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LUCAS
I stare down at the thick manila envelope in my hands while pacing outside the mailbox, wondering if this is really a good idea. I have spent weeks working on my portfolio for the writing contest, trying to get the right rhythm for some of my works while also trying to convey emotion. If I fail, what then? I guess this is my first writing contest. It’s not like I should expect first prize. I only started going to the poetry slams recently. I shouldn’t expect to be the best writer in the world after a few classes.
Rachel believes in me. Rachel thinks I should do this. I stop pacing and face the mailbox. Taking a deep breath, I close the distance and open it, ramming the envelope inside and hearing it thumb against the metal container.
There, it’s done. I turn on my heel and force myself back up the steps, ignoring the need to turn around and reclaim it. Just let it go, I tell myself while climbing up the steps to the apartment. Nothing good will come if I sit around and do nothing. I could get third prize, which would also be amazing.
I grimace, pausing before reaching for the door. I imagine getting third prize and my father suddenly getting wind of it. I imagine him calling me, telling me that I should spend my time focusing on better things, that I will always be considered lesser than when it came to my art.
I hear my phone vibrate and grab it, scowling down at the screen.
Well, speak of the devil.
I turn off my phone. I’m definitely not in the mood to speak to my father, especially now with everything going on. I open the door and force a smile at Hunter’s dad swiveling around. He wrinkles his nose while his gaze slides to the sink full of dirty dishes. I fight the need to roll my eyes. Surely, this guy was once a college student himself. Not to mention, the place was worse off before Rachel came onto our lives.
“Hello,” I say in a force cheerful voice. “You’re still… here huh?”
Hunter’s dad sighs and bobs his head up and down. “Yes, we’re still here.”
I close the door and stride further inside the apartment. I plop down on the couch and turn the TV on, hoping his dad gets the hint that I don’t want to talk. Unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be anything on. I click through the channels, switching from infomercials to sitcom reruns I’m not interested in watching. I hear movement and flinch when Hunter’s dad sits down next to me.
“Hunter is still looking for God knows what,” his dad mutters while crossing his arms. “Oh! The game.”
I set the remote down, settling on the WNBA. I’m not really a basketball fan, but I’ll take it. My gaze slides to Hunter’s dad, leaning against the armrest. The guy looks like an older, more conservative version of Hunter with blond greying hair clipped close and tired blue eyes. He’s also big; tall and stocky with a bit of a beer gut around the waist. Glasses sit low on his nose and he sighs, pushing them upwards while watching the game.
“Are you about done in there?” he shouts all of a sudden, making me jump.
“I can’t find it!” Hunter shouts back.
I grimace at the anxiety-filled tone Hunter’s voice takes and I worry something might be gravely off. Dealing with Hunter beats dealing with his dad so I rise and stride towards his room. “I’ll go check on him,” I say with a forced smile.
Opening the door, I wrinkle my nose at the scattered dirty and wrinkled clothes around the room. Hunter sits next to the empty drawers, pressed against the wall. There’s a bit more color in his face. His hair is washed and tied back in a man bun. His bruises are gone, yet he still looks haunted. Tears stream down his face and I feel like he isn’t even looking at me, but looking at something else; something not visible to anyone but him.
“Hey, bro,” I say, trying to be soothing even though I find this whole situation awkward as hell. I’m not really the hugging and coddling kind. That’s more Rachel’s thing, but seeing how she and Seth aren’t home yet, I guess I have to man up and help Hunter with whatever it is he’s going through. I lower myself, sitting next to him and grimacing when my head bumps the windowsill. “How’s it going?”
Hunter blinks and groans while rubbing his eyes. “I can’t find it,” he rasps while tilting his head up to the ceiling.
“What is it? Maybe I can help,” I say while looking at the clutter on his floor.
Hunter shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t need it. It’s just something-” He inhales deeply and releases a shuddering breath- “Mom gave me before I went off to college. I probably lost it at one of those house parties.” He scowls. “I think I put it in my wallet.” He sniffs and turns his bloodshot eyes towards me, offering a sad smile. I feel terrible for him, watching his bottom lip tremble while he tries to speak. “It was just a little good luck charm. A metal four-leaf clover.” He shakes his head and covers his face with his hands. “I can’t believe I lost it,” he sobs.
I grind my teeth and force my awkwardness aside. This is my best friend. He’s not being weak. He’s mourning. “Come here,” I say gruffly, pulling him to me and wrapping my arms around him. He cries against my chest, his shoulders shaking with each heave of breath he takes. I want to tell him that we will find it later; that it might be under his bed, but I can’t make those promises. Not when his mom is gone, and he’s dealing with that internal pain.
Eventually, we all have to learn how to let go.
I hear the front door opening and slamming shut and I roll my eyes, knowing Seth has finally returned home. I really wish he could be just a bit quieter.
“We’re back!” I hear Rachel call.
Hunter’s head pops up, and he quickly wipes his eyes. My arms fall away and I rise, holding out a hand for Hunter to take. “Not a word of this,” I say sternly while holding a finger up to Hunter’s face.
Hunter chuckles. “Of course not,” he says before leading the way out of his room.
“I’m Rachel,” I hear as we exit and I watch Rachel smile up at Hunter’s dad, holding out her hand for him to take.
Hunter’s dad frowns and shakes her hand. “You live here?” He asks. “With these guys? Do your parents know?”
Rachel chuckles while shaking his hand. “What they don’t know doesn’t hurt them.”
