43. Hunter

Isat in my driver's car, engrossed in the videos Cal sent me while fighting off the surge of longing that passed through my veins. I wanted nothing more than to be there with Tyler, Cal, and Jamie, sharing in the warmth of their holiday festivities. My gaze shifted to the brownstone home I'd grown up in, and my stomach churned.

I weighed my options. How bad could it possibly be if I left now? How long could I resist the urge to witness Jamie and Tyler unwrap their presents in person? I decided to bide my time and catch a glimpse of the joyous moment.

I'd recruited Cal weeks ago to capture the gift opening. "We should wait for him to get back," Tyler suggested. Despite being in their dorm room, Cal had transformed the space into a place Santa Claus himself would be proud of, determined to infuse the holiday spirit into their lives. Both Tyler and Jamie were adjusting to an American Christmas already and though they were more inclined toward a quiet celebration, Cal wasn't having that.

"Nope, he wants you to open them now," Cal insisted, unwavering in his commitment to creating a spirited Christmas for his friends. The air buzzed with anticipation, and I couldn't help but share in the excitement, even from the confines of the car. Cal eagerly shoved the presents in their faces, and I watched the video anxiously as Tyler and Jamie began tearing at the wrapping paper.

Jamie went first and though it was a challenge to find something for a fourteen-year-old boy, I did my research. I discovered special editions of their mom's books, signed and unique. Alongside them, I included purchased photos from the ice rink. Before the books, a framed picture caught Jamie's attention: a moment frozen in time with Tyler's hand on his shoulder, both looking up at the lights in awe. Jamie studied the image, biting his quivering lip, then moved on to the books. As he opened them, his fingers traced the edges, discovering his mom's cherished signature. I glanced at Tyler, hoping the stunned expression on his face was a good one.

With tear-filled eyes, Jamie urged Tyler to open his gifts. Tyler unwrapped a hockey stick signed by his favorite player and a smaller package containing a leather bracelet with a gemstone orb. Tyler brought it to his eye, revealing a picture of us kissing at the ice rink. It was a silent declaration, a way to show him that even if we couldn't make our relationship public, we were bound together forever. The video cut off as Tyler looked at the gift thoughtfully, leaving me yearning to be there, to ask him if he liked it, to share in the joy of the moment. I could imagine what he would say.

"That was too much, Boston. But thank you."

Aussie Baby: Fuck you for making me open this without you here. Not fair when I can't show you how much it means to me. Hurry up and come home.

Home.

I flinched as the tell-tale sound of knuckles on glass pulled me from my daydream. I looked up into the disapproving face of my father, then opened the door to the black four-door coupe. My eyes briefly met Silas's uncertain glance from the driver's seat.

"You have a Merry Christmas; tell Delta I said hi," I told him, attempting to keep the interaction as cordial as possible under my father's intense glare. "I sent some gifts over for you and the kids."

Silas managed a smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Thank you, Mr. Hunter. What time would you like me to come pick you up?"

"Don't worry about it; I'll organize my own ride. You go enjoy Christmas with your family," I replied, my decision firm.

Silas hesitated, gaze flickering to my father's. "Be safe, Mr. Hunter," he finally said.

I pondered if time was on my side. Should I have said more? Attempted to offer reassurance that I would be okay? Instead, I opened the door and bypassed my father on the way to the front door.

Inside, I was greeted with a directive from my father. "I need you to be on your best behavior. I have a guest with us tonight, and she was important to me, so no backtalk, do you hear me?" The once-masculine house now resembled a scene from a Bloomingdale's catalog, Christmas having overtaken my father's space. I rubbed my chest, trying to massage away the ache of a boy who once yearned for that time of year. Memories long forgotten resurfaced but the music, once a source of joy, had become closer to torment.

I took in the festive scene as I watched my father effortlessly navigate the room until he stood in front of an attractive blonde. She showed no sign of aging, looking timeless in a black dress with her hair swept away from her face. I couldn't help but wonder if she was closer to my age than my old man's. His expression softened as he gazed at her, his tall frame leaning in for a kiss where her golden hair met flawless skin. I caught my dad's eye, and he exchanged a glance with the woman before taking her hand and leading her my way.

"Hunter, this is Brittney. Brittney, my son, Hunter."

She flashed a confident smile, the kind a lioness would wear as the head of her pride. "So lovely to meet you, Hunter; your father speaks so highly of you." She initiated a polite kiss on the cheek, and I reluctantly followed suit.

My brain fired off snarky comebacks, but I swallowed them all and played the part. "Likewise, you look lovely this evening."

Before I could attempt a conversation, my grandfather appeared behind me. "Hunter," he greeted with a firm hand on my shoulder holding me in place.

I was well aware of my father's posture straightening in the lingering presence of his dad. Shifting sideways, I escaped the tight hold on my shoulder, but the relief was short-lived as I now found myself under the judgmental gaze of two Graves men. As always, the conversation shifted to business—even on Christmas. My father fielded relentless questions about cases and profits, defending our status as the top law firm in the country as if he were in a courtroom.

"Don't worry, son. Young Hunter will be with you soon and then you'll have everything straightened out. Isn't that right, Hunter?" my grandfather remarked.

I could do nothing more than respond with a forced, "Yes, sir," concealing the fact that it was a lie. My father shot me a gaze that sent shivers down my spine.

"But I believe Dad's done an amazing job since your retirement," I deflected, hoping to please my parental figure by defending him in the presence of his own. "He's added some big names to the portfolio—and don't forget the Turner case.".

My grandfather let out a disapproving chuckle. "Got your son trying to make you look good? That says something, doesn't it, Dominic?"

Well, there went my hope for a good Christmas. The festive cheer was steadily slipping away, replaced by the weight of crushing expectation.

I quickly turned to the fire to work my jaw, which ached from all the fake smiles and schmoozing. The clock on the mantlepiece told me that I had been at it for two hours. Surely it had been longer than that. A waiter gave me a much-needed reprieve by announcing that lunch was ready to be served. More like dinner at this rate. I found myself wondering if other people's Christmases came with placement cards and foreign faces. The younger male sitting beside me looked all too eager to be here, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Maybe one day he'd figure out that the grown-ups' table wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

The young, bright-eyed man turned to me with, a broad smile on his face. "Hey, I'm Miles You're Mr. Graves' son, right?"

I nodded, not really wanting to engage in any more conversation. Where the hell was this food? I gulped down the glass of red wine in front of me as an excuse not to talk, but the smooth burn of the alcohol was needed.

"You play hockey, right?" I froze, feeling more than one set of eyes hit me from either end of the table.

I nodded again but kept my eyes forward, hoping that the guy would realize I wasn't interested in the conversation. I caught the glare from my father and my stomach twisted.

Unfortunately for me, Miles kept talking. "I've watched your games. Man, you are good. Especially this year. You're on fire—especially with that Australian dude. I'm a bit of a hockey lover myself. Can't play for the life of me, so I make it up by the number of games watched."

A plate was set in front of me, and I was grateful for the distraction. The food should have been amazing—Dad would expect nothing but the best—but it might as well have been chalk in my mouth. I couldn't taste anything, and the texture only made me sick as I felt eyes on me throughout the whole meal.

I checked the time, knowing I only had about an hour left for dinner before they retreated into the lounge for refreshments. That's when I would politely excuse myself and get the hell out of dodge so I could be with the people that truly mattered. My phone buzzed in my pocket for what felt like the hundredth time, but I ignored it like I had for the last few hours. If my father caught me looking at my phone, I knew my chances of getting out of there would be slim to none.

"So," Miles knocked my shoulder playfully. "Were you planning on going into the league, or will I be seeing you in the office?"

"Last year of hockey," I mumbled, hoping he would get the message.

"Oh, that sucks. It's not like the office is going anywhere; surely your father would love to see his son in the big leagues. You really have the potential."

Would this guy ever shut up? I looked over to my father, who eyed me with his hands folded on the table.

"No, I want to work for the company. Hockey is just a hobby," I said again, keeping my tone flat as I downed another drink. I looked to my father again, who'd looked away to say something to Brittany. I let out a sigh of relief, hoping I passed his test.

Thankfully, young preppy Miles changed the subject and began rambling about gold stats. I kind of felt sorry for the guy—nowhere to be for Christmas except this dull party, with my snooty family and ‘future work colleagues.' If things were different, I may have even liked the guy. But instead, I sat with a glass in my hand feeling like I was in the hot seat.

With lunch finished, I was finally able to snag a private moment to check my phone.

As soon as the screen turned on, multiple messages popped up.

Aussie Baby How's your day going?

( 11:00)

Aussie Baby : Are you nearly done? I want to thank you for your gifts.

(14:00)

Aussie Baby: I'm probably being paranoid, but is everything okay?

(16:00)

Aussie Baby : Can you just text me telling me everything is okay? Tell me you're stuck in a boring family event and that's why you haven't messaged me.

(18:00)

Aussie Baby: Okay, I know this way past one message too many, but can you please let me know you're okay?

(19:00)

Aussie Baby: I know I'm acting like some crazed boyfriend, but past experience of you being with your father is making me worried. And you said you would be here after lunch—hours ago.

(20:00)

I hadn't estimated the lunch running late, and now I was stuck in the refreshments room trying to escape. Every time I inched towards the door, another person pulled me aside to talk nonsense about things ranging from current affairs to my professors at school. I'd begun to grow tired of keeping my mask up, and it was getting hotter with every drink I had. The fire blazed with no reprieve; even taking off my jacket was inappropriate—God forbid I looked anything other than professional. Also, my father hated my tattoos; if they were on show, he would not be pleased.

Time passed, and it was like my father knew every time I tried to duck out—I was intercepted every time. I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket, letting me know someone was calling. Having had enough of talking to Mr. Hayes, who was discussing the current stock market, I gestured to the device in my hand. "So sorry. I have to take this."

I left the stuffy room full of even stuffier people and ducked into my dad's office. I perched on the large, wingback chair and answered the call.

"Boston?" That familiar voice soothed me more than the copious amounts of alcohol I'd consumed.

"Hey, baby." I sighed in relief.

"What the hell, have you not heard of replying to a text? A simple ‘I'm okay' would have sufficed."

I leaned my head against the cool leather. "I know, baby. I'm sorry. My father has been watching me like a hawk, and I haven't had a chance to get away at all. Every time I try, I'm cornered by some stuffy businessman."

"Okay…Promise you're okay?" I didn't like the weariness in his tone.

"Yeah, baby. Not a single mark on me. I just need to find a safe escape out of here, so my father doesn't get mad."

Tyler hummed. "Okay. Well, come home soon, yeah?"

"I'll work on it, baby, promise." Those three magic words lingered on my tongue, but it wasn't the time or place.

"Good, see you soon, Boston."

"See you soon."

I hung up the call and stood, shaking off the nerves. I shimmed the handle and went to pull, only for it not to budge. I frowned and tried again—nothing.

My brain registered that it was locked, but I continued to try as the panic set in. I rested my head against the hardwood and listened to the distant clinking of glasses, knowing that no one would hear me if I called out. My father's soundproof office was designed that way and could only be locked on either side by a key—that my father kept on him at all times. I gritted my teeth, looking around even with the knowledge that the room had no windows. All I could do was wait it out. I considered messaging Tyler, but I didn't want him caught up in that mess. If there was nothing else, I learned from an early age, it was to never get anyone else involved.

I tried that once—and instantly regretted it.

My head began to pound, and not from the alcohol.

I slid down the wood until my ass hit the ground, dropping my head into my hands as I fought off the memories.

"Please, I'm sorry. I'm sorry!"

"Sorry for what? Huh?"

I stood in the kitchen, legs shaking nervously. I fiddled with the sleeves of my black suit, fighting the urge to loosen the tie that was getting tighter around my neck by the second.

"I didn't mean to! I didn't! But he was saying horrible things about mama, and I couldn't take it."

The replay of my grandfather calling my mother a pathetic, useless drunk made me snap. I remember the looks on everyone's faces as I called my grandfather a fucking asshole—but it was my mother's funeral.

"You never ever, talk to your elders like that. Show some respect!" His hand slapped the bench in warning.

"He called Mom a drunk!" I yelled, forgetting my place.

"Your mother was a drunk, she killed herself because she drank too much and decided to drive! We have drivers for fuck's sake, son. Your mother was a stupid woman! So, you have no right to call out your grandfather for telling the truth!"

His hand came across my face hard enough for me to fall to the ground, clasping my face, tears falling in a mixture of hurt and hatred. I didn't want to believe a thing coming out of his mouth.

"You're wrong! She was side-swiped coming to pick me up from hockey!" I yelled, the fire in my body too hot, the fury having my mouth running despite knowing the consequences. I'd never believe them…She loved us, she loved me. She'd never have driven drunk. My father's leather shoe dug into my exposed ribs, stopping me from saying another word. I coughed and spluttered, vomit creeping up the back of my throat.

"You will not speak to me like that! You never yell at your father!"

He kicked me again. I saw the black shape come in. Kaiser—-my driver, and more of a father than anyone had ever been—swung his fist, connecting with my father's jaw. Despite the pain, adrenaline had me sitting up, watching with wide eyes as I watched my father figure defend me against my actual father.

"Hunter, leave. Now!" Kaiser called as he swung again.

I backed up, but I didn't leave, unable to tear my eyes away from the scene unfolding in front of me. Kaiser wasn't a big man, much smaller than my father, but he defended me like a heavyweight champion going for the gold.

Until he took a single hit.

One hit of my father's fist to his temple had his eyes rolling back in his head, then he hit the corner of the counter. Somehow, I knew he didn't feel its impact.

I was frozen in my spot, looking at Kaiser's chest, and praying to anyone listening that it would rise. I prayed and I prayed, and I prayed and. When I realized that my prayers were going to be unanswered, a broken sob tore through me.

"See that as a warning, son. You will toe the line, you will never make a scene in front of colleagues and family, ever. Because it's not only you I can put in place.

My father stood tall and after shaking out his bloody fist, he left the kitchen. I sat sobbing in the corner, watching as security guards took Kaiser's body away.

"Fuck." I swore, looking into the empty fireplace. I took out my phone and fired off a message to Tyler.

Hey baby, sorry I won't be able to make it there tonight. Don't worry, I'm fine, but I need to show face. I'll just stay here tonight. Merry Christmas, Baby.

Aussie Baby: What? You're serious?! I don't like this. I'm coming to get you out of there. I don't like you being around him, Hunt."

All I could do was turn my phone off and watch the clock.

I'd moved to the wingback chair and didn't realize I'd had fallen asleep until I felt a foot roughly knock mine. I briefly opened my eyes, taking in the mahogany wood that closed in around me, the large body of my father in the center of its walls. He undid his suit jacket with calm indifference, rolling his sleeves up and transforming into a much less professional version of himself. I swallowed hard, knowing it was in my best interest to stay quiet.

He walked to the drink stand, pouring himself a whiskey before leisurely going to the front of his desk, leaning against it, and lifting his glass to the light, admiring the golden liquid swirling against the crystal.

"So, I heard the funniest thing." He took a sip of his drink before hanging the glass at his side, his dark eyes now seeking out mine. I stayed still, trying not to act like I had something to hide.

"No? Not going to bite? Okay…" He nodded his head before continuing, "I overheard a rumor of a certain agent visiting the ice. I also heard he took a particular interest in my son."

I involuntarily gulped, heat beginning to flush my body as my heart began to race.

"I thought to myself, surely my son would shoot him down. We had a deal, an arrangement. Not to mention my son is now in my debt." My father closed the gap between us.

"Sir, I—-"

A smack rang out in the quiet room. My cheek burned, a line stinging across the flesh telling me that his signet ring had broken.

"I did not say you could speak." His voice reverberated off the walls.

I could do no more than nod obediently.

"So, imagine my surprise when my informant sees you at a cafe with said agent, signing papers you have no fucking right to be signing!"

That made me shoot to my feet. "You had me followed!"

My father laughed and I flinched, anticipating another hit. Instead, he walked around his desk.

"Yes, because you have never stayed in line, son. You openly have threesomes with both men and women on a regular basis, you get your body tattooed, skip class and frankly, find every way you can think to rebel. So, I need to keep an eye on you. One, to stop the PR nightmare you could be for me, and two, so I know when to rein you in. You should be lucky I've cut you so much slack."

I wanted to roll my eyes, but I tightened my lips and kept my eyes on him. He shot me a smarmy smile that made my blood run cold.

"I gave you some free rein to be young and stupid because you sure as shit won't be doing that when you work for me."

I ground my teeth, the words on the tip of my tongue: I don't want to work for you.

Seeing my answer in my eyes drew another evil laugh from the man. "Oh, you will work for me, son. Whether you like it or not. I'll make sure of it."

The silence that fell over the room was deafening.

"It seems threats don't work on you, son." He smacked some photos onto the desk, and I stood, blood rushing in my ears as I saw pictures of me at the ice rink with Tyler and Jamie.

I snapped, "Don't you dare go near them!" My body vibrated, my hands balling into fists at my side with the need to hit something.

But my father wasn't threatened by me. He only laughed. "Well, that depends, son. Will you continue to play this happy little family thing?"

I blinked. "It's my life, Dad. I'm done with this. You can't keep threatening to hurt people just because you don't like them."

"That's where you are wrong. Who will touch this boy when they find out he is gay? A gay Australian who's only been on the radar for half a season? No one; he's a PR nightmare."

Tyler's fears rushed through my mind. His entire life was in my hands.

"I see we have reached an agreement. You'll cut ties with the boy, and then I'll stay away from him."

I nodded, because there was nothing else I could do. Though my heart threatened to burst right out of my chest.

"Now for our other issue: hockey."

I took a step back, noting the change in his tone.

"You took a contract, and you thought I wouldn't find out?"

I retreated another step.

"It's what I want to do, Dad. It's what I love; it's what makes me happy. Doesn't that matter to you?"

"No! You belong to me; you are destined to work for me!"

I heard the crash before I felt the splash of liquid. Alcohol burned the back of my neck as small pieces of crystal stung my flesh.

I tried to shake off the resounding echo of smashing glass.

Hands gripped the lapels of my jacket. I was no small guy, but unfortunately for me, neither was my father. He was half an inch taller than me, and he weighed more. I gripped his hands, trying to pull him off me.

"I'll make sure you never play hockey again."

He shoved me hard against the wall. I fought him, driving my knee into his groin. He swore and bowed over, freeing me from his hold. I bolted for the door in the hopes it would be unlocked.

It wasn't.

I spun on my heel, about to look for a key while he was down. My head slammed into the door as he grabbed the back of my head.

Black spots blurred my vision. He knocked the breath out of me with a blow to my ribs. I tried to wrench out of his grip, but he pounded my ribs until my knees buckled.

Then he let go and watched me fall.

I brought one arm up to protect my head as his foot hit my stomach.

I tasted blood on my tongue.

He reared back to kick me again, but I caught him by surprise, wrenching his leg and sending his large body hurling to the ground. A crash rang out as a leather chair toppled over. I scrambled to my feet, thoughts of escape running through my mind.

My father went to get up, but I caught the glimpse of the key shining around his neck. I knew then what I had to do.

It was time for my father's reign of terror to end.

I lunged for him, getting a blow to his face just as he did the same to me.

My ears rang from the punch that hit the side of my face but I fought.

It was my only choice to fight.

I wrapped my hand around his throat, tightening my grip with the little strength I had left.

My father grappled under me, latching his hands around my neck.

My lungs began to burn from the lack of oxygen.

I tightened my grip on my right hand, my left reaching for the chain.

With one swift tug, the metal snapped under my grasp.

I had the key.

I closed it tight in my first and let it dangle in front of his face. The shock was enough to make him loosen his grip—just enough so I could get free. I bolted to my feet, driving one into his stomach for good measure before rushing to the door and fiddling with the lock.

My heartbeat thudded in my ears, ticking down each second I had to get the door unlocked. I felt like a character in a horror movie with the killer on my heels. My hands shook as the key finally found its slot and I turned the handle.

The shuffle of feet had me panicking to open the door, my heart stuck in freefall as a hand clasped my shoulder.

"Get your fucking hands off him." I staggered as the door flew open and a fist hurled past my face and landed in my father's jaw.

Aussie?

My shoulder was freed as my father stumbled.

"You will pay for that! don't think I won't press charges!" My father seethed, attempting to launch himself at Tyler.

I moved to block his path.

"Easy." Jarman?

"I would love to see you try," Tyler said with a confidence no man should have when taking on my father.

"You think people will believe I laid a hand on my son? He has a history of being a hothead on the ice. They'll only believe that my brute of a kid hit me first. He has a history of assault, you know? That broken nose was a hard charge to drop when that kid's dad was a barrister. But money and favors always talk. This was just self-defense."

Tyler laughed and took a step.

Then a younger voice shouted a warning. I looked to the door to see Jamie's wide eyes.

"Ha! Is that what you think?That you'll have your own son arrested? You wouldn't dare tarnish your family name like that. You would ruin the legacy you've worked so hard to build. What will the media think? That your own son hates you enough to touch you? Or that you bashed him shitless because of your fragile masculinity?"

I cried out when my father lunged for Tyler. Fears of the past flooded the present as I waited for the blow that would make history repeat itself.

Tyler took the hit to the chin but kept his composure, spitting blood in my father's face. "Admit it Mr. Graves, all you have is fists and no heart. All you want is to beat your son into submission but it hasn't worked up to now, has it?"

"He is my son, and I'll discipline him any way I like!"

"And that's with your fists, you hit him. So, what? He can't play hockey anymore? So he can finally be yours?"

"That stupid game started off as a great cover for the bruises he earned every time he failed me. But now he wants to use it as a way to get away from me. That will never happen."

I flinched as he lunged again, but this time it was Jarman who moved and held him back. I watched in awe as Tyler didn't move.

Tyler stood in front of my father's struggling form and, despite being shorter, he'd never looked bigger in my eyes.

"Here is what is going to happen, Mr. Graves. You will let your son go, or he will be pressing charges. There are multiple witnesses to what happened today. I have some amazing connections; you see, my mother was a world-renowned author, and I happen to know of a huge audience that would love to hear the story of someone with your power abusing your own child."

"And it's all on record." A man skirted around Jamie to enter the room with his phone in hand—Jarman's dad: The chief of police.

My father's face paled. I saw fear in someone who'd never felt it in his life.

"Hunter, if you would like to press charges, you have the chief of police backing you. We could have your father put away for a very long time."

"Son, don't do it." For the first time in my short years, my father begged.

I stood with a newfound strength, sneering down at the man that was supposed to protect me. "As Tyler said, Father, you will let me go. You will let me play hockey and live my life the way I want. You will never speak to me, touch me, or anyone I love again. If I find out you so much as looked at anyone, I will press charges, for so much more than my own abuse. I still haven"t forgotten what you did to Kaiser."

The room went silent, and I heard my father grinding his teeth. His head jerked. It was barely a movement, but it was a nod.

"Fine."

Tyler backed away from him, instantly rushing to my side. He cupped my cheeks in his hands, scanning my body from head to toe. The pain that was written in those beautiful eyes of his outweighed the feeling of unconsciousness threatening to tug me under. His hand found mine, our fingers knitting together perfectly.

Somehow, despite the pain, I had never felt stronger.

I would have never been able to walk out of that house, knowing I won, without the man by my side.