Page 43 of Seeing Grayscale

Wetting my lips, I nod to Tammy and head out. As soon as I’m outside, leaning heavily on my crutch as I hobble through her complex, I read over the texts.

Hunter: Don’t tell anyone this, but I’m bored to tears.

Hunter: What are you doing?

Hunter: Shit. You’ve got your phone off again, don’t you?

I've noticed that he likes to text me while he’s at work. The next couple are from last night.

Hunter: I hate this house. I know plenty would kill for it, but I hate it. It’s so damn empty all the time. Me and the damn walls.

Hunter: I don’t want to live here anymore. Just want to fly away. Stupid, right?

And the following are from 3 am.

Hunter: Whenever I can’t reach you, I can’t sleep. Every horrible thing my mind can conjure up involves you in it.I can't stop thinking about how I never should've let you go back.

Hunter: Sorry. I…drank a little more than I should have. I have work in four hours.

Hunter: Hope you’re safe, Gray.

I stop walking.

He got drunk and texted me?

I frown at the phone, my grip tightening on it.

See, this is what confuses the fuck out of me. I talk to him—through texts—more than anyone else, and whenever we go back and forth, it’s like talking to a distant friend. You aren’t exactlyclose, but it’s friendly enough to be pleasant. It’s only when I have this thing off that he startsthis,almost like a weird neediness.

Like I’m the only person he knows.

He knows Brent. Why isn’t he texting Brent at 3 am?

In my head, I’ve imagined his secret lover as some twerp with an annoying voice. Someone who doesn’t realize that Hunter would never risk anything for someone like them. Fuck, that’s a nasty train of thought, but one I’ve ridden many times over the past two weeks. Brent might get to fuck Hunter, but that’s all it is.

Right?

Blowing out a breath, I type out a text, press send, and then pocket my phone. I need to put as much distance between Tammy’s and myself as possible.

TWENTY-ONE

Thedullthrobinmy temples doesn’t ease as I rub them.

I drank way too much last night, which resulted in a few texts I’ll regret whenever the recipients get back to me.

Brent—well, he’ll have to accept it. I don’t know what possessed me to end our arrangement, but I haven’t wanted anything to do with him since I met Gray.

Try as I might to pretend I don't feel anything more than a platonic friendship; there is this yearning to have Gray around.

I don’t double dip, not after what happened. In the long run, Brent will realize that even though my heart was never in it, my cock isn’t either. I’m painfullyunaroused most days.

As for the other texts, well, I’m not sure how Gray will take them. I admitted that I think about him, even if the text comes from a place of concern. Little does he know, I’malwaysthinking about him.

Rising from my desk, I cross the space in my office to the water dispenser and fill an empty coffee mug.

Last night, something just fucking cracked in me. Between my dad breathing down my neck and the weight of my lies bearing down on me, I had to do something to dull the pain. Downing the entire mug’s worth of water, I set the cup on the countertop built into the suite’s wall and stalk back to my desk.

We are taking over a smaller airline this week, and I’ve been swamped with the mundane details of it all. Commercial companies like AirSeven—a cheeky play on the seven continents—require more time to square away when brought on with us. It isn’t until I’m back at my house, alone, that the familiar sinking sensation comes. The only reprieve is when Gray texts me.

---