Page 168 of Theirs to Desire (Club M: Boxed Set)

HUNTER

E ric and I end up at a college bar. There is a football game on TV, and the kids are out in force. It’s noisy and rowdy, and it’s exactly what I need. I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts.

By unspoken agreement, we don’t discuss Dixie.

Not that I’m not thinking about what just happened—my thoughts keep circling back to her, to how our evening had ended. She’d looked troubled. Did she regret telling us about her fantasy? Did she regret living it out?

For Eric’s sake, I really hope not. He took a chance tonight. After what happened with his girlfriend Cecelia, I didn’t expect him to, and I was proud of him for letting go of the past. But if this experience turns out to be a repeat of the previous one?—

“Can I get you something to drink?”

I didn’t hear the waitress walk up. I take a quick look at the menu. There’s a new brewery in Hagerstown, and this bar appears to carry a couple of their beers. I order a dark lager.

Eric does the same. “Do you want to split a plate of nachos?” he asks.

“Sure.”

She brings us our beer. When she’s gone, Eric looks up at me. “I was surprised Xavier managed to get you out yesterday,” he says. “And a little relieved. How have you been, Hunter?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. I saw you at the club last week, but you haven’t really been in touch. I left you a couple of voicemails, sent you an email?—”

I wince. “Sorry. I’m a little behind on my messages.”

“I wasn’t fishing for an apology; that’s not why I’m bringing it up. You have friends, people that care about you. You don’t have to go through whatever you’re going through alone. I’m here for you.”

It’s nice of him to say that, but the truth is, I feel very alone. My father was never in the picture. My mother was the only parent I had and losing her feels so very final. My life has been irrevocably altered, and I’m doing a terrible job coming to grips with it.

“I should make more of an effort to reach out,” I admit. “After all, I tell patients all the time?—”

“You know it’s different, right?” Eric interrupts. “Hunter, I’m not a therapist, and I don't have a lot of experience with death, but I'm pretty sure that you can't logic your way out of this.”

“Maybe.” I take a sip of my beer. It’s pretty damn good.

The beer selection at bars has greatly improved since my college days.

“It feels self-indulgent to wallow in my grief. After all, I have so many patients that have been through so much worse. Refugees who’ve lost everything, people who have had to flee their homes with the clothes on their back and nothing else.

Soldiers who watched their friends die in front of their eyes.

Men and women who have been abused by their parents, trying desperately to break that cycle with their own children.

My problems fade into nothing when compared to them. ”

“You lost your mother,” Eric says. “You loved her. Of course you’re going to be grief-stricken—how could you not? Psychiatrist or not, you’re human, Hunter.”

I’m ready to change the subject. “Speaking of which, do you know a realtor in this neighborhood that you can recommend?”

“A realtor?” He frowns. “You’re thinking of selling your mother’s home? Already?”

I can tell he disapproves of the idea. “There’s this guy, Mitch Donahue. He offered me six million dollars.”

He raises an eyebrow. “It’s worth that much?”

“He seems to think so.”

“Are you hard up for money?” he demands. “Because if you are?—”

“I’m not.” The waitress appears with a mammoth platter of nachos, and I’m grateful for the interruption.

It gives me time to gather my thoughts. “My mother had her pet causes, non-profits she cared about deeply. I don’t need the money, but they do.

Six million dollars would make a world of difference to them. ”

“It would be a good way to honor her memory,” Eric agrees, his expression serious. “Okay, you want a second opinion on the property’s value. Nobody jumps to mind, but I’ll ask around.”

He dunks his chip in sour cream. “Can I offer an unsolicited opinion? It’s none of my business, and you’d be perfectly justified in telling me to butt out.

But it’s only been a few weeks since your mother passed away.

You’re still reeling. Don’t make any hasty decisions.

Don’t do something you’ll end up regretting. ”

He looks so concerned for me. “I’m okay,” I tell him. “Really. I’m fine.”

But I’m lying. I’m not okay. Grief swamps me at unexpected times, numbing and paralyzing. I went into Club M last week, desperately looking for a distraction. When I flirted with Dixie, my motives weren’t pure. Scening with her today kept the darkness at bay for a few short hours.

You’re using her.

Guilt lances through me at that unpleasant realization. She knows it’s casual, I try to reassure myself. That’s the way she wants it. A one-time thing. No emotions, no feelings, no commitment.

“Where are you staying while you’re working at Xavier’s company?” I ask Eric. “Have you moved here?”

“Sort of,” he replies. “Xavier threw in a room at the castle. I still have my place in the city. I’d planned on heading back home tonight, but…” His voice trails off.

“You don’t have to keep me company, Eric.

I’m fine by myself.” My mother’s house is empty, and it feels like a tomb, and I haven’t opened the door to her bedroom since finding her body, but everything is fine.

Eric doesn't have to inconvenience himself by sticking around. I’ve never been a burden to my friends, and I’m not going to start now.

“You think I’m sticking around because of you?

” Eric barks a laugh. “I don’t want to be alone, Hunter.

This is Cici all over again. I shouldn’t have done the scene.

I knew what would happen, but I was thinking with my cock, and I did it anyway.

And now I get to tell Xavier I fucked things up once again, and he’s going to do his goddamn best not to say ‘I told you so,’ but he’d be right. ”

We’re a pair of sorry losers, the two of us.

On the table, Eric’s phone vibrates. “And that’s probably Xavier right now,” he says moodily. “I guess I should answer it.”

But when he flips the phone over to glance at the display, it’s not Xavier on the other end.

It’s Dixie.