HUNTER

As the days pass on the farm, I find myself missing Suzanne more and more. Siobhan is always hugging her girls or mom. Aunt Fred dotes on Carys who is absolutely miserable as her due date passes. During meals at the dining hall, I'm surrounded by club wives and their kids. Once I zero in on what I'm missing, the longing drags me down.

My mind is on Suzanne when Aunt Fred finds Tack and me near the basketball court. Though I can tell he wants to play a game with Golden and the new boys, he holds back and sticks at my side.

"Why don't you play basketball?" Aunt Fred asks Tack as she brings sunscreen for the boys. "Hunter can help me in the kitchen until you're done."

Tack starts to complain. He's gotten clingier every day we're together. Before he can tell her no, the complaint dies on his lips. He nods and strokes my cheek.

"You need girl time," he murmurs before adding with more arrogance, "and I need to beat Golden's ass on the court."

"He's crazy," Golden insists to the boys. "I'm way better. Who is going to be my partner?"

The boys are still trying to choose between the two large blond men while I walk away with Aunt Fred. I glance back a few times to find Golden flexing his muscles and trying to seem taller than Tack. The boys laugh at his antics, but they still won't choose him.

In the main farmhouse's kitchen, Aunt Fred turns on country music. Not the newer stuff Siobhan listens to but older stuff like Tammy Wynette and Patsy Cline. I listen to a few songs while washing potatoes at the sink.

Aunt Fred works nearby, chopping carrots. Hearing her soft voice humming along with the songs, I think of how Suzanne hums in the car when we're stuck in traffic.

"I miss my mom," I mumble and start crying. "And Austen. It's crazy for me to go through all this with them so far away."

Aunt Fred wraps her arms around me and offers the kind of hug only moms know how to do.

"You work so hard to be strong and independent," Aunt Fred whispers against my ear. "But you inadvertently push away people because you're afraid to seem weak."

"I saw how fear nearly destroyed my sister. I didn't want to give into it."

"But fear isn't our enemy. It keeps us alive and prevents us from being overly impulsive. I know Austen struggled with controlling her fear. But you need to ask for help when you're overwhelmed. If you want to see Suzanne and Austen, be honest with them. You're not like Tack. You're so much healthier mentally than he can ever be."

Curious about her last comment, I ask, "What do you think his biggest problem might be with our relationship?"

Aunt Fred sits at the table with me. "Well, Tack often zeroes in on a small problem to avoid dealing with larger, more upsetting issues."

"Tack's never gone to therapy, right?"

"We had people come out to the farm every week. They would play games to see how the boys reacted to everything. If someone seemed to need more, we'd encourage them to have sit down talks with the therapists."

Aunt Fred sighs sadly. "But a lot of the boys had gotten stuck on the idea of avoiding their pain. They didn't want to go scratching at old scars. Tack was one of those boys. When he did talk about his past, he always mentioned his dogs running away. He was obsessed with that problem rather than how his parents mistreated him or drank themselves to death."

Studying Aunt Fred, I understand how she's loyal to Tack over me. If she had to choose between us, she'd save him every time. That loyalty means she might not be willing to share his secrets. I don't even know if I ought to ask. Tack's past is his to share with me. Of course, sharing isn't his strong suit. Maybe our lives would be easier if I already knew.

"Tack's never told me anything concrete about his parents," I say, feeling out Aunt Fred's willingness to open up about his past. "When I asked once, he said they were losers, and he was lucky to get away from them."

Aunt Fred's blue eyes study me as she considers boundaries. Finally, she says, "The state doesn't tell us much when they place the boys. But my cousin is a PI, and I've always had him ask around to get more information on each boy. It helped us to understand what they might respond to, good and bad. I've learned several things about Tack, but I don't know if it's my place to share them with you."

"Do you think he'll share these things on his own?"

"No," she says and offers a sad, little smile.

"Do you think it would help me to know his past?"

"Yes."

"Then why not share it?"

When Aunt Fred doesn't answer immediately, I feel her preparing to change the subject.

"I worry what I say will change how you view him," she finally explains. "I don't want to be the reason Tack suffers. I had to work really hard to get him to trust me. A lot of the boys immediately want a kind mama. Tack acted like I was playing a trick whenever I was sweet to him. Deep down, he still doesn't fully trust me. So, what if I tell you something that causes issues?"

"Why would anything you tell me about his parents affect my relationship with Tack?"

"Some people, not necessarily you, but other people in your orbit might view his family as badly bred."

"I don't care about such things. Everyone has issues. My mom didn't pick men based on their bloodlines. She just fell for the man. And I already love Tack. Nothing you say about his parents will change how I feel about him."

Aunt Fred hesitates. Like most people, she sees my mother when she looks at me. Suzanne is a warm and intelligent woman, but she keeps people at arm's length. Her friends don't even know her secrets. Aunt Fred likely worries I take too much after Suzanne and will reject Tack despite my reassuring words.

Steeling her gaze, Aunt Fred decides to share, but I can tell she's still worried.

"Tack's parents were chronic alcoholics and on the older side when they had him. Since Tack was born healthy, I assume they cleaned themselves up when he was very young. However, CPS was involved in his life as soon as he started daycare. His parents weren't feeding or cleaning him right."

Aunt Fred glances nervously over her shoulder toward the door and lowers her voice. "The state should have taken Tack away long before they did, but his parents were professionals and lived in a nice neighborhood."

"What did CPS do once they got involved?"

"Monitored the situation. Twice, he was removed, only to be quickly returned. If they had pulled him out and severed their rights when he was young, Tack would have been quickly adopted. Instead, they kept giving his parents more chances. By the time his mom drank herself to death, Tack was no longer small and had become a handful."

Aunt Fred exhales unsteadily. "His mom was dead for three days in that house before Tack told anyone. The father was in complete denial. Afterwards, CPS took Tack away for a while. He went to a foster home, attacked a kid, and ended up in juvie before he was sent back to his dad. It was another year before his father drank himself to death. I saw his autopsy. The man was skin and bones. During his last year, he'd quit his job and was living off his wife's life insurance. All day, every day, he drank booze from morning to night until his body gave out. By then, Tack lived out in the backyard more than he did in the house."

Aunt Fred dabs my wet cheeks as I cry for that little boy who grew into the man I love.

"Tack's dad was dead weeks before the neighbors reported the smell. All that time, Tack just ignored it. He went to school. Bought himself meals out. Tack survived by learning to block out what was right in front of him. I know he loved his parents. All kids do, even if they're sentenced to terrible ones."

Aunt Fred pauses as I struggle with how Tack lived in hellish conditions. On the surface, he's always seemed so well-adjusted. He doesn't drink heavily. He isn't a hot head. Tack seems like a calm breeze surrounded by fiery personalities. Yet, under his cool exterior beats the heart of a broken child.

"When Tack talks about his childhood," Aunt Fred continues after I calm down, "he doesn't focus on his abusive parents or how he lived in that house with their bodies. He only remembers how the dogs he loved ran away."

"I'm glad he found his way here," I mumble as I wipe my tears.

"Tack arrived around the same time as Golden who was an absolute handful. That boy talked nonstop and ran away three times during the first week. I assigned Bear to watch over them both. He kept them centered, but Bear complains a lot, always growling about one thing or another. Around the same time, Indigo moved from the hills to the farm. He was so moody. Soon after, Sync showed up, and he was prone to flipping out over the smallest things. In that mix, Tack gained a sense of himself that isn't real. He isn't laid-back. His past wasn't easy compared to the rest of them. He can be almost delusional in how he views himself."

Aunt Fred takes my hand. "Tack will suffer for those he loves, but you can't trust him to see the world the way it is. You've got to guide him. When he zeroes in on something, you shouldn't assume that's the real problem."

Considering the last few days, I admit, "Tack doesn't trust I'll stay with him. He acts like I'm fickle. Except I've had real reasons for why we weren't together a week ago but are now."

"He waited for you, Hunter. That wasn't as easy as you might think. These boys go to the clubhouse where beautiful women throw themselves at them. For some of the boys, sex is the only way they know how to get or give affection. It's a release they crave, and Tack went cold turkey for you. I know he was proud of himself for waiting. He remembers how his parents ruined themselves by indulging their every desire."

I recall how easy waiting for sex was for me. The last few years flew by. I missed Tack when we'd go days without running into each, but sex was never something I needed. If I got restless, my vibrator was enough. The only reason I'm horny all the time now is because I've gotten a taste of Tack.

However, I can imagine how much more difficult it was for Tack. The women who come to the clubhouse are looking to party. They won't weigh him down with emotions and expectations. He can feel good and walk away.

"Tack gave up a lot for you," Aunt Fred says. "Then, he almost lost you twice. I don't think he's really processed how close he came to dying, either. Tack ices out those scary thoughts and focuses on how you'll change your mind about him."

"What can I do?"

"Don't take his concerns personally. He was rude to me a lot in the beginning. That's how he keeps control of a situation when he's scared. So, if he pokes at you, choose to focus on what you want to focus on and don't allow him to distract you."

"How can I know when his complaints are real?"

"When this trouble is over, Tack hopes to move in with you. He'll be nervous about living off the farm and merging his life with yours. Rather than focusing on that, he'll likely zero in on how he's leaving Sleepy here with Indigo."

Feeling calmer, I consider how to protect Tack. "I'm worried about the next six months. In my head, I can picture things far off in the future. But I don't know how I'll actually build the life I imagine. For the last few days, Tack has felt both present and distant. We've been friends for a long time, but we've never spent so much time together. I wish we could slow things down to let him adjust. Or maybe I'm the one who needs to adjust. Either way, I feel like if we slow down at all, Tack will assume I'm pushing him away."

Aunt Fred stands up and walks behind my chair. Her fingers slide through my hair. Shivering, I recall how my mom would often rub my head when I was overwhelmed.

As Aunt Fred massages my scalp, she murmurs, "Close your eyes, Hunter. Breathe deeply. You're trying to control the future when you should only be worried about the rest of the day."

"I feel like everything will be okay if I can reach that point in time I see in my head. The danger will be over. Tack will trust me. I'll have my confidence back."

"By then, your grief will be sorted out," Aunt Fred adds. "The fear will be old news. But none of that will happen if you hide from your grief and fear now. That's why you should only plan for today. Tomorrow shouldn't concern you. Let yourself feel what's happening in the present."

I lean my head back and stare up at Aunt Fred. "I know you're right, but I'm afraid to break down and feel bad. I've cried plenty, but I always pull it together. What if I start feeling sad all the time and Tack takes my depression personally?"

"Better to get these hiccups out of the way here at the farm, where he's surrounded by people he trusts," she says and slides her fingers across my overheated forehead. "If you don't deal with your feelings honestly, how can you expect Tack to do so?"

Aunt Fred is soft spoken where Suzanne is loud-mouthed, but they both have a way of cutting through the bullshit. Standing up, I hug Aunt Fred and thank her for helping me hash out what I really need versus all the nonsense in my head.

Tack is mine. It's okay to show him how bad I feel. I'm so afraid of falling apart and becoming a burden to people. Yet, my feelings don't disappear if I hide them. Just like Tack remains troubled by a bad childhood, even if he refuses to acknowledge his past.