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Splinters from the railing were beginning to drive up under his fingernails, but the pain was keeping him grounded.
“You doing anything right now? Have any plans?” said Michael.
Hunter swallowed and told himself to knock it off. “Nothing.”
“Good. Come on, I’ll drive you over.”
“I don’t—that’s—” He had to slow his thoughts down or they’d never make it out of his mouth coherently. “I don’t want to go over there.”
“Why?”
Because I don’t want to see her.
Because I don’t want to see him.
Because if I pick up my stuff, that means I really don’t have anywhere to live.
Hunter set his jaw. “What am I going to do, dump it in your basement? Keep sleeping on Nick’s floor?” His voice was hard, but inside, his heart was a frigging wreck. “Casper,” he called. “Hierr.” The dog bolted to his side, but Hunter was already off the porch and heading for the front of the house.
For his car.
“Hey,” Michael called after him.
Hunter didn’t stop.
But Michael was faster than Hunter gave him credit for, and he caught up before Hunter could close the door to his jeep.
Hunter slammed the door back at him, making Michael fall back a step. He followed it up with a solid shove. “Leave me alone,” he shouted. “Just leave me—”
Then his voice broke and he was crying.
This was horrible and humiliating and he wanted to throw the jeep into neutral and just let it roll over himself.
Michael didn’t touch him. Good thing, because Hunter would have punched him.
He imagined it, the motion, the impact, exactly how much force it would take, what a release it would be.
It didn’t help. If anything, he felt coiled more tightly.
He slammed the door and dropped onto the pavement of the driveway, leaning back against his car and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.
“Go away,” Hunter said, hating that his voice was thick and made him sound like a sniveling six-year-old. Casper jumped out of the jeep and lay down beside him.
Michael sat down on the other side.
“That is the opposite of going away,” said Hunter.
“Look,” Michael offered. “Your mom was worried about you.”
“I don’t want to talk about her.”
Michael didn’t say anything to that. He didn’t say anything for so long that Hunter swiped a sleeve across his face, then turned to look at him. “I’m not one of your brothers. Stop sitting here. Go. Away.”
“I don’t think,” Michael began slowly, “that your mom offered to pack up your stuff because she didn’t want you to come back.”
Hunter wanted to hit something. Unfortunately, the people who really deserved it weren’t available. “How the hell do you know?”
Michael looked out at the trees lining the driveway. “I don’t. Not really, I guess.” He paused. “You know, there’s not a manual to the whole parent thing.”
