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Sixteen
Skye
The hours of that night ticked by. I wound up getting up to put his clothes in the dryer and then once more to collect said clothes and bring them back into the bedroom. All the while, Hunter slept heavily in my bed, with most of my covers wrapped around him. I wound up pressing myself against him to get warm.
I watched him most of the night. At one point I said to his sleeping face, “If you looked this peaceful all the time, trouble wouldn’t find you.”
When the sun finally poked through the cloudy sky, Hunter finally rummaged around, cracking his eyes open. I was already tracing the frown on his tired face, smiling weakly. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”
The desolate look on his face stole my breath. His eyes immediately watered, and his arm reached out to me. He grabbed me around the waist and tugged me to him, holding me tight. He buried his face into my neck, and I felt his tears as they fell along my collar bone.
“Skye…” he murmured brokenly.
“Shh.” I stroked his hair, waiting for his body to relax. “It’s okay, Hunt.”
Even then, young as we were, Hunter was enormous. His giant frame swallowed me whole, and yet there I was, this puny thing, consoling him, makinghimfeel safe. “No one can find you here,” I promised. “No one can hurt you.”
It was a line I always used after his father beat him black and blue and he came crawling to my window. I shut my eyes, holding back my tears because my poor Hunter had been through hell—always hell, nothing but misery and pain.
I felt my heart grow tenfold as I held him, kissing his head as he slowly calmed down. Then he pulled away to look at me, his dark eyes burning into my own. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. His expression said it all: he fucked up.
“You didn’t kill anyone, did you?” I asked him, holding my breath.
“I don’t think he’s dead,” he answered truthfully. “But it got ugly fast.”
“Tell me what happened.”
But he shook his head. “I can’t.”
“Hunt—”
“Please, Skye, I can’t talk about it.” He looked away from me, his face loaded with guilt.
“I’m only worried,” I explained, sighing. “There were people looking for you.” He looked back at me, but he wasn’t startled. “They were at your house.”
“Did they see you?” he demanded.
I shook my head. “No.”
His shoulders relaxed. “I wouldn’t worry about it—”
“Really?” I cut in, raising a brow. “Two guys, Hunt, much older than us, looking for you, one saying you belonged in a mental institution.”
“It’s fine.”
I paused, brows coming together. “Do you know these guys?”
Now he was sitting up, and I was having none of his running away crap. I grabbed his arm and tugged him back down. “Hunt!” I hissed. “You will tell me.”
“They’re probably from the garage, Skye. That’s where I got into the fight.”
My eyes widened. “Are you going to lose your job?”
His gaze flashed to mine, and he took a moment to answer. His head tilted to the side as he studied me, finally saying, “Why do you care so much what happens to me, Nugget? If I get into trouble or not, it’s my own doing—”
“You know I care what happens to you,” I fumed before wincing because I’d spoken loudly. I glared at him next, my fingers digging into his arms. “I’m tired of you saying things like that. It’s really gotta stop. You know I love you, Hunt—”
“What do you love?” he retorted, shrugging my hand off him now as he turned his back to me. “I got nothing, Skye—I’mnothing.”
