Page 120 of Seeing Grayscale

“I didn’t want to!” she cries. “I swear on my life I didn’t want to. I calledevery day.Your dad refused to let me speak to you. I wrote letters and called your school, but he blocked me out! He only let me talk to you on your birthday and Christmas to better the illusion that I left you for good. And then, whenheknew for certain he’d be running for governor in four years, he begged me to come home. He said we needed to be a family.”

I gape, horrified. “What was it like?” I growl. “Not being a mother for five years? Was it freeing? Did you find love? Friends? A life? WHAT!”

“Hunter Everett,” she snaps. “You aren’t listening to me.”

“Why should I? Why should I give a flying fuck what you have to say?”

She flinches, eyes welling up. “You sound just like him.”

“Don’t you dare. You don’t get to say that to me.” I swipe my hand through the air. “If you didn’t want me to be like him, you shouldn’t have left me.”

“You’re not letting me explain—”

“I have been! And all I’ve heard is that you chose yourself over your child. I always said you died, and I was right! Youaredead!” Before she can open her mouth, I haul ass to my car.

All my pain and rage are clouding everything, and I don’t know how to handle it. Unlocking the door, I rip it open, only sparing a single glance over my shoulder to find her crying into her hands.

This was a mistake.

If my own mother didn’t want me, how do I ever expect my dad to understand me? I’ve got no option.

The mask stays.

FORTY-NINE

Hunterhasbeengonelonger than he said, and I’m spiraling.

It’s too cold to go outside, and there isn’t much to do around the house except snoop. That’s why I’m upstairs, in what I know is Hunter’s old room, because it’s clearly decorated for a little boy.

A twin-sized bed sits against the wall, next to the window. Little airplane figurines are everywhere, and most are covered in a thick layer of dust. A few children's novels sit in a stack, from biggest to smallest.

Even without him telling me, I know his family forgot about this house. They probably have some people come to keep it reasonably clean and to make sure the amenities work, but other than that, it’s like an abandoned ghost town.

Along the walls in the hallway upstairs are family photos; the last one is clearly the last one they took. Hunter’s mom is sitting on their speedboat with a glass of wine in her hand and a large sun hat covering most of her face. Hunter is in his dad’s lap, smiling.

I looked at them all; the earlier ones tell a story of something, but I don’t know what. Eventually, I get bored in his bedroom and wander into the main bedroom, where his parents must’ve slept. There’s a bible on the nightstand, and a piece of paper is tucked into it. I take the paper out, reading over the masculine scrawl. I’ve never read the bible before, but it seems like notes.

Again, losing interest, I stuff it back in the book and head to the walk-in closet.

What the hell is that?

Up in the top corner, sitting on a shelf, is a tote. Rising on my tiptoes, I stretch as far as possible to grab the edge and tug it down. A bunch of stuff rattles inside, and I raise an eyebrow. There aren’t any clothes or shoes in here, just this tote. I take it into the main space, sit on the floor, and pop the lid.

“Holy shit,” I gasp, and gingerly reach inside.

Dildos.

A fuckton of dildos. And plugs. And…

“Oh fuck, it vibrates.” I drop the sex toy into the tote when it comes to life. The loud buzz rattles all the dicks, so I hurry to find the button to switch it off.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out it’s a prostate vibrator. Scratching at the back of my head, I can’t help but gawk at what I’m assuming is Hunter’s stash.

Thatis how terrified he is of getting caught.

He keeps his sex toys hidden in a house no one ever goes to. A flare of jealousy shoots through me as it dawns on me he probably has had people here before. Is this where he takes his fuckboys? Have they used these on him?

I put the lid back on and take a breath.

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