Page 25 of The Boy Next Door

Hunter decides to get all the unpleasantness out of the way in one afternoon, so I'm helping him at his house. We're getting sodas from the fridge when Mr. Cruse walks in and stops short at seeing us.

"Sam, it's so good to see you."

The pleasantry sounds more genuine than I'm expecting. "Uh, yes? Me too... to see you?"

"There's no pleasing him," Hunter says. "Don't bother trying."

"Let's not be too hasty. Sam seems like exactly the kind of respectable young man who cares about making a good impression with the boyfriend's parents."

Is that a threat? Somehow?

Mr. Cruse is a confident man in his mid-40s. He's wearing business casual clothes, though the expensive linen shirt, ironed slacks, and heavy gold Rolex don't exactly scream 'casual.'

"Hunter needs a job," he says next. "If you can encourage my son to get off his ass and contribute , it's much appreciated."

"Too bad you have no shame or you’d feel silly right about now," Hunter responds. "Because I'm about to head out on the job hunt."

"Really?"

Hunter nods to the computer on the counter.

Mr. Cruse looks and sees the Craigslist site up and the notepad with restaurants hiring next to the laptop.

The older man raises his head higher, straightening his already straight shirt tucked into his pants.

"Get going then. Good luck. I believe in you. "

Oh, that's sweet? Though Hunter just smirks.

Mr. Cruse continues. "One day, I believe you'll only be an embarrassment, not an ungrateful—"

"Let's go," Hunter decides.

The kitchen door is open and we're making our escape when Mr. Cruse adds, "Hunter, remember he's a high school boy. Do nothing Mrs. Bell will chew my ass out for. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." Hunter salutes while I turn bright red.

"Did that sound sincere to you?" Mr. Cruse scoffs.

"Come on, it's at least fifteen percent less sarcastic than usual."

Considering, the older man nods. "Shave off another fifty percent and we'll call it the best you can do."

"Fifteen," Hunter counters.

"Thirty-five."

"Twenty-five."

"Deal."

They meet in the middle, shaking hands, and then we escape.

"Don't worry," Hunter says when he sees my frown while we get in his car. "That's probably the best we've gotten along in years."

Oh my god. He's serious too. Dylan and I complain about our parents sometimes, or his dad and my mom, because they have such high expectations and little tolerance for failure.

I never considered how much harder Hunter has it.

With his chosen passion of music and no college degree, there's probably nothing he can do to win.

I remember his appreciation for Monet and the water lilies, the guy who painted what he wanted no matter what his parents said.

~

Hunter tells me that restaurant managers are chatty and talking to them is the best way to get hired.

Silly me thought filling out an application would be better, but it isn't long before we're sitting at Manny's, a restaurant/sports-bar with large flat screens all over.

There's also a fair amount of records and album covers lining the walls, and Hunter and the burly bald manager seemed to get along.

He got the job. We're in a booth eating free mozzarella sticks and a sliders platter so Hunter can learn about the food.

"Are you excited to work here?" I wonder.

"I already turned down the only job I've ever wanted." He pushes away his half-eaten cheeseburger slider, appetite suddenly gone. "Never told you the whole story there."

"If you don't want to, it’s okay."

“It’s not about that.” He grimaces. "What you can say and what you want to say aren't always the same."

"I know."

I busy myself with a buffalo wing slider, giving him space to volunteer anything he chooses to share.

"Okay, we met with some execs who believed I should be the front man because they could sell me as the edgy, sexy rock star." No argument there. "They also... look, I'm not like my brother."

"I'll say," I mutter.

"Bi," he adds with a wry smile for how quickly I agreed. "I'm not bi."

Wha—oh. "They wanted you to..."

"Play straight, yeah. Sell the image to as many people as possible." He jabs a mozzarella stick into the marinara sauce, causing red drops to splatter on the plate. "And I'm not stupid, unfortunately that kind of thing does happen, so I should have..."

"If you weren't comfortable—"

"Gets tiring, you know?" he tells the table.

"Always hustling, searching for that big break.

If you're lucky enough, the reward is supposed to be worth the wait.

But I got the feeling nothing'd really change.

I'd still be hustling, still struggling to get to that place where my dreams come true even as they're coming true.

" His face looks much older than twenty for a second.

"Because I wouldn't really be me, I'd pretend to be someone like me. I'd have to pretend all the time."

"So... you quit?"

"Yeah. Though I never imagined I'd leave my drums behind."

Some of the emotion starts creeping into his carefully blank face. I can't believe Hunter's sharing with me in public, but I'm too selfish to stop him.

"But Johnny came home early and getting my drum set meant going inside and facing him. He was keeping things together with me the whole time. He never lost hope. I'd have to tell him, be the one to ruin his dreams. I couldn't do it, I couldn't go in there. Even if it meant leaving my drums behind."

He meets my eyes and it's like a lightning bolt hits me from across the table. Then he stares back down and starts closing up, and I don't have time to process or form a plan before speaking.

"Did he know what they wanted you to do?"

"Well, no."

"Maybe he'd understand."

"Maybe." He shrugs, not convinced. "But it's not like a brilliant idea suddenly popped into the exec’s heads, 'you pretend to like girls.' This happens. He might not agree the price was too high."

"Even better."

"What?" he looks up in shock.

I smile. "Then you don't owe him shit."

It shocks a laugh out of him. "That so?"

"Yeah. It's your decision since you're the one who has to live with the consequences and sell the show. If he doesn't understand the impossible position you were in, then screw him."

He doesn't say anything else, but he rests his leg next to mine under the table. We keep eating in silence, or I pretend to eat while sneaking glances at him.

For better or worse, Hunter doesn't pretend. Selling a straight persona to a potentially huge audience? While he might have doubts now, I don't. He'd hate that life if it meant living a lie.

This is super cheesy, but it feels like... we were meant to end up here? Even the parts where Hunter pushed me in the pond and I thought he totally despised me. It all needed to happen to lead us here. To the point where Hunter Cruse trusts me. And I wouldn't trade this for anything.