Running For It by Allyson Lindt

Nineteen

Iactually slept Saturday night, though it was more a collapse of exhaustion than it was a peaceful thing. I woke up early Sunday, despite not having to open the café, and I was grateful to leave half-formed dreams behind of letting everyone around me down. Of our worlds crumbling when the truth came out.

I sleepwalked my way through a shower and dressing. My schedule was busy, even with the day off from one job. The first contractor was coming by the shelter today to start ripping out carpets and any Sheetrock with mold damage.

Hunter was in the kitchen already. I shouldn’t be surprised at this point.

“I’m not interrupting your morning moments of peace, am I?” I rarely had enough time in the morning to stop and enjoy the solitude, but when I did, I wanted solitude.

“Not at all.” He slid a mug of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal across the counter. “I heard you in the shower, so I made extra breakfast.”

I had to admit, the best part of being married to Hunter was that it was Hunter. I settled on a kitchen stool. “If you’re not careful, I’ll get used to this. You’re spoiling me.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” His smile was easy. Calming. Didn’t reach his eyes.

I stalled with a spoonful of oatmeal halfway to my mouth. “What’s wrong?”

“Trying to decide when it’s best to break the news.”

I dropped my spoon and it clattered against the edge of the bowl. Fortunately it didn’t send oatmeal flying, but I wasn’t sure that was a priority. “Probably best to just tell me at this point.”

“I talked to Mom a few hours ago. They’ve asked her to stay another month, and she wasn’t able to get through until now to tell me. She can’t make dinner tonight.”

Relief flooded me. “I’m… sorry?”

“No you’re not.”

At least I was consistent and obvious. “I’m sorry it seems to have you upset.”

“I’m ambivalent. I didn’t want to look her in the eye and play this game, but whenever she stays out longer than planned, I worry about her. She pushes too hard for others sometimes—she’s a lot like you.”

Except I’d never ask my child—only son or not—to lie to their other parent about their sexuality, simply to keep the peace. “Hmm.”

“Don’t judge.” An edge slipped into Hunter’s voice.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You think very loudly sometimes.”

I didn’t have a response so I shoved some rapidly cooling oatmeal into my mouth instead. But it wasn’t really a lot to chew around, so the bite didn’t take long. The mood in the room had cooled too, so I might as well ask what I was thinking. “When we do have dinner with her, are we really going to sit through an entire meal and lie to her? What happens when this ends? Will you and Ramsey hide things forever? How will she feel when she finds out otherwise?”

“I don’t know. I don’t have any more answers than you.”

Silence settled between us. It wasn’t awkward, but I still had a desire to fill it with anything to keep my mind from tripping over all the what if scenarios it was coming up with. Problem was, those same topics were the only ones I could think of.

I thanked Hunter for breakfast and headed to the shelter. Deconstruction turned to scheduling more appointments, turned to making the budget work with fresh damage found under the carpet.

When my phone buzzed with a new text, I realized it was after eight at night. No wonder my eyes were dry and my neck ached.

You all right?The message was from Hunter.

New guilt. I should be much better at processing it, based on the last week. I’m fine. Just lost track of time. I’m sorry if I made you worry.

It’s okay, as long as you are.

I am,I wrote. I’m not sure when I’ll be home, though. It was both nice and a new kind of stress having someone at home waiting for me.

I got home a little before midnight. Tomorrow was going to be a long day. Hunter’s bedroom door was closed, but he’d left a lamp on for me in the living room.

Sleep sucked that night, and I didn’t hit that sweet, deep-slumber part until right before my alarm went off. I hit snooze far more times than I should have, and panic mingled with the lingering traces of bad dreams as I got ready.

As I was stepping into the shower, my reflection caught my attention and I spun. The person who stared back had dark circles under a glare of accusation. The Violet in the mirror almost screamed with accusation.

I shoved the self-loathing down and finished as quickly as I could.

Hunter was in the kitchen—at least something was pleasant about my morning. “I wasn’t sure if I should wake you.” His voice was kind. “This will have to do instead.” He handed me a coffee to go.

The simple kindness clawed at my throat and tears pricked my eyes. Was I really getting emotional over coffee? I forced a smile. “Thank you.”

“I can tell it’s a bad time to ask, but you’ll be more upset if I don’t.”

My insides clenched. “What’s up?”

“Are you still up for the fundraiser tonight?”

I forced out a laugh, but I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten. The reminder was in my calendar that I hadn’t had time to check this morning, and I hated that the event slipped my mind. Those stupid, useless tears were threatening again. Goddess, I needed sleep.

“Of course.” I smiled too brightly. Faking it for strangers would be a lot easier than with our friends.

I made it through the day thanks to heavy doses of caffeine and sugar, but I was ready to crash when I got home. It would have to wait. A new dress hung on the back of my bedroom door. Nothing as elegant as I’d worn in Vegas, but it was still stunning.

If I were less tired, I might be amused that Hunter and Ramsey were better at picking dresses for me than I was.

Events like this—fundraisers for whatever candidate Ramsey or his family was schmoozing at the time—had always been my least favorite part of dating him.

I doubted that being at one tonight, watching him from across the room as he smiled and laughed and flitted from person to person, would make the evening any better.

The instant we stepped from the car in front of the country club, even as the valet was pulling away, Hunter was by my side, offering his arm. I hooked my hand in the crook of his elbow, and he covered it with a long, tender kiss on the lips.

It may have been for show, but it felt natural.

When we stepped inside, Ramsey was the first person I spotted. The way Hunter’s hand tightened over mine, I suspected I wasn’t the only one. He leaned in close, mouth near my ear. “You got this?”

I nodded, fake smile in place as if he’d just whispered the sweetest thing.

So many people congratulated us that I lost count. I smiled through every guy with a version of you got yourself a real looker and every woman saying so sad you’re off the market now imaginable.

As soon as anyone turned away, it was a different story. I’d learned a long time ago that listening to the background chatter at these things was toxic at best. Tonight it was impossible to ignore the murmurs.

Do you think it’s real?

It won’t last.

I always thought Hunter Sorenson was… you know.

I was tempted on several occasions to pull away and tell people exactly what I thought of their gossip. But Hunter’s subtle grip kept me in place, and reminded me at the same time I wasn’t alone in this.

Seeing Ramsey was still the hardest though. His handshake for Hunter and kiss on the cheek for me were the most fake things ever, and he made both look more genuine than anyone else here.

Then Ramsey was swept away again. Each time he tried to approach us the rest of the night, someone stepped in his path.

Turned out I still hated these parties.

The ride home was quiet. I didn’t know if Hunter was respecting my exhaustion or if he was as conflicted about the evening as me.

When we stepped inside, I muttered, “Good night,” and turned toward my room. Being so close to security, to solitude, was shattering the walls I’d had up all day. The reinforcements I’d put in place for this evening had already splintered.

“Violet.” Hunter’s voice was weak.

I couldn’t. I walked into my room without looking back. With the door closing me off from the world, everything inside me crumbled. Everything I needed to do, everyone I needed to help, look out for, lie for, all pressed in on me until I couldn’t breathe.

I stripped off my dress, and grabbed a nightshirt.

The fist around my chest clenched tighter.

I sank to the edge of my bed before my legs could give out. The thigh-high stockings and lacy underwear weren’t me. Not like this. What was I doing?

Tears stung my eyelids, and I scrubbed them away with the back of my hand. I tugged on my shirt. Yanked off the first stocking.

A sob tore from my throat, and it loosed the tears I was fighting. And then I was wailing and gasping for air.

“Violet?” Hunter pounded on my door.

I bit the side of my fist to muffle myself, but I couldn’t stop crying.

“I’m coming in,” Hunter said and walked into the room. He sat next to me on the bed, and wrapped his arms around me. The comfort was perfect, which made me cry harder.

He was the one thing about this entire situation that didn’t suck, and getting away from him was the one thing that was going to make it better.

He didn’t ask what was wrong. Not that I could have paused long enough to answer. He simply held me until the tears were dried up, and my throat was raw and my eyes ached.

At some point, he tucked me in, but I didn’t want him to leave. I grabbed his arm and tugged him next to me under the covers. I don’t know when or how I fell asleep, but when I woke up Hunter was still wrapped around me, protecting me.

I opened my eyes to find him watching me.

His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. “I promise I’m not staring at you while you sleep, like a creeper. I just woke up.”

“You say that…” I wasn’t in the mood to laugh, the weight of everything hadn’t lifted while I slept, but he was making me feel better. “Think we’ve found the latest sleep fashions?” I gestured down to me in my T-shirt and single stocking and him in a button-down with boxers.

“Something tells me Paris won’t be knocking down our door.”

“They’re missing out.”

Hunter brushed a strand of hair from my forehead. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I really don’t have anything new to say.” I was sick of sounding like a broken record every time I spouted off we need to fix things, and nothing was going to get better if the situation stayed the same.