Chapter 14

Fourteen

HUNTER

Oliver is quiet the next morning. I’m up first, like usual, and make his tea for him. He drinks it, giving me a small appreciative smile when I hand it to him, but he doesn’t say anything. We eat mostly in silence, him only breaking it to ask how long it will take to reach Atlantic City.

“Three hours,” I tell him, and he nods.

“Want me to drive?” he asks, but he can’t be serious. There’s no way after the events of last night I’m going to let him get behind the wheel.

“No, I can do it.” He nods again and then moves to take a shower, leaving his dishes in the sink. I wash them and put them away while he dresses, hating how the atmosphere has changed between us.

I don’t know if last night actually helped him in any way like I’d hoped it would, or if I’ve simply caused more emotional damage to a man who has dealt with enough trauma to last him a lifetime.

“Oli?” I say when we’re finally on the road and he’s staring out the window. “If you need to take a nap or anything, you can. I’ll be fine. You don’t need to keep me company.” I see him wiping his cheek through the window and feel a pang in my chest.

When he turns he gives me a sad smile. “I’m okay.”

I don’t press him further. I have a feeling whatever last night was for him he’s still processing it and isn’t ready to talk. He may never be ready to talk, at least not to me.

It’s the longest three hours of my life, but finally we make it to Atlantic City. Part of me is tempted to just drive straight home and forget staying here, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Not only am I exhausted but I’m fucking selfish, and not ready to let my time with Oliver be over. Sure, if we wanted to we could still fuck back home when Mom is at work, and even though we probably will, it’s not the same.

Oliver makes us dinner again, and we eat outside. He reads and sips his tea afterwards, still barely speaking but he seems to have perked up a little bit. I just wish I knew how to help him. It kills me that he’s hurting so much.

Mom Facetimes again to tell us she is looking forward to seeing us in a couple of days.

“You, too, love,” Oliver tells her, that fake smile ever present.

He runs his hand through his hair after we hang up and then tells me he’s tired and heading to bed early. When I get to the bed a couple of hours later I can tell he’s still awake, but don’t say anything. I hesitate, not knowing if I should scoot closer and hold him, but I can’t not.

I shuffle over and curl into him, draping my arm over his body and letting his ass rest against my crotch, his back pressed to my chest. I hear his breath hitch slightly but don’t say anything. Only seconds later, he’s snoring softly.

I let Oliver sleep in the next morning. We’re not in any rush. When he wakes he seems to be doing better. And though it’s small I even get one of his genuine smiles.

I have blueberry muffins ready for him along with his tea, as well as strawberries and melon, which he eats a healthy serving of.

We shower and then make our way out into the city. I hadn’t planned it, but since Oliver has been feeling so down lately I decided to take us to a spa. I think he could use some pampering and he deserves it. We get massages and then facials afterwards, and when we leave he seems almost back to his normal self.

We eat lunch out and do some shopping on the boardwalk, then head to a drag show taking place that evening. Oliver seems a little hesitant at the idea but he’s relaxing and smiling as soon as we walk inside.

We sleep curled up again that night and the next day we relax at our campsite, swimming, fishing, and soaking up the sun.

After dinner, I’m sitting with his head in my lap as we watch the sun disappear behind the trees. It’s been a wonderful day and my heart is so full my chest feels like it will burst with how much he means to me. I know he might not be ready to hear it, he may never be ready to hear it, but I can’t let this trip end without him knowing how I feel. Maybe it’s foolish, because it won’t matter in the end anyway. He’s still engaged to Mom and even though we’ve been enjoying ourselves on this trip I have no reason to believe his feelings for me go as deeply as mine for him. But maybe if he knows he won’t make the biggest mistake of his life. So even if it’s selfish, I stroke my fingers through his hair, my heart pounding, and say, “Oli?”

He looks up at me, “Hmm?”

The words catch on my tongue and I clear my throat. Why is fucking him and calling him my good boy so much easier than this?

Because I’m not risking my heart, that’s why.

But as I sit there and look into pale blue eyes and a freckle scattered face I realize it doesn’t matter, my heart stopped being mine the day I met him. I’ve been fucked this whole time, because Oliver fucking Jones doesn’t just own my heart, he is my goddamn heart. “Oli, I…I think I’m?—”

He jerks upright and rolls away so fast I barely have time to blink or realize what’s happening before he’s standing and brushing his pants off, stuttering, “I’m tired. I’m sorry, I…I’m going to head to bed. Goodnight, Hunter.”

I don’t even have the chance to respond before he’s inside and I’m left sitting there alone, feeling more foolish and hurt than I have in a long time. Tears slide down my cheeks and I wipe them away.

“I love you,” I whisper into the night. And of course, there’s no answer.

If I thought the three hour trip to Atlantic City was miserable it’s nothing compared to the two hour one back to Scarsdale. I don’t think this trip could have ended on a more miserable note. Oliver won’t even look at me, and it’s so painful I want to fucking scream. Scream at him to live his own life, to let me love him, to be the man I know he is. The one who’s brave, and kind, and caring, and who is an absolute pillow princess. The one who loves gay romance and stargazing and holding my hand. The one who thrives on praise and loves being the small spoon. The one who loves plants and has a childlike curiosity about him that melts my heart. I don’t want him to lose himself when he’s finally just found himself.

It’s lunch time when we arrive back home. We return the RV and settle into the house, each going to our separate rooms to unpack. I turn with a start when I hear a knock on my door frame. He’s standing there like he hasn’t been ignoring me all day. Like I didn’t try to tell him I love him and have him run away like his pants were on fire.

“I can make us lunch, if you—” he starts

“Don’t marry her,” I say, and his eyes widen, his shoulders tensing. “Don’t marry her, Oli,” I repeat and tears fill my eyes.

He’s across the room in seconds, gripping my face and kissing me so hard I forget to breathe. But God, it’s everything. It’s all of his passion and fervor and strength poured into one earth shattering kiss. I cry harder as I pull away from him because this isn’t a hello kiss. It’s a goodbye kiss. I press my fingers to his lips as I sob.

“One more time,” he begs. “Please, baby, just one more time. I won’t ask for more than that. I know this isn’t fair to you. I need you, Hunter. I need to be your good boy one more time.”

“Fuck you,” I whisper as tears slide down my cheeks. He pulls me to him and our lips crash together again, heated, frenzied, biting, whimpering as we pull at each other’s clothes before we fall onto my bed, naked, and I slip inside him. One more time. One more time to kiss him, one more time to hold him, to love him, to breathe in the smell of him, to taste him, and worship him.

He clings to me like he never has before and I wrap my arms around him, holding him to me as I bury myself inside him, wishing I could stay forever. When we come, it’s together, his legs wrapped around me and our bodies so entangled I don’t know where he ends and I begin. I kiss him through my tears and then pull out, lying next to him. He reaches over and wipes my cheeks, but more tears fall.

“Don’t marry her,” I repeat. “I love you, Oli. I fucking love you.”

“No, you?—”

“Don’t do that,” I say, shaking my head, my jaw clenched and my voice stormy. “Don’t you dare tell me that what I feel for you isn’t love. Don’t do that to me, you fucking bastard.”

He starts, but gathers himself quickly. “Hunter…” He says it in a tone that isn’t at all affectionate. He sounds like a fucking teacher scolding me for starting a fight in class.

“No!” I shout, then scramble out of bed. “I can’t do this, Oliver. Not for two more weeks, not for a single fucking day. Fuck you in the light of day but then watch you go to her room at night, knowing you’re on the other side of that door with your cock buried inside her. God, Oli, I want to rip my fucking hair out just thinking about you fucking her.” I’m sobbing as I shout at him. “It was hard enough when I was infatuated with you, but being in love with you and knowing what you two are doing in there every night? I can’t.”

“She’s a good person, Hunter,” he starts, pushing himself up to sit, and I see red.

“Who fucking cares?!” I shout. “She doesn’t even fucking know you!” His eyes widen and his face pales, but I don’t fucking care if I’ve upset him, or made him uncomfortable. He’s done the same to me, and I’m fucking pissed and done with his bullshit. “Does she know you like to be fucked, Oliver? Does she know you like to be told how good you are, that you like to be held down and manhandled? That you would rather be fucked than fuck someone else? Does she know how you melt when you are praised? Because I do! That’s mine! You are fucking mine, Oliver!” My chest heaves as my voice breaks. “And I’m yours. So don’t fucking marry her.”

He slides out of bed and slips his underwear back on before making his way to the door and opening it. “We should shower before your mom gets home,” he says, his voice completely void of emotion, before he shuts the door behind him.

I bury my face in my pillow and scream.

Fuck, why didn’t I think coming home would be this hard? Did I seriously believe that spending two weeks alone with Oliver would change everything? Or anything? That a man who has repressed his sexuality for twenty years would do a one-eighty and admit his feelings for me?

God, I am so fucking naive.

OLIVER

I’m shaking, and my heart is pounding so hard I can barely breathe while I let the warm water cascade over me. I barely made it out of there before the tears fell. He can’t bloody love me. He can’t. And he doesn’t love the Oliver I’ve let everyone else see. The Oliver that Amanda loves. Even the Oliver my sister Olivia or my nephew Freddie loves, because I never let them see the real me. I never knew who the real me was until him.

Climbing out of the shower, I dry myself off, my body still trembling. I slip into sweats and a T-shirt, before I notice the folded white piece of paper lying next to the parrot I’d set on the bed. It has my name on it, and I know who it’s from and what it probably says before I even pick it up.

Tears start sliding down my cheeks all over again as I pick it up, almost dropping it again because my hands are shaking so hard. I have to force myself to read when I open it.

Oliver,

I know you believe you are doing the right thing, and maybe you are. Maybe you and Mom can make each other happy. I honestly hope that you can, because you deserve it. You deserve everything you want. Knowing you has been the greatest joy of my life, and I will never regret the time we had. You are beautiful, and worthy, and good, and that’s true no matter what parts of you you decide to share with the rest of the world. I will never forget you, Oli, but I have to go. I have to get over you, and I can’t do that being here.

I hope you find your happiness, Oli, that you discover the limitless joy of being your true self, and letting the world accept you for exactly who you are, because you have hidden for long enough, and the world deserves the real you. You are my first and greatest love, Oliver Jones.

Love, Hunter

My tears are sliding down my cheeks and dripping onto the paper as I read, blurring the ink. I sit on the bed with the note in my hand, reading it again. “Bloody hell,” I sob, and jump when I hear, “Bloody hell,” from next to me.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, you demonic creature,” I grouse, and reach over to turn him off yet again. How that bird keeps getting turned back on I don’t know, and part of me wants to throw him up against the nearest wall, but I can’t, even if he is fucking posessed, because Hunter gave him to me, and it and the flowers that are slowly dying are the only things I have left to remind me of our time together. And even though it’s becoming a painful reminder, I’d rather have that than nothing.

I wipe my tears and try to pull myself together. I can’t be a fucking mess when Amanda gets home. Folding the note up, I slide it inside my pants pocket. On my way down the hall I stop at Hunter’s room, hoping that maybe he changed his mind after leaving the note and hasn’t really gone anywhere. But his room is empty and his luggage that he’d carried upstairs is gone. He probably didn’t even unpack, just closed everything back up and left.

When I make my way downstairs and the house is empty I feel an ache settling in my chest. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so alone. Curling up on the sofa, I turn the television on and end up falling asleep.

I wake to fingers running through my hair, and for a moment I think it’s Hunter. That he hasn’t left, that it was all a nightmare and that he’s here to care for me, to kiss me, to tell me I’m beautiful and good, because I miss his praise so much already. There’s a kiss pressed to my forehead and I open my eyes, knowing before I do that it’s not the Price that I want for it so desperately to be. No, it’s the one I’m engaged to, smiling down at me as she continues to stroke her fingers through my hair.

“Hey, sleepy head,” she says, sitting on the coffee table across from me. “You must have been tired from all that driving. Sleep well?”

I nod. “Hunter?” I say, and I’m not sure why.

She smiles again. “He’s gone, baby. He called and told me he had to get back to work early. You guys have a nice time?”

I nod. “I’m sorry you missed him.”

“Yeah, me, too,” she says. “He seemed a little off when he called, so I hope everything is okay.”

I squeeze her hand and she stands. “I’m beat, and it seems like you are, too, so what about ordering in?”

I’m honestly not hungry at all, but it sounds better than cooking right now, so I nod again and she goes upstairs to change. I let her curl up next to me as we wait for dinner to arrive, and try to ask her about work and fill her in on the things Hunter and I did on our trip that she didn’t know about yet. I excuse myself and return with the earrings I bought her and she fawns over them like I knew she would. But when she kisses me I can’t help thinking that her lips against mine are all wrong. She tastes like the wine she drank with supper and the scent of her lemon and raspberry body wash fills my nostrils.

I have to make myself kiss her, telling myself that she is what I want. That I’ll adjust, adapt, to someone else’s flavor on my tongue, to someone else’s arms around me, to someone else’s lips on mine. I’ll adjust to the idea of never being fucked again. Never having Hunter’s hard cock inside me again, his hand pulling my hair in a way that made my cock throb each and every time, never feel his filthy words against my skin and endure his deliscious torture. But I’ll adjust.

She asks about the parrot and the flowers when she sees them on the dresser and I tell her I purchased them on our trip. I don’t know why I lie, but I can’t bring myself to tell her that Hunter got them for me.

“I didn’t know you liked sunflowers,” she states as she smells them. “They’re almost dead. Should we toss them?”

The thought makes me physically ill and I find myself shaking my head. “Not yet.” I don’t give her any explanation beyond that.

She gives a soft smile and climbs into bed. “The parrot is cute.”

I manage to smile back. “I thought Freddie might like to play with it when he comes over.” She nods and kisses me.

But when she slides her hand down my pants I can’t get hard. And I tell her I’m just still worn out and not feeling well, something I caught on the trip, probably.

She frowns slightly but presses a kiss to my head and curls up against me instead.

We go to my parents’ house for supper the following evening, after I spend the day trying to work again and feeling so bloody depressed I don’t think I accomplish a single thing. I’m struggling to focus and my mind is a foggy mess.

I know I’m poor company, though I try to engage while we eat, and Mother peppers us with questions about the wedding and asks Amanda about work.

“Oliver,” I hear and jerk my head up, startled. My plate has barely been touched and all three sets of eyes are on me. For her part, Amanda’s are filled with concern while my parents seem more irritated than anything else.

“Yes?” I ask.

“Amanda was telling us you went on a road trip with her son,” Mother says. “Hunter, is it?”

I nod, but can’t bring myself to share more.

“For Christ’s sake, son, what’s the matter with you?” Father says. “You’re rather dull tonight.”

Something about that comment makes me snap. “I’m sorry, Father, I didn’t realize that it was my job to entertain you.”

“Oliver,” Amanda admonishes gently. “He’s not feeling well,” she tells them.

“Oh, why on earth not?” Father says.

“Would you like something?” Mother says. “We have Tylenol and Aspirin.”

I shake my head, though I do have a headache brewing. “No, thank you.” No amount of painkillers is going to solve my problem.

We leave shortly after dinner and Amanda drives us home. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asks on the way.

I reach over and take her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m fine, love. I think I’m just worn out from the trip still, and work was difficult today. I just need some rest.”

She doesn’t come on to me that night, or suggest sex, but I know I can’t avoid it forever. Tomorrow is Saturday so we’ll sleep in and probably do some chores around the house that have been piling up, maybe buy groceries.

I feel like I’m existing in a fog, and I don’t know how to snap out of it, but I miss Hunter so much it hurts to exist right now.

Amanda’s in the kitchen when I make my way downstairs the next day. She sits at the table, sipping her coffee, and I go to her, pressing a kiss to her hair and squeezing her shoulder. She smiles up at me and rests her hand on mine.

“You slept in,” she says, and I nod. When I woke and saw that it was nearly ten o’clock I couldn’t believe it. Hunter was the early riser on our trips but I was always up by eight thirty. I must have needed it, though, and I do feel a bit more like myself today, though I’m honestly not sure what that means anymore, because who I am is still something I’m trying to figure out, or at least accept.

“I’m gonna start some laundry and then head to the store,” she tells me as I set the kettle on the stove. “Then I thought we could get online and apply for our marriage license if you're up for that? We should do it sooner rather than later.”

My throat constricts but I manage, “Of course, love.”

She smiles at me, then finishes her coffee and heads back upstairs to collect the laundry, I assume. When she returns I’m sipping my tea.

“Oliver?” she says, her voice shaky, and my face goes ashen when I look up and see the paper she’s holding in her hand. The letter that Hunter wrote me and that I foolishly shoved inside the pocket of my sweats. I’d completely forgotten about it when I put them in the washing basket. She looks as pale as I feel and her eyes are filled with tears as I set my cup aside, my hand trembling.

“What is this?” she asks, her chest heaving. “Hunter wrote this to you? My son wrote this to you?”

I don’t know what to say. Everything in me wants to snatch the letter away from her because it’s mine. It’s private and the words on it are meant for me, not her. Not anyone else. But there’s no getting out of this. I could lie, but I’m so sick of lying. My entire life has been a lie and it’s utterly exhausting.

“Talk to me!” she shouts. Tears stream down her cheeks as she throws the note and lets it float in the air between us before it settles on the kitchen floor. “What is going on? Why the hell is my son leaving you a note, telling you he loves you after two fucking weeks? What the hell happened on that trip?”

I open my mouth but she points at me, her gaze fierce. “If you even think about lying to me, Oliver Jones, I swear to God…” her words trail off as she sobs again and I shake my head.

I grip her arm and she lets me pull her to the table where we both sit. She stares at me, confused, broken and angry, and I know I deserve all of her wrath and hatred, and so much more. Hunter was right. She doesn’t deserve this, and I could have saved her so much pain and heartache if I’d been honest about everything sooner. If I’d told her the truth about me.

“Hunter and I met before the trip,” I say. My chest tightens because I can’t believe I’m doing this, but she deserves the truth. She deserved it long before now. Tears start filling my eyes but I do my best to hold them back. I don’t deserve to cry right now. I caused this. I’m the reason for all of this. She’s sitting here now, devastated and humiliated because of me, and Hunter is gone right now because of me. I’ve fucked up so royally. The only two people in my life who I felt like genuinely cared for me, other than my sister, and I’ve lost them both. “I’d had a difficult night, and I ended up driving and showing up at the bar where he works. I didn’t know who he was.”

More tears stream down her face and she shakes her head like she knows what’s coming. She’s probably right and I don’t know how to make the truth hurt any less, so I just say, “We slept together, neither one of us knew who the other was, but I still cheated on you, Amanda. I won’t lie more and tell you it was a mistake, because it wasn’t. I knew exactly what I was doing, and I wanted it. I wanted him. I wanted to know what it was like to be with a man. And he gave me that. When I called you the next morning it was after leaving his apartment. That was the night I proposed to you.” I am crying now, silent tears sliding down my cheeks and her body is shaking, whether with rage or disgust or shock, or perhaps all three, I don’t know. She steeples her hands over her mouth, her eyes closed.

“I never meant to hurt you, Amanda, but I know that's little consolation now.”

There’s a moment of silence before she says, her eyes still closed. “This whole time? You and him? You’re the reason he left?”

“Yes,” I say and she shakes her head again.

Neither one of us speaks again, but I leave the table and head upstairs. I’m back down only twenty minutes later with my suitcase packed haphazardly, and Amanda is gone. I head into the office and grab the things that are essential for work. I’ve got my laptop, which will suffice for now, but I’ll have to come back and pack up the larger things later.

I leave my key on the table and step outside.

Twenty minutes after that I’m knocking on my sister’s door. How I even got here I don’t know. I honestly was in no condition to be driving, and even though there’s every chance in the world she’s not even home, I have nowhere else to go.

I’m about to give up and wait for her in my car when the door opens and her face greets me. The minute I see her I burst into tears.

“Christ, Oliver, what on earth happened?” she says, taking me in her arms and hugging me tightly. I sob openly on her doorstep, not caring if the neighbors see or hear. I’m past that now. “Shhh,” she soothes, “it’ll be alright.” But I’m terrified that after telling her what I’ve done she’ll kick me out, too, and I wouldn’t blame her if she did.

She coaxes me inside and shuts the door behind me. I leave my things in the entryway and she pulls me towards the living room. “Sit,” she says, gently. “I’ll make us some tea.”

I sit and my body is shaking while I wait for her. I try to wipe away my tears, but more keep coming. She returns after a few minutes and hands me a cup, before sitting next to me.

“Freddie?” I ask.

“Napping,” she tells me, with a small smile. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you. He misses you.”

I wipe more tears away and she hands me a tissue that I use to blow my nose. “Talk to me,” she says.

“Christ, you’ll fucking hate me,” I say, shaking my head.

“Hey,” she scolds gently, “if I was going to hate you it would be for the time you stole my Rapunzel barbie doll and then proceeded to cut off all of her hair because ‘that’s what happened in the movie’.” She squeezes my arm and I can’t help chuckling slightly, but then I’m sobbing some more.

“There’s nothing you could ever tell me that will make me hate you, Oliver. Nothing, do you understand? No matter how bad it is or how much you think you’ve messed up, I love you. I’m here for you. Whatever it is, I promise you’re safe with me.”

I look at her, her green eyes warm but concerned, and she wipes another tear from my cheek with her thumb.

“I…I slept with a man,” I choke out. She blinks but doesn’t gasp or scold me. Almost as if to make sure she understands, I add, “More than once.”

“Why?” she simply says, and it’s my turn to blink.

“What? Does it bloody matter? I fucking cheated on my fiancée, Olivia. And not even with some random guy. With her son.”

Her eyes widen at this. “You what?”

“I fucked her son!” I almost shout before I remember that Freddie is napping down the hall.

“I’ll have to admit I wasn’t expecting that bit,” she says, calm as ever.

My eyes narrow. “That bit?” I repeat. “You were expecting the rest of it?”

She bites her lip and nods. “I mean, maybe not those words, exactly, but…”

I swallow, my body shivering. “You knew?”

She shrugs. “I didn’t know for certain but I thought it was quite probable. You never talked about liking girls, or having a crush on anyone growing up. Even when you took a girl to the school dances I could just tell you weren’t enjoying yourself, but you did it to please Mother and Father, or to fit in with everyone else. I watched you shut down every single time they said anything homophobic, like it was personal. I can’t imagine how that made you feel, Oli. Christ the things they said about queer people with you right there. I wanted to wring their necks, especially when I saw what it was doing to you. I wish I’d spoken up sooner than I did that night a few months ago. I hate myself for not, but I think it took me a while to find my voice.”

I have tears streaming down my cheeks when she grips my chin and turns me to face her. There’s nothing but kindness and empathy when she speaks again, and I know I’m not worthy of it. I don’t deserve grace or compassion right now. I wish she would yell at me, tell me what a horrible person I am and to get out of her house. It would be easier than this.

“I’m sorry you felt like you had to hide yourself for so long,” she tells me. “I know being fed the bollocks like we were all those years must have made you feel like you had to do whatever it took to protect yourself, and I hate that for you. But you have a right to be who you really are, Oliver. You deserve to be happy with the person who makes you happy, no matter their gender or orientation. And I think that if you had felt like who you were was something to celebrate and take pride in, that you were good, and beautiful and worthy, instead of all the terrible things Mother and Father said, if you’d had the love and support you needed and deserved all these years you would have made much different choices. You should never have had to chase their love or approval.”

I’m crying even more now but manage to choke out, “You either,” and she gives a small smile.

“I’m realizing that, too,” she says, moving her hand to mine and giving it a squeeze. “You are a good man. I’m not saying what you did was okay, and that there won’t be consequences, but I understand why you felt so confused and why it would be difficult for you to accept that part of yourself after living with our parents. I’m honored that you told me.” She chuckles. “Well, I’m assuming you’re telling me you’re gay, or bi, or pan, or something other than straight. I didn’t actually let you share that part, did I? You don’t have to, either. But if you want to tell me, I’m here, and I love you.”

I squeeze her hand this time. Then I look at her. My voice is shaking and my hands are trembling. “I’m gay,” I tell her, and she gives me the most beautiful smile. “God, Olivia, I’m as gay as the bloody rainbow.”

She takes me in her arms as I sob, overwhelmed by it all; by the fact that I just came out to my sister after twenty years; by the knowledge that my wedding isn’t happening and I’ve lost my fiancée; by the years of built up hurt, grief and torment my parents caused, that I had tried to deny and ignore; and with the knowledge that I am very much in love with Hunter Price.

I’ve never been in love before, and I never expected it to hurt this much.