Page 31 of Still Missing You

“Did you know Matthew wasn’t using his first name?” Hunter asks, getting to the questions I knew were coming.

I shake my head. After tonight, I realize just how little I knew about Matthew. I sure as hell didn’t know he was a documentary filmmaker, for instance.

As if reading my mind, Hunter asks, “Did he ever mention making a movie?”

“No, never.”

“What about equipment?” Hunter shifts a little on the bed so he’s facing me. “Did he leave anything behind in the apartment?”

“Nothing,” I tell him. “He didn’t bring anything with him besides a suitcase. I helped him unload his car the night he moved in, and he only had a suitcase. Nothing else.”

Hunter rubs his chin with the back of his hand thoughtfully.

“Do you think Kirkland might have made the whole thing up about Matthew making a movie?” I ask. “So we wouldn’t think he had anything to do with Matthew’s disappearance.”

Hunter shakes his head. “I’m not sure, but it’s a weirdly specific lie. Someone left bruises on Matthew’s neck, and given Kirkland’s history, he’s still our best bet.”

Before I can say anything else, a yawn catches me off guard, nearly swallowing my face. “I don’t care what time it is; I’m exhausted.”

“Me too,” Hunter says. “It’s been a long day.”

We take turns in the bathroom, showering, brushing our teeth, and getting ready for bed. I let Hunter go first, even after he offers the bathroom to me. I’d like to say it was for all altruistic reasons, but going last means I can take my time without worrying about someone waiting.

When I come out of the bathroom, Hunter is already in bed, the covers are pulled up to his waist and his bare chest visible. Maybe we’ll have a repeat of last night. My cock twitches at the thought, but as I slip into the bed next to him, his next question kills any hope of that.

“Last night,” he says, sounding unusually hesitant. “When you asked if I was seeing anyone, why did you look so surprised when I said I wasn’t?”

My stomach sinks like a stone, and for a second, I consider lying. I’m not proud, but telling him that it had been so long since we’d last been together, just assuming there would be someone, would be so much less humiliating than the truth.

Still, I can’t lie to him now. Not again. I’ve already lied to him too much, and I don’t want to ever again.

“I know you were engaged,” I say. “And I thought you would be married by now.”

Hunter turns, so he can face me head-on. “How did you know I was engaged?”

My face burns. “When you were shot, I read about it, and I guess I just panicked. I drove to the hospital to see you.”

“You came to see me in the hospital?” he repeats as if he were trying to make sense of my words.

I nod. “When I got to your floor, I saw your mom. She was talking to a woman our age, reassuring her. When I saw the ring on her finger and the way she looked at you, I knew she was the woman you planned to marry, and I didn’t want to interfere.”

At the time, I knew I should have been happy for Hunter. She was beautiful, and marrying her meant he’d have the life I always wanted for him. Instead, I felt hollow inside, and I hated myself for it.

“I decided to leave. She obviously loved you, and you would recover, and no doubt be very happy together. I didn’t want to disturb any of that.”

“Jenna,” Hunter says, his expression impossible to read. It is the same unreadable calm he wore earlier when we talked about Matthew, and it leaves me unsure of what he is really feeling. “Her name is Jenna, and she called off the wedding. She didn’t think I was invested in us. She said I was holding a part of myself back. She was right.”

My stomach churns, listening to Hunter’s flat voice. He must hate me, blame me for our breakup, making it hard for him to trust.

It wasn’t bad enough that I’d fucked up my own life, but I fucked up his too, and I hate it.

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly tight, and roll onto my side away from Hunter. “Good night.”

“Good night,” he says, then the lamp on the nightstand clicks off, and the room goes dark.

I close my eyes and will myself to fall asleep, but my brain won’t shut down. Instead, it cycles through the day, returning to Hunter’s unreadable expression while he lies next to me in the bed.

Unlike last night, when I couldn’t keep my eyes open, tonight the pillows feel too soft yet too lumpy at the same time, the covers are too hot and the bed so cushy it feels like it’s swallowing me.