Page 44 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
“Don’t thank me for stating facts.”
We pull into the parking garage of our building.
“Hunter,” I start, then stop. I’m not sure what I was going to say.
He looks at me expectantly, those gray-blue eyes focused on my face.
“Nothing,” I finish lamely. “Never mind.”
But as we ride the elevator up to our floor, I can’t stop thinking about the way he looked at me when those cameras were flashing. Like I was something worth protecting.
I want my eventual husband, whoever he might be, to look at me that way.
Chapter11
Hunter
We have a built-in timeout after the events at the wedding venue. The entire Seattle Havoc team leaves town, and it’s a relief of sorts to me. Things with Juliet were getting a little intense, and having some breathing room from that isn’t really a bad thing.
The road trip itself was brutal. Three cities, one win, two losses that felt like getting punched in the gut repeatedly. Coming home, the plane was practically silent, everyone withdrawn and licking their wounds. I crashed hard the second I hit my bed, still in my clothes, too exhausted to care about anything except unconsciousness.
This morning, I wake up to an empty apartment.
There isn’t a note. No coffee waiting. There aren’t any wafts of citrus and musk perfume. And most importantly, no tiny Juliet bustling around in those ridiculous heels, getting ready for whatever she has scheduled today. I shouldn’t expect any of these things from her, but I long for them, anyway.
I grumble, rub the back of my neck, and mutter, “Awesome. Left me here like a damn dog.”
The silence feels different than it used to. Before Juliet moved in, I liked the quiet. Now it just feels lonely.
I’ve been making more of an effort to be nice lately, because I can’t get her words out of my head.You know you can just not pick a fight every five minutes, right?
It’s harder than it sounds, but I’m trying. Holding the elevator door instead of punching the close button repeatedly. Nodding at Thorne in the hallway instead of scowling. Even mumbling something to Connor that might have been an apology for snapping at him when he dropped my hockey stick.
You know, it’s weird trying to be considerate of other people. For ages, all that mattered to me were my brothers. But I don’t hate it as much as I thought I would.
It feels… not-unpleasant.
I head to the team facility, hoping a good lift will burn off whatever mood I’m in. I’m supposed to meet my brothers here soon, but I want a little extra time alone to get in extra reps. Inside the weight room, the air smells like chalk and testosterone and the lingering ghost of yesterday’s protein shakes.
That’s when Darla’s message comes through.
I shouldn’t check my email during workouts. I definitely shouldn’t open any mail from her. But I do anyway, because apparently I enjoy psychological torture.
Subject: Re: Your “fiancée”
You’re always so easy, Hunter. A pair of tits in a tight dress and you think it’s love.
My grip tightens on the phone until the case creaks.
She’s not subtle. Those outfits? That lipstick? I know what girls like her want. You’re just a stepping stone.
I sneer. What the fuck business is it of hers? A second email pings in before I can even process the first one.
She’s angling for your money, your name, your spotlight. Just like I warned you about everyone else. I told you that people are users.
I don’t forward it to the team’s lawyers like I should. Don’t delete it either. I just stare at the screen, feeling a familiar doubt creep in. The one that whispers I’m only worth what I can give people. Money, muscle, attention, protection. That nobody would want me just for me.
That’s what my mom has instilled in her sons. We’re only as good as the service we provide for her. We never talk about it, but I know Jett and Silas are every bit as fucked up as me.
