Page 89 of Seeing Grayscale

Wet lips. Coarse beard. Heat and moans. It could be so much more if only he’d let it—if only he stood up for himself. If only he could see that of all the lonely men he could’ve stumbled upon, he found the one who would never let him go.

He foundme.

I could take this further, and part of me wants to. The animal inside all of us screams that if I drop to my knees, take the hard cock digging into me down my throat, he might change his mind.

But he’shadthat.

He’s had sex and blowjobs, and probably more bodies gracing beds than most people have in their whole lives. Nothing about me will bridge over the trench he’s dug between us. It’s pointless.

I break the kiss before we do something we can’t take back. His hazel eyes search mine. Those hands that were seconds away from pulling all sanity from my mind settle on my waist. My breaths puff out in heavy pants as I cling to his shoulders.

“What do you need?” he whispers, smoothing his thumbs over my hip bones in soothing strokes.

What I need and what he would give me are two different things. “You’re okay with living this way?” I ask, catching him off guard.

The lust vanishes from his eyes. “It’s what I have to do.”

“For who, Hunter? You? Or your shitty dad?”

His hands drop from my sides, so I also pull mine away. “He’s mydad,” Hunter insists, stepping out of our bubble. “Myfather.”

“And? If he can’t love all of you, he doesn’t love any of you.”

“I have to try!” he cries, shocking me into silence. Glancing at the ceiling, chin wobbling, he blinks furiously before saying, “Too much time has passed for it not to pay off. He’ll…come around. He might open up to things, especially if I run for office. Then he’ll…see. He’ll see, alright?” He throws his arms out wide, shaking his head in blatant denial, and continues, “And if he doesn’t, then I’ll make my decision. If there’s no hope, if I’m a complete fucking failure in his eyes then…it doesn’t matter anymore. Until then, this is what I have to do.”

“Why?” I ask. “All of that doesn’t explainwhy. You clearly seek his approval—his love—but to what end?”

“You want to know why?” he barks hysterically. “He didn’t fucking abandon me. When my mom left, he stayed. And I owe it to him for raising me, for giving me everything I have. I owe it to him to be the son he wanted. And I’m trying, Gray. I’ve tried my whole life to stop it. To keep this part of me tucked neatly in the back of some god forsaken drawer. But I’m human. Ineedthings. So I keep it a secret.”

There’s no part of his speech that I can relate to. This is exclusively Hunter. I can relate to his desperation, fear, and unrelentingneedto cling to scraps of what could be, but that's it.It’s why I stayed in my hometown, why I watch the family living in my house, why I can’t ever trust.

But much like I’m being forced to, he has to realize that scraps won’t ever be enough. You can’t run off the bare minimum indefinitely. At some point, your body and mindwillgive out.

It breaks my fucking heart that is his future.

“Okay,” I say gently. “I’ll keep your secret.”

He nods, swallows, and runs his fingers through his hair. “Are you hungry?”

A weak laugh escapes me because even now, amid his panic and raw emotions, he wants to make sure I’m taken care of. It’s that quality that’ll eventually destroy me.

“Yeah. I’m hungry.”

Flickering hopeful lights spark in his eyes. “Let’s see what we can get.”

I eyeball thecurry.

It smells good, but I’ve never had it before. Hunter said this place is great. “Hands down the best authentic Indian food in the state.” He ordered a medium spice level. I went with mild because I don’t know how this restaurant scales spicy. And I still vividly remember the one time I ate too many Hot Cheetos when I was fresh out of jail.

I thought I was going to die from how much red came up in my puke.

“Scoop some with the bread,” he instructs from where we sit at his dining room table.

Frowning at my to-go plate, I do as he says, hoping like hell it isn’t too spicy. As I gingerly take a bite, flavors burst on my tongue. It’s savory and different. It’s fucking good. Abandoning the bread, I shovel some meat and sauce on my spoon and inhale another mouthful. He chuckles, shaking his head at me.

“What?” I ask around my bite.

“You’re just cute.” It’s like a cool breeze on an extremely hot day—a refreshing pause in the midst of misery.

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