“Yeah.” Sadness permeated his taut features.
“My grandfather suggested that I’ve been trying to force myself to live a certain way because that’s what I thought I wanted and it would be a disappointment if I turned out to be wrong. You know how I feel about being wrong.”
He smirked. “And what do you think?”
“I think ... I think ... .” I wasn’t sure how to respond.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he said finally. “It’s none of my business.”
“It’s not that. I just ... don’t know. I think that I keep freaking myself out over ridiculous stuff and can’t seem to stop myself. Last night I rescued a kitten from the alley and I was certain there was someone watching me, even though I’m pretty sure I would’ve seen someone if they were really there. I spent a half hour sitting in the dark by the sliding glass doors, convinced someone was out there.”
He frowned. “If you were afraid, why didn’t you call me?”
That was a ridiculous suggestion. “Um ... I’m pretty sure your girlfriend would have a fit if I started calling in the middle of the night.”
“She wasn’t with me.” He placed his hand on mine. “If you’re afraid, call for help. You don’t have to do everything alone. I don’t understand why you can’t see that.”
The second his hand touched mine a jolt of energy coursed through me. He felt it, too. I could tell by the way his mouth twitched. This time he didn’t remove his hand.
“I imagined it,” I reassured him, my mind immediately going to the other part of the conversation. Why wasn’t he with Monica? They were obviously dating, and had been for at least several months. Were they not spending nights together?
“I don’t care.” Hunter was firm. “If you’re afraid, call.”
“Call you?”
“Yes.” He answered without hesitation. “I’m a police officer. It’s my job to keep the population safe.”
That wasn’t the answer I wanted, but it made sense. “Well ... .” Slowly, I withdrew my hand. Being in close proximity to him caused me to lose my head. He cleared his throat, perhaps feeling the same way, and turned back to Vera. “I wish I knew what was going on with them.”
“Is there a way to find out?”
He shrugged. “Not that I can think of. I could go over there, but it’s not as if they’re going to volunteer information to a cop.”
I tugged on my ear, considering. “What about Barry’s son? He was, like, a year older than us.”
Hunter’s expression turned dark. “Bobby.”
“Bobby Buttons.” I laughed at the name.
“Are you seven?” He was giving me a hard time, but I liked the way his lips curved.
“It’s a stupid name,” I protested.
“It is a stupid name, and he’s an annoying guy.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that he still lives in high school. He still pretends who was popular back then matters. He still wears his letterman’s jacket.”
“You were a popular guy,” I reminded him.
“Yes, but I don’t still wear my letterman’s jacket.”
“That’s because you don’t have it.”
“I ... .” He trailed off. “I forgot. You had it when we broke up.”
“And you never got it back. I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “It’s not like it’s the end of the world. Once you’re out of high school, a letterman’s jacket is pretty useless.”
“Yeah, but it was yours.”
“I don’t care.” He flashed a smile that didn’t make it all the way to his eyes. “Of all the things I lost that day, the letterman’s jacket ranks dead last on the list of things that matter.”
My heart constricted. “I ... .”
He barreled forward before I could say something stupid, which was for the best. “As for Bobby, he still hangs around at the high school, playing basketball in the afternoons.”
“Seriously?” My eyebrows migrated north. “Who does he play with?”
“Other guys who can’t let go of high school. Why do you care about Bobby?”
“I’m just thinking that Bobby might be able to shed some light on his father’s relationship with Vera. If I remember correctly, Barry never could keep his mouth shut. If anybody knows the intricate details of their relationship, it’s likely to be Bobby, because his dad told him.”
“Maybe.” Hunter turned thoughtful. “It’s something to consider.”
He flicked his eyes to the clock on the wall and straightened. “Geez. I didn’t realize it was so late. I need to get going.”
“Hot date?”
“Work. What about you?”
“I definitely don’t have a hot date. Other than Sebastian, I’ve been spending all my time with my grandfather.”
“Who keeps avoiding me. I can’t figure out how he’s dodging me.”
I had a few ideas ... and I was related to all of them. “I’ll tell him you stopped by again.”
“For all the good that it will do.”
I SHOWERED AND CHANGED CLOTHES after my shift. The kitten was passed out on my bed and I told myself I didn’t want to wake him just to take him to the shelter. I figured that could wait, as long as I got some food to last through the night. Part of me knew I was playing a risky game by keeping him longer than necessary. The other part wasn’t ready to say goodbye.
Hunter’s tidbit about Bobby playing basketball at the high school had me heading there. It seemed odd that grown men — we’re talking men pushing thirty — would still be hanging out at the school. Pickup games were a thing when we were seventeen and there was nothing to do. Now, though, it seemed sad.
Sure enough, when I turned the corner that led to the high school I found six men on the court sans shirts. They looked to be going at each other hard, all elbows and picks. I slowed my pace as I headed toward them, squinting to make out faces. Only one of them seemed even remotely familiar as I strolled up.
“Heads up!” a male voice yelled, causing me to instinctively cover my face and slide to the right. The ball that had been careening toward my head flew harmlessly to the side.
The sweaty man who raced over to collect the ball was the only one that I recognized. He offered up a lopsided grin as he regarded me.
“Stormy Morgan. You look exactly the same.”
I wasn’t sure if that was meant as a compliment. “Tristan Carter. You look ... great.” That seemed to be the expected response, especially since he was standing in such a way that all his muscles were on full display. While he’d never been my favorite person in the world, I had to admit that his body was a masterpiece. He looked to spend long hours in the gym. It was working for him.
“Of course I do.” Tristan winked before throwing the ball back to the other men. “I’ll sit out the rest of this game. Be back for the next one.”
There was some grumbling behind my back — I could just imagine what the other players were thinking — but I kept my full attention on Tristan. His hair was the same glossy black that I remembered and he had one of those chins that looked strong in profile but was weak straight on. His smile was exactly the same, and I could only imagine how many women he’d talked out of their panties since high school on the strength of that smile alone. Heck, the number was high even before we’d graduated.