Chapter 45 - Oliver

S o, last night happened, and it felt like a fever dream. We got home and fucked for so long, my ass is still sore. It felt incredible to be back in his arms, to finally be the way we were years ago. Back to Hunt and Ollie. Back to being each other's everything. I can feel the love Hunter feels for me. It's a palpable, living, breathing thing. It's an entity of its own. I can see it in his eyes when he looks at me; it's overflowing, as if he can't keep a lid on it. And now, as we sit at the dinner table with my dad, I don't know if I should be scared or hopeful. Because, this is it. We're telling him.

Finally.

We're acting more civilized than we have since our mom died, and I'm pretty sure Dad finds it suspicious as fuck. Which I can't even blame him for. We've been fighting like cats and dogs for months. Instead, we're now sitting next to each other, our chairs scooted close together and our thighs touching. His forearms are at the edge of the table, and my hands are between my legs to keep myself from touching him. While he hasn't attempted to touch me, he keeps stealing glances at me that make me all warm and fuzzy, and I hate the hope that courses through me with just a simple look.

"It's nice to finally see you both getting along," Dad says as he brings a bite of chicken up to his mouth.

It's weird, looking at him and seeing myself. I'd say I'm his spitting image—with icy blue eyes and dark hair. Except he buzzes his, which is entirely weird, in my opinion, since he still has perfect hair. I like mine longer on top and faded on the sides, and Hunter also seems to love it. I love him pulling on it, and if last night was any indication of the way he gripped my hair as he came in my mouth, I think it's safe to say he missed doing it.

I clear my throat and gaze directly into my dad's eyes. "We've been working on it."

My relationship with my dad has been even more strained since Lucy died. He hasn't outright told me he blames me, but I know he does blame me for her death. He no longer calls me every day or tries to see how I'm doing. No, he assigned Hunter to babysitting duty instead. Just so he wouldn't have to interact with me.

"Good." He replies, looking between us with a straight face. He's not expressing any emotions, and I squirm in my seat. Hunter relaxes back in his seat and suddenly grips my thigh, making me jump. He squeezes, trying to tell me without words to not make it obvious. "We need more family dinners."

I rear back, and it feels like he has slapped me. Why does he want more family dinners now? He hasn't talked to me since May. Not really. Not a conversation that's longer than one minute. It's usually ‘hey, are you doing good in school? Have you been staying clean?' Even when I was in rehab for months, he didn't bother with me. And I get it, he was grieving, but I'm his fucking son . No matter what happened, that should count for something.

"Yeah, we do," Hunter says softly. "I've just been so busy with hockey and school. Sorry I've been MIA."

A flash of pride crosses my dad's face, and tears sting the back of my eyes. He hasn't directed that look at me in years. Because I'm a fuck up. I haven't done anything right for years, and I get it. But sometimes, I wish I could share my accomplishments with him.

"How are the scouts, by the way?" he asks Hunter, then takes another bite of food. The chicken and mashed potatoes taste bland as fuck, although I can't expect him to cook like her. After all, he's never been good at it. I think he's just surviving , and I should be grateful he even made an effort.

"I've had a couple of them come to the last few games," Hunter says, and when I steal a glance at him, he smiles, looking at me too. His deep green eyes are tender, and I want to look away, but I can't. The scent of citrus and smoke invades my senses, and my nostrils flare as I try to take more of his essence in. "New York, Boston, and North Carolina."

"Holy shit." My dad breathes. "That's incredible, son. I'm proud of you."

My stomach drops, and Hunter reaches for my hand and squeezes it so tight I feel like he's breaking my fucking fingers. Still, I don't move. I don't dare even breathe. I know he knows it hurts, but it hurts less than the pain in my heart. Maybe this is his way of distracting me. He has always known when something is wrong with me.

"Thanks, Dad." Hunter smiles. "But Ollie has some news too, don't you?" He stares pointedly at me and squeezes my hand once more. I narrow my eyes in confusion, then raise an eyebrow. He looks at Dad and grins. "He sold a painting."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck .

I shoot daggers from my eyes at Hunter, but he purposely evades my gaze.

"Did you, now?" Dad questions. "When was this?"

I bet all he cares about is the fact that I have money now. Money to buy drugs, transportation, and whatever the fuck I want. Money he's not giving me because he doesn't trust me. Well, guess what, dad? I don't need you anymore.

"A few weeks ago," I say weakly, unable to look at him. Instead, I focus on my food, not wanting to see the questions in his eyes.

"Are you still clean?"

"Dad—" Hunter interrupts, and I shove his hand away, then stand.

The plates and silverware clatter as I slap my hands on the table and lean in. " Fuck . You ," I spit. "Yeah, I'm clean. And I will continue to be clean. I know you're not proud of me." My dad appears stricken, a picture of regret. But I don't give a shit. I'm getting this off my chest. "I'm proud of myself. You can keep your golden boy." I glance at Hunter as I say it, and tears fill his eyes as he shakes his head. "I'm out."

I shove the chair back, heading for the door. Only right before I open it, Hunter grabs my arm and yanks me back. He pulls me into him, slamming my chest against his.

"Don't do this, Ollie," he whispers, staring behind us to make sure Dad isn't watching, and then he kisses my cheek. "Please don't let him win. Don't leave."

"I can't do this," I whisper back, and my voice breaks. "I gotta go."

"Go upstairs and cool down." He wipes a lone tear from my cheek, then kisses my eyelids. "I'll be right there."

I nod. "Okay."

"I'll be right there," he says again, then kisses my forehead.

My head is spinning from all his kisses, but somehow, I manage to walk toward the stairs. The living room looks the same. I can still picture my mom sitting on the couch, watching The Holiday , knitting fucking blankets, or beanies, or socks for us. She loved doing that, and I loved helping her. Even if I never quite learned how to do it and it was a mess. It seems that's the theme of my life. Not being good at anything at all.

The state-of-the-art kitchen she loved so much is lit up, and I conjure up images of her baking cookies. She had all these different cookie cutters, and they were always holiday-themed: reindeer, snowmen, and snowflakes. She bought new ones every year so it didn't feel repetitive. I thought it was ridiculous at the time. Now, I just miss it.

Being in this house feels like a punishment. Because as I go up the stairs, all I feel is dread. I haven't been in my room since May, and I don't want to be there. Opening the door, I'm hit with the smell of vanilla cupcakes, but also something else lingers in the air. Dust and Hunter.

It's soothing.

All I see as I step into the room are images of us loving each other on my bed. The light on from the Jack-and-Jill bathroom illuminates his face. The look of bliss on his face as I made him come. The peace reflected on his face as I watched him sleep. I remember counting his freckles and eyelashes. The way I used to run my fingers through his hair, and he groaned from how much he loved it. It used to bring me so much peace and happiness.

I sit on my bed, contemplating all the shit I don't want to think about, and my eyes begin to sting. I let the tears flow; I don't fight them anymore. It's useless, being that they're going to fall anyway. My sniffles are loud as I lie on my side, my back facing the doorway. I can't face anyone right now, not when the pain and disappointment in myself are this strong. It's funny how no matter what I do or accomplish, all my dad cares about is whether I've relapsed. Is it valid? Maybe. It's possible he will always be worried about me falling back into that black hole. But he should've acknowledged my accomplishment, not ignored it completely.

Footsteps creak on the floorboards, and my door closes and locks. Instantly, I know it's Hunter. So when I feel the bed dip as he joins me, I scoot further away from him.

"Don't run away from me," Hunter says softly, and his voice sounds so sad it breaks my heart a little bit more. I still, and he chases me. "Never from me, baby."

"Stop, Hunter," I cry out. "I don't want you here."

His body covers mine from the back, and he pulls my ass into his groin until we're flush with each other. His arm drapes over my waist and he grabs my hand, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles.

"You're lying, Blue," he says gently against the shell of my ear, then kisses it. "And if it makes you feel better, I'm not Hunter right now. We're just Green and Blue. Hunt and Ollie."

Hunt and Ollie.

Ollie and Hunt.

Forever and ever.

My eyes sting some more, and I let the tears fall. They trail over my nose and onto the pillow as my shoulders shake from sobbing. "Everyone hates me," I cry out. "And I hate myself even more."

"Don't say that," Hunter replies, and I shake my head. He couldn't possibly understand. No one has ever hated him for anything—blamed him for anything. He's the golden boy—the one who can do no wrong. And I don't resent him for that. I just don't want him to act like he understands. Because he doesn't. He can't. "Shhhh." He squeezes my hand. "I'm here, Ollie. Just cry it out."

I flip over in bed and bury my face in the crook of his neck. Our legs tangle as I shove one between his own, and I try to keep it down, but my body is shaking the entire bed as I cry. He rubs my back in circles, soothing me.

At some point, I must have fallen asleep…because when I open my eyes, he's not here anymore. I sit up in bed, groaning as I stretch, and let my body guide me downstairs, my mind foggy. I grab my phone from my back pocket, text Jamie, and send him my address.

Oliver

Can you come get me?

Jamie

Be there in three minutes. I'm right around the corner.

Oliver

Thank you.

I don't know what the fuck he's doing in Cary, but I also don't care. I just want out of here. I wait at the bottom of the stairs until he texts me back, saying he's here, then walk by the living room.

Hunter and Dad are whispering to each other, then stop as soon as I stand there like a dumbass. I'm not delusional enough to believe Hunt is telling him about us, and it hurts, but right now, I don't care enough to say anything. So rather than speaking, I just walk past them, open the door, and slam it on the way out.

For the first time in a long time, I'm the one leaving them behind.

Instead of the other way around.