Page 144 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
He opens up then. Quietly. Honestly.
“My mom would call me crying,” he says, staring at his hands. “You know, after she got caught stealing from me. She’d tell me she was proud of me, and say that she just wanted to help manage my money so I could focus on hockey. Then she’d guilt me about not trusting my family. She was beyond hurt that I’d even question her motives.”
There’s no anger in his voice now. It’s more of a deep grief. He shakes his head as though he still can’t believe it. I grip his hand, trying to let him know that he’s not alone.
“When it all came out, she didn’t even deny it. She just said I made it easy by being so trusting. Like it was my fault for believing her.” He looks up at me. “Part of me still thinks maybe she was right.”
I’m devastated listening to this. I’m seeing this side of him I never imagined. Not the public version. Not the reckless, angry man.
Someone gentle, maybe wounded even. Someone who’s still standing despite everything.
“She wasn’t right,” I say firmly. “What she did was unforgivable.”
“But she’s still my mom.”
“Being someone’s mother doesn’t give you the right to destroy them. What your mom did was more than just stealing money from you.” I take a deep breath. “She stole your ability to trust, Hux. Your ability to let strangers in, if it ever existed, was just nuked by her greed.”
We sit in silence for a moment, processing. Then he laughs, but there’s no humor in it.
“You know what’s funny? I told you in college that you weren’t the type guys go for. Too uptight.”
“Yeah, I remember.” The sting of those words, the way they confirmed every insecurity I had about myself. “And I told you that you were just another hockey player looking to get laid. That not every girl was going to fall at your feet.”
“I deserved it.”
I shrug. “We were both assholes. We were kids.” I pause. “Though I wasn’t wrong about the getting laid part.”
He actually laughs at that, and some of the tension breaks. “Fair point. If you’d have even looked my way, I’d have made sure you knew I was more than a little interested.”
“How? By giving me a noogie?” I tease.
He looks at me with a sparkle in his eye, like I’m the most interesting thing in the room. That’s mildly terrifying. If Hunter ever sees the authentic version of me, he won’t look at me like that anymore. I frown.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks.
“Nothing good.”
“Tell me anyway.”
I study his face, seeing genuine curiosity there. Not the polite interest people show when they’re trying to be nice. He has a sincere desire to understand.
“I’m thinking about how you look at me. It seems like you actually want to know me. And that scares me, because the real me isn’t always very nice.”
“I’ve seen you not be nice, Juliet. You’re ruthless when you need to be. It’s one thing I like about you.”
“You say that now.”
“I’ll say it later too.”
“You are just saying things because you want to get in my pants later.”
“Honestly, Monroe.” His blue-gray eyes spear me. “I wouldn’t do that. One of the best things about being around you is the complete lack of lying about who you are. I like that when I’m looking at you, you don’t put up walls or make up stories.”
He cups my jaw. I run my fingers along his hand, gulping.
“Do you think most people aren’t real?” I ask gently.
“I don’t know.” He brushes a hair back behind my ear, being unbearably sweet. “If I were being truthful, I’d say that I haven’t let anyone close to me in a very long time. But you’ve worked your way under my skin. It turns out it’s not terrible. It’s…” He pauses. “Pretty great. You’re pretty great, Firecracker.”
