Page 31 of Regret

Chapter 11

Hunter flung open the cabinet and grabbed some painkillers.

He’d pushed himself a little too hard this time. Usually, he was able to pace himself, to know when he’d had enough. But with everything that went down the last twelve hours, he had too much rage and anger inside him to try to control it. He needed more than he usually did—which was why he was currently washing two painkillers down with tequila.

For some reason, the memories were hitting him right in the balls. It was like his past had decided to torture him good, to give him a not so gentle reminder why he was so fucked up.

He closed his eyes, leaned forward, and clutched the kitchen counter, his knuckles turning white. All he saw was her face, her eyes, her smile, and it was killing him.

Seven years. It had been seven damn years and he still remembered her face like he had seen her two minutes ago. Full, rosy lips that had him constantly wishing he could kiss them forever. Long blonde hair that looked like it had been touched by God himself. And then her eyes—bright blue eyes that seemed like they had the soul of an angel burning behind them. There was no way Hunter could feel anything but love and contentment whenever he looked into her eyes. But those eyes were gone. Their light, their radiance didn’t exist anymore—and neither did Hunter’s soul.

His phone beeped and he saw it was a message from Adam.

Open your door, fuck-face.

Adam knew never to pitch up at his apartment without sending a heads-up first. That was just the way Hunter rolled. He didn’t like surprises.

Just as he was about to text Adam to tell him not to come over, there was a knock on the door.

Dammit.

Hunter quickly glanced from the bathroom where Scarlet had been for the last half hour to the front door. Fuck. There was no way in hell he would be able to get Adam to leave without evoking a string of questions which Hunter just didn’t have the energy to answer now, or ever.

Almost one hundred percent sure that Scarlet was probably passed out on the bathroom floor, he stomped over to the front door and flung it open, only to be met by a grinning like an idiot Adam Masters. “Hello, Goldilocks.”

Unamused, Hunter glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s not even eight in the morning, Adam. What do you want?”

“What the fuck happened to your face?” Adam leaned forward to inspect the newly acquired shiner around Hunter’s eye. “Did you piss off your mother again?”

“No.”

“Did you try to fondle the eighty-two-year-old on the first floor again?”

“Fuck you.”

Adam lifted a hand and tapped against the bruised side of Hunter’s face. “So feisty. Ever consider anger management?” He brushed passed Hunter and into the apartment, uninvited.

Hunter slammed the door shut.

“Adam, whatever it is, I don’t have time right now.”

“Oh, come on. You have nothingbuttime.” Adam walked past the kitchen counter and picked up the bottle of tequila. “You don’t think it’s a bit early for the hard stuff?”

“Do you?”

Adam smiled his huge polished-teeth smile. “Hell no.” He opened the bottle and took a big gulp, letting out a moan of appreciation as he swallowed. “God, I love Mexico.”

“Adam. What the fuck are you doing here?” Hunter grabbed the bottle of tequila and placed it back on the counter.

“Can’t a guy just have some coffee with one of his best pals?”

“Nice try.” Hunter leaned against the counter. “What are you doing here?”

Adam pulled his hand through his ink-black hair, his blue eyes suddenly looking everywhere but at Hunter.

Hunter groaned. “Ah fuck, Adam. Not again.”

“What?” Adam shrugged.

---