Sex, Not Love

“No. He was referring to you, Nat.”

“I’m confused. I thought you said he was sad about his brother.”

“I did. That’s the confusing part. One minute he’d be saying he missed you, and the next he’d be talking about his brother. It was like you two were connected in his mind.”

I’d gotten stuck a few words back. “He said he missed me?”

“He said he didn’t give a shit about the promotion when he didn’t have you to share it with.”

My heart thumped against my ribcage. “I don’t understand. I never understood. If he wants to share things with me, then why say goodbye?”

“I asked him that very question.”

“And what did he say?”

“He said it was for your own good.”

“What does that mean?”

“I couldn’t get him to talk about it more. He just kept refilling his glass and talking about random stuff the rest of the night.”

“Like what?”

“So much of it made no sense. For example, he rattled on about wanting to put birdseed in the birdhouses in the yard, and then he started to talk about random memories of his brother. Apparently Jayce’s birthday is coming up. I honestly had no idea he’d committed suicide. I guess I never pushed Derek to talk about it much because he was close with both Hunter and Jayce. I knew Jayce had died young, and when I asked how he died, Derek had said he had a genetic disorder and was sick for a long time. Last night, after Hunter passed out on our couch, I questioned Derek about why he’d lied.”

“What did he say?”

“He said he hadn’t really lied. That Jayce was sick, and that he chose to remember that as why he died, even if it wasn’t technically the way his life ended.”

Jesus. “So he was sick and took his own life?”

“Yes. And Hunter never fully moved on from it. They were close.”

Anna was quiet for a while, both of us taking in the enormity of her words. “He’d hung himself, Nat. In his bathroom.”

My chest began to shudder with tears. Losing a loved one to illness was tough enough, but adding the tragedy of suicide…the people left behind often felt so much guilt.

“You okay?” Anna asked. I knew from the shake in her voice that she was crying, too.

“No.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s awful to think about. I couldn’t even be pissed off at Derek for keeping it from me. Because once he told me the truth, I felt sick and wished he hadn’t. Now I can’t stop imagining it.”

Anna and I talked for two more hours after that. I made her tell me every detail she could remember from the entire night—three times. I had a rip-roaring headache by the time we hung up, but the ache in my skull dimmed in comparison to the ache inside my chest.

I wanted to fly out to California and hold Hunter while he grieved for his brother. It didn’t even matter that we weren’t a we anymore—I just wanted to be there for him.

That night I tossed and turned in my bed for hours. My mind raced over so many thoughts. Was Hunter’s loss related to why he didn’t want to have a relationship with me? Could he have attachment fears after such a trauma? He’d lost his mother and his brother at such a young age. Maybe the losses had left traumatic battle scars that made him afraid to go to war for his heart anymore?

Even though Anna had cast a bright light on the psyche of Hunter Delucia, I felt more in the dark about the man than ever. It was almost midnight when I grabbed my cell off the bedside table. My fingers hovered over Hunter’s name. Only nine on the west coast—not too late to call him. If I did, he’d definitely put two and two together and know that Anna had called to tell me about last night. If I didn’t, I’d never be able to sleep.

Deciding to text, rather than call, I figured I’d crack the communication door open and he could either chose to talk to me or shut it in my face once again. After another ten minutes of deliberating the right words to send, I went with simple.

Natalia: Thinking of you. Up to talk?

My pulse raced as I hit send and waited for a response. Immediately the text showed as delivered. After another ten seconds, it changed from delivered to read. I held my breath when the dots started to jump around. Anticipation throbbed in my veins as I waited for a response. After a few seconds, the dots stopped moving, and I let out an audible breath. I stayed frozen, staring at my screen and assuming the dots had stopped moving because he’d finished typing and the words were racing through the air on their way to my phone. I waited for them to arrive.

Five minutes.