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“Yeah, yeah,” he said.
He looked at his phone again, wanting to call . . . someone. He just couldn’t think of anyone who wouldn’t hang up on him. Explaining what had just happened—he couldn’t take it. He already felt guilty enough. He didn’t need someone else to add to it. No way he could ring up Becca or the Merricks and say he’d been thrown out of his house.
Gabriel would probably laugh in his face.
It would be dark soon. He could go one night without eating. Hunter fished the milk bones out of the glove box, divided them in half, and tossed them in the grass for Casper.
Then he lay back in the grass and stared at the darkening sky, attempting nothing more challenging than filling his lungs with air, until a park ranger came around and told him to leave.
After writing him a citation for his dog being loose.
Hunter shoved the citation in the glove box and started the ignition. His fingers felt like icicles, and his empty stomach was starting to protest this whole not eating thing.
The headache was back, clawing at his temples.
Hunter didn’t want to drive far, because he didn’t know how long he’d need to make his fuel last. He settled on the parking lot behind the twenty-four-hour Target on Ritchie Highway, parking in a row of other cars that probably belonged to employees. He blasted the heat as high as he could tolerate, until his breath fogged the windshield and even Casper was panting. Then he pulled an extra pair of sweatpants over his jeans and climbed into the backseat, cramming his legs into the small space and resting his head on the duffel bag.
Casper crammed himself onto the bench seat, too, pressing his back against Hunter’s chest and his nose into the space under Hunter’s chin.
He’d be covered in dog hair in the morning, but Hunter didn’t care. Casper would keep him warm.
He checked his phone again. Nothing.
His throat felt tight.
He told himself to knock it off.
He wished he knew how to fix this. All of it.
His breath was catching. Casper lifted his head and licked Hunter’s cheek.
There was no one here to see, but he’d know, and he wouldn’t let himself lose it. Not when he’d been the one to cause this.
But his breath wouldn’t stop hitching, and he buried his face in the scruff of Casper’s neck.
He missed his father so much.
He thought of where he was right now, and how he’d gotten here, and knew exactly how disappointed his father would be.
He’d fix it. Somehow. He’d fix this.
His phone chimed, and Hunter swiped at his eyes. His heart flew with hope. Maybe his mother had reconsidered? Maybe she’d give him a chance to explain?
But it wasn’t his mother’s number on the face of the phone.
What do you stare at when you’re not in school?
Kate.
Hunter lifted his head. For an instant, he thought about turning the phone off and burying it in his pocket—but really, what else did he have to do?
Obviously I stare at text messages from girls with theories.
Her response was lightning quick.
Slow night, huh?
He smiled.
