the half smile he gives me. I’m guessing he means it to be reassuring. It’s anything but.
“No. Everything’s fine. Would you like more wine?”
The abrupt change in subject has my head spinning a bit, but I can take a hint. I want so badly for him to let me in, tell me what just happened in his mind, but it’s so early in our relationship, I don’t know if I have the right to push. Every now and then I see these flashes of vulnerability in him. Most of the time, they’re so well hidden, no one would know he’s anything but the happy-go-lucky, friendly guy he appears to be. But there’s something underneath that makes me think it’s all a façade.
I just hope that someday he trusts me enough to let me in; let me see all of him. The good and the bad.
Chapter fourteen
Hunter
After Kat went home last night, I cleaned up the kitchen with what I can only describe as an anxiety-fueled manic state. The energy inside of me was frantic, all-consuming, and chaotic, and I had to get it out.
I want so badly to tell her everything. To tell her how I struggle every fucking day to feel worthy to just breathe the same air as her. But I’m terrified that when she learns what a mess I am, she’ll run in the opposite direction. My only strategy right now is to keep my darkness hidden until we’re close enough that I can somehow trust her feelings for me, and trust that maybe she’ll be able to look past my damage.
Right now, even thinking about it, about letting her in and risking losing her forever, makes me nauseous.
The sex is spectacular. No doubt about that. She’s the sweetest, kindest, sexiest woman I’ve ever met. I desperately want to be able to take her out in public, let everyone know she’s my girlfriend, and not hide a thing from anyone.
At least, I want that until the voices creep in, like they did late last night, keeping me up, tossing and turning on sheets that still smelled like her.
Like us.
My shift today doesn’t start until the evening, so after dragging my tired ass to the gym, which was thankfully empty, I come home for a long shower, and then I sit on my couch to call my parents.
Because talking about them with Kat last night made me not only miss them, but also realize it’s been too long since I had the time for a good conversation with them. And while they might not know everything about my mental health, they know enough to be a safe place for me.
The video chat connects, and I’m staring at the ceiling. “Hey Mom, tilt the phone down so I can see you,” I remind her patiently, the way I do every time we talk. She’s never really got the hang of technology and figuring out where the camera is on her phone.
“Oh right.” There’s a rustle, but a few seconds later, I see her face smiling back at me. “Hi honey, how are you, my baby?”
I’m a single child, not because they didn’t want more kids but because fertility issues made it impossible. I’m their rainbow baby, coming after too many losses to mention. Which means my parents dote on me, and my mom still calls me her baby. There was a time when it bothered me, but not anymore. Now I know it’s simply important for her to show her love any way she can.
“I’m okay. How are you and Dad? Did you get that company to come and plow the driveway again?”
Winter worries me when it comes to my elderly parents. They can’t keep up with the snow removal necessary for where they live, and it’s the one regret I have about moving so far away — not being around to help them. But leaving the small town I grew up in became absolutely necessary after high school.
It’s still hard for me to go back there for any length of time.
Mom and I catch up for a few minutes before she asks the question I was really hoping she had forgotten to ask.
“And how about that interview for the promotion in the department? Am I talking to the future Detective Callaghan?” she asks eagerly, her face beaming with pride.
I hate myself in this moment. Because my only two options are to disappoint her or lie to her.
“They had to postpone interviews. Maybe in the new year.” The lie falls off my tongue far too easily, but the guilt that comes with it sits like a stone in my gut. The truth is, I didn’t apply. I didn’t think I deserved to. Last I heard, they filled one of the positions.
But my mom still thinks I’m perfect and amazing, and I don’t have the heart to tell her she’s wrong.
