The Boy on the Bridge
On instinct, I look at the scar that formed where the gash was. A few tendrils of dark hair have fallen across it now, but you can tell it’s not something he works to hide. It doesn’t bother him, that reminder of when his mother failed him and his whole life got ripped apart. He’s impervious.
I’m too focused on the mark on his head to notice that I’ve been caught staring until his faintly amused tone drags my focus back to his beautiful brown eyes. “Like it? I do. Always makes me think of you.”
That’s such a strange thing to say, I feel myself beginning to blush again. I’m not much of a blusher anymore—at least, I didn’t think I was. “I suppose that’s better than other things it could make you think of,” I murmur, watching him for a reaction.
I almost don’t expect one given his vibe so far today, but when I say that, I notice a flicker of hardness in his eyes, the faintest movement as he clenches his jaw. He overcomes it quickly and looks back at me with a clear expression.
“Are you staying with her?” I ask.
“Of course. It’s my house, where else would I stay?”
Hunter’s mom moved away after everything happened, but she never sold the house and I never heard where she went. She returned a couple years later without the husband, but I’m not sure what happened.
“Is Dennis gone now?”
His jaw doesn’t clench this time, but the hardness that flickered through his gaze a second ago returns. “Yeah. They moved to New York for a while to get away from all the BS here. He went on a bender and cheated on her. I guess that was worth leaving over.”
“You were worth leaving over,” I respond without thought. “Your mom’s an idiot.”
The words spilled out without thought. He looks as surprised as I am to hear them. I almost expect him to get a little defensive given how protective of her he always was, but he merely smiles wordlessly, as if he appreciates my instinctive loyalty but won’t acknowledge it.
Dammit, why is instinctive protectiveness over him springing back up?
As I start to mull over the annoyance of that realization, Hunter slows to a stop. I don’t realize what I’m doing until I naturally slow to a stop with him and find myself standing here like a dumbass as he stops in front of his locker.
His gaze shifts to me, curious, but he doesn’t linger too long, probably not wanting to spook me into realizing I should have kept walking. I glance away, wondering how awkward the recovery would be if I swerved now and started walking by myself instead of standing by his locker like I’m waiting for him.
Before I can decide on a course of action, he starts talking again.
“Aw, how sweet. You shouldn’t have.”
The playfulness in his tone piques my curiosity. I focus my attention where he’s looking—at the front of his locker, where a shrine has been started. There’s a sign reading “Welcome back, Hunter!” in bubble letters with an abundance of pink and red hearts raining down around his name. Pictures of him with his friends—and stupid Valerie Johnson—are angled and taped above and below the sign, along with team spirit paraphernalia.
I roll my eyes. “Ugh. You know I didn’t.”
Hunter nods as he shoves aside some ridiculous curly ribbons hanging off the bottom of the sign and turns the dial to put in his combination. “That’s true. You would’ve probably just taped a new book list to the front of my locker, maybe attached a Mockingjay pin for a little pizzazz.”
I bite back a grin. “That does sound like something I’d do.”
Hunter smiles faintly and glances over at me, then goes back to exchanging books in his locker. When he goes to close the door, the ribbons get stuck in it and he sighs. “That’s gonna be annoying.”
“Everything Valerie has a hand in is annoying,” I offer innocently, hugging my books and leaning back against the lockers.
“I guess I don’t have to worry I’ve been forgotten,” he says lightly.
The idea of anyone here forgetting him is so ridiculous, I scoff as we start walking again. “Yeah, no, you’re still a god around here. When you started modeling for your dad’s clothing line, I saw that iconic picture of you with the perfect pout looking out at the ocean from an Italian cliff like… every single day. People here are obsessed with you. Somehow your legacy has only grown in your absence.”
At that, he smiles. “Hey, at least no one thinks you gave it up to a loser, right?”
I look down, shaking my head at his gall. “Wow. Still not ashamed of that, huh?”
“Someone had to be your first, why not me?” he says shamelessly.
I shake my head. “God, you can be such an asshole. You weren’t my first, that’s just the lie everyone believes.”