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“Hunter, come back here. Right now.”
The command in Michael’s tone stopped him, more effectively than a fist or a grip on the arm would have. Something about it felt reassuring and immeasurably painful at the same time, because it reminded him so much of his father.
Emotion coiled around his chest again, clouding his mind with memories he didn’t want right now, memories that had him turning to face Michael, to respect authority, before realizing that nothing was stopping him from just getting in the jeep and leaving.
But he’d already turned, and he met Michael’s eyes. He didn’t move back toward the porch, however.
Michael’s voice was hard. “Quit running from confrontation and sit down.”
“I’m not running from you.”
“No, you wouldn’t run if I tried to take a swing at you. But every time I try to have a conversation, you bolt. Sit down.”
Was that true? Hunter considered.
It was.
He didn’t like that.
He sat down on the stoop, leaning against the post opposite Michael. “Fine. Talk.”
“If you’re going to stay here, you can’t just disappear after school. You understand me?”
Hunter kept his voice even. “I said I was sorry about the job.”
“I don’t give a shit about the job! I care about the fact that you’re a sixteen-year-old kid who might have a target on his back.”
Hunter stared back at him until Michael looked like he wanted to reconsider taking a swing.
Then Michael sighed, a long breath that he blew out through his teeth. “Jesus, kid, I wish I could get inside your head and figure you out.”
Hunter wished the same thing because maybe then Michael could explain it to him.
Michael was still studying him. “What happened the other night? After we went to get your stuff—I thought you’d loosen up a bit. But it’s like the opposite happened.”
The other night. Michael’s promise to repay his grandfather.
The carnival. So much Kate that he almost blushed now, remembering.
The fire. Calla. The gunshot.
For an instant he wanted to tell Michael everything, just so he wouldn’t have to carry it all on his own. He just wanted to crumple on these wooden boards and let all this anxiety and worry and anger and rage pour down the steps.
But the memory of his father was still too fresh, and he could only imagine how his dad would react to him breaking down. Especially with someone he was supposed to hate.
Buck up, Hunter. It’s not anyone else’s responsibility to solve your problems.
Besides, how would that go? “Well, Michael, I’m glad you’re leaving town, because I’m about ready to screw you all over. Mind if I cry on your shoulder for a sec?”
Yeah. Sure.
He’d already lost it once, and he wouldn’t do it again.
“Nothing happened,” he said.
“Well, then, there’s a whole lot of that nothing rattling around inside your skull.”
“Was there a point to this conversation?”
