Page 98 of Hunt Me

‘Soon.’ His mouth makes a small O with the sign, and although I’m not meeting his eyes right now, I know his are locked on me. I want to take him backstage where his little vanity set is and fuck him over his chair, but I know I can’t do that.

My family is here. Nico is here. My father is lurking around somewhere, probably talking to the strange Frenchman at the bar still. They’re here for protection, but they’re also here for support because they accepted that I claimed Denver as mine, and that means something to me.

This outing was to soothe Denver’s nerves, and it worked, but we do have work to get done, and I know my father isn’t going to let us slack off for long.

‘What should we do now?’ Denver asks. ‘Go home?’

‘Home is for losers.’ Nico slides between us, signing loudly with big, sweeping gestures. ‘What else can we do?’

Denver bites his lip, then looks at me. ‘Leaf invited us over for wine. His brother brought over a new blend.’

I know I should say no. Denver still has a lot of healing to do, and if I don’t rein in Nico, he’ll probably go a little too far. But Denver looks eager, and Nico looks like he needs a distraction—and a bored Nico is never a good idea.

‘Wait here,’ I tell them both. Nico drapes himself over Denver, signing sloppily with one hand, and it warms me that my best friend has embraced him and that Denver isn’t shying away from his enthusiasm.

Nico has been told too often that he’s too much. He doesn’t talk about the pain, but though the scars are invisible, they are so close to the surface of his skin. And I hate that he hurts.

I want him to feel love. To be loved as I am. As Denver now is.

Shoving that thought away, I find my father at the bar, leaning on one elbow. He’s alone now, but his gaze is fixated on the older man at the far end, who still looks mortified by the drink accident.

“Are you trying to upset him?” I ask.

“Who?” His brow furrows in confusion.

I jut my chin toward the Frenchman. “Him. You’re staring at him.”

My father blinks at me, then shakes his head. “No.” He gives me a slow up-and-down look, then immediately changes the subject. “You seem happy.”

I can’t tell if that’s a question or a statement, but I nod anyway because it’s the truth. “Yes. Now that Denver is mine.”

“Does he want to be yours?” He says it with that same tone he’s always used with me—the slightly patronizing tone, as though I don’t understand boundaries.

He thinks I’m still the young, uncontrolled, confused child who didn’t know how to function in the world around me. He thinks that just because I don’t follow social cues, I don’t know how they work.

And it hurts.

“It’s not like that. Denver and I are leaving.” I turn, trying to hide my frustration, but he catches my wrist and pulls me back before letting go.

“Archie.” Over the music and through my earplugs, I can hear the pleading in his tone, and that is so unlike him. “I’m sorry.”

I don’t know what to do with those words. He’d never spoken them to us as children and rarely does now. I swallow heavily and turn back, but I don’t look at his face.

His hands twist together almost nervously, and it’s making me uneasy. This is not the father I grew up with. The ruthless, often heartless man who did love us but shaped us into who we are without apology or regret.

“I can tell he loves you,” he says after a long beat. “And that you love him. And…and I am sorry for making everything so complicated. For making it harder for you. Your mother loved me for exactly who I was, but I didn’t take into consideration how hard it would be for you boys to find that in the world.”

I look up at him, studying his face, and it’s strange to find such sincere honesty there. He has never lied to us, but he was rarely ever kind. “I understand how all of this works,” I tell him. “I know that we’re all different, but I’m the strangest one of them all?—”

He holds up his hand. “Archie, no.”

“Yes. I—” My words start to fail me, and I sigh. I want to sign to him everything I’m feeling, but this is a Deaf night, which means everyone will be able to eavesdrop, and that’s not safe. ‘Later. Please.’

He gives me a single nod. ‘I’ll go collect everyone else and drive us home.’

Leaf’s is a short walk from the house, so I agree, then push away from the bar to collect my beloved and my best friend. My little rabbit looks tired but also desperate not to be home yet, so I gather him close to me, then let Nico take my hand as we head outside to finish the night.

It’s cold out, and Denver shivers as he presses against me while we head toward the car as my dad finds my brothers. It’s much quieter now, and that’s the only reason I hear it. It’s the sound of someone watching. Someone trying to take measured steps and careful breaths. Someone debating whether they can get the upper hand against all of us.