Page 87 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
If I’m not careful, this fake relationship is going to turn into something real. And once that happens, there’s no going back to the safety of pretending I don’t care.
Chapter20
Juliet
I’ve secured you an interview at Harver, Lansley, and Burnsfeld. They’re one of the premier corporate law firms and they’re willing to take you on as an intern while you finish law school–
Ugh. Not interested. Especiallynow.
My mom’s text comes at an inopportune time, just as the usher guides me to the team box at the Rainier Bank Center. When I step inside, instantly the entire energy in the arena is absolutely electric tonight.
I’m wearing Hunter’s jersey, like everybody else seems to be. The only difference is that he gave me mine. The memory makes me smile softly to myself.
It’s louder than usual with the fans going wild for Hunter in ways that make my chest feel tight. There are chainsaw graphics flashing on the jumbotron every few minutes, chants erupting every time he gets near the puck. A group of fans in the lower bowl holds up foam chainsaws and waves them like weapons.
Then I see something that makes me flinch. A woman near the glass pulls up her shirt, revealing a phone number scrawled across her chest in black marker along with “Call me, Chainsaw” in bold letters.
I look toward Hunter just in time to see the way his shoulders tighten. He doesn’t acknowledge the attention, doesn’t even glance toward the woman who’s basically throwing herself at him. His movements on the ice are aggressive and controlled, but there’s no enjoyment in it. He’s not soaking up the adoration like I’d expect. He’s surviving it.
Not something I would have expected to see a month ago. Maybe I never noticed how it wears on him.
I study Hunter closely as the game goes on. He plays hard tonight. Harder than usual. He seems angry, like he’s trying to prove something to someone. I get the Chainsaw thing now. The fans might have made up his nickname, but he has a mentality that goes with it. When the inevitable fight breaks out in the second period, Hunter throws off his gloves and goes toe-to-toe with a guy half a foot shorter than him. The crowd goes absolutely wild.
My heart races watching it, but not for the same reasons as everyone else. I’m not thrilled with the violence. I’m worried.
About his safety, I tell myself. Not about how crushed I’d feel if he got hurt. Just professional concern for the success of our arrangement.
After the final buzzer, I head down toward the tunnel for my first real post-game media coordination. I’m tingly with excitement, nervous energy making my hands shake slightly. It’s the first time the Havoc organization has really trusted me with something like this, even if it’s only to help Ivy with damage control.
I walk into the tunnel just as everything explodes.
“Hunter!” comes a woman’s voice. “Hunter Alan Huxley! I know you can hear me!”
I whip my head around to identify the source of the voice, a woman’s voice that swings between sweet and sharp, like honey with glass shards mixed in. Hunter freezes in the tunnel and I realize that something important is happening. As I watch, his entire body language changes. The confident swagger disappears, replaced by something that looksalmostlike fear.
That’s when I see her. The woman is tall and scrawny, with bleached blond hair, deep blue eyes, and outstretched hands tipped with fake nails. I don’t know who she is at first, but when Hunter backs away from her, I realize this is bad.Verybad.
She reaches toward Hux, a sneer on her lips, and something clicks into place. The similarity is uncanny.
This woman is Darla Huxley, Hunter’s mother. She’s gotten past security and into the player tunnel, which should be impossible. She’s wearing a designer purse that probably cost more than most people’s rent.
I’ve never seen Hunter backpedal to duck from someone’s touch before.
“Hunter, baby, don’t you want to talk to your mama?” Darla calls, reaching out to grab his arm before he can escape. The slightly terrified look on his face is enough to make me move.
Oh,hellno. This lady doesn’t get to grab at Hunter, especially when he clearly wants nothing to do with her.
I rush forward to help, instinct overriding everything else. I try to put myself between them, to pull her back from him, but Darla reacts with surprising strength. She grabs a handful of my hair and yanks hard enough to bring tears to my eyes.
“Get your hands off me, you little slut,” she snarls.
Hunter immediately shouts and moves to intervene, but not to protect himself. He’s trying to distract his mother, to redirect her attention away from me. “Mom, let her go. She’s not part of this.”
Darla softens for a moment, loosening her grip on my hair. She seems enamored with her son. “How are you, Hunty? I miss you so much.”
“Let go, Mom. Please.” He carefully separates her from me, disentangling her from my hair with a ginger touch, and then pushing me behind him protectively. He growls, “You need to leave.”
“I just want to talk to my son. Is that so wrong?”
