Fractured (5 page)

Hunter

Hunter excused himself right after arriving home with his dad. He was sleeping in the same room he had slept in as a child. Though his family had moved to the United States when he was still very young, they had not wanted to give up the family home. When they returned to Paris, everything was as they left it.

A staff of cleaners had simply removed all the furniture coverings before polishing the wood, airing out carpets, and washing linens. Hunter's twin bed still had the same blue striped sheets and comforter. Most of his toys and stuffed animals had been packed up and stored somewhere in the attic. However, sitting in an antique rocking chair in the corner, there was still a large, gray stuffed rabbit with one of its button eyes missing. Damn, he had loved that thing, dragging it everywhere he went.

He walked over and got it now, gathering it in his arms as he sank onto the bed. Hugging the rabbit against his chest, he curled into a ball, finally letting himself cry for the first time since he walked out of the hotel room. The evening before had been one of shock and numbness.

He couldn't remember crying like this since his grandparents passed away. He had certainly never cried over a girl before. His heart literally hurt. Telling his parents how he had screwed up this relationship with Amber was the hardest thing he had ever done.

Hunter couldn't believe that he had been on the verge of asking her to marry him. What an idiot he had been! And it was all his fault. That was the worst part. He couldn't even blame her for how she felt. His parents had been supportive, of course. But even they had hinted that he needed to think about working on his inner demons.

The thing was, Hunter was terrified of those demons. There were things that he had been pushing aside his whole life. Ever since . . . Well, he sure as hell didn't want to revisit that memory, did he? His mother had gently mentioned that she knew a good therapist. The thought made Hunter depressed. A therapist was the last person he wanted to see.

He sat up to grab some tissues from the bedside table. He didn't remember the box there from before. He pictured his mother sneaking it in earlier this evening. Hunter could hide most emotional stuff from his dad. But his mom was just too intuitive. She must have sensed that he was going to shed more than a few tears tonight.

Groaning, Hunter stared at his childhood ceiling. He reached over to turn off the lamp and the entire ceiling glowed with hundreds of stars his mother had laboriously stuck on all those years ago. Even now as an adult, he was thrilled to see them shining in the dark. He was sure that Amber would enjoy them. But no. Not now.

Stop being a whiny wimp!
Hunter's conscience berated him.
Sure you screwed up. Badly. But that doesn't mean you have to roll over and play dead. Be a man. Give Amber a reason to think you're serious about facing your issues. Your mom's right. Stop being a wuss and see the freaking shrink. And get your snotty self out of bed and give the woman a call. You never even apologized for being an ass!

Hunter sat up, reached over to switch the lamp back on and rolled off the bed. He carefully  placed the gray stuffed rabbit back in the rocking chair. His conscience was right. He wasn't a helpless little kid anymore. Walking to his bedroom door, he cracked it and made sure nobody was in the hallway before he quickly padded to the bathroom to wash his face.

Wow. He wasn't looking so good. His eyes were puffy and red from crying. Good thing that Amber couldn't see him like this. He swallowed hard and returned to the bedroom. This time he simply sat on the edge of the bed, unwilling to let himself just lie down and wallow in self pity.

The same driver who had driven Amber home had taken Hunter to his parent's house. A few questions had revealed why Amber had been so slow returning to the hotel room. Part of Hunter's mind just couldn't believe that she had stopped for over half an hour at the art studio. And on impulse at that! She had even eaten a croissant, the driver had helpfully explained. All while he had been cooling his heels, terrified that she might not come back at all. That look on her face in the elevator had been so cold and angry.

While Amber was enjoying her croissant and the studio, he had sat frozen on the sofa, too sick to his stomach to even consider eating. All he could think about was how Amber might leave him. When she walked in the door and purposely threw her keys on the counter, he was almost hopeful. Her bright, fresh anger would blow over eventually.

But when she softened, gently putting the keys away appropriately, he knew she had gone past anger to something even worse. Still, he had to admit he was not fully surprised. Wasn't that why he had packed a bag while waiting for her to return? Face it, Hunter, he told himself. You knew where this was going.

Getting up again, he foraged in the side table for a marker. When he didn't find anything, he slipped into the living room. There was only a single lamp shining in the front room, meaning that his parents had already gone to their room. Hunter knew that they were likely still awake, both reading.

His father probably had a legal thriller by his bedside. His mom likely had either a memoir or a historical romance book by hers. What they would not be doing, however, was watching television. His mother thought it a complete waste of time.

Hunter finally located a black marker in his mother's small desk in the living room. Filled with new purpose, he strode back to his bedroom and searched in the closet for an old extra pillow. Then he sat down and began to sketch Amber's figure right on the fabric.  When he was finished, he propped the pillow up on the headboard and studied it.

"What is it you need, Amber Holloway?" he asked the pillow sternly.

"Why did you stop at the art gallery? Why was it so important now?"

Pulling the schedule from his pocket, he studied the paper brochure. Stained glass art?

"Are you bored, Amber?" he quizzed the pillow. "Are you missing your art that badly?"

Amber's likeness stared back at him.

"Giving me the silent treatment, are you?"

Hunter pondered his own current life. Yes, his hours at the art gallery were crazy. But he had chunks of the day where he was encouraged to sketch or paint if there wasn't an important client to take around the city.

"So I've been a selfish bastard by not considering your artistic needs?"

Pillow Amber mocked him.

"Okay, I can understand that. But why didn't you tell me?"

As he stared at Pillow Amber, Hunter knew exactly why the real Amber hadn't said anything. She felt guilty that he gave her everything. And one thing he knew about Amber was that she was selfless to the point of hurting herself.

Hunter sighed. Of course he knew that about her. He had just gotten so caught up in the fantasy of their living together in the hotel. It was almost like they were a married couple.

"How do I fix this for you, Amber? Will taking classes be enough?"

Hunter stared at Pillow Amber.

She stared back as though he was crazy.

"You're just as stubborn as the real Amber," he muttered at last. "Okay, I'll agree to the shrink if you agree to the classes. Deal?"

Picking up his cell phone, Hunter mustered up the courage to contact Amber. He needed to proceed carefully, having promised his parents to give her some space. But what he needed to tell her could not wait. Especially if he wasn't going to chicken out.

Amber

After several minutes of sobbing, Amber made herself get up off the couch. She was determined not to allow herself to wallow in self pity. She walked to the bathroom to blow her nose and wipe her face. She made herself stare at the lonely bed for a full minute without crying. Then she quickly stripped her clothes and turned the water on in the shower. Maybe she could wash away the despair that clung to her.

When she returned to the living room, clad in clean pajamas and warm socks, she checked her phone and saw that she had a few new texts from Hunter.

Hunter:
I feel like an ass for waiting this long. But I am sorry for losing my temper.

Hunter:
Found some of your stuff in the car. Can I call you?

Amber bit her lip and then quickly typed her response before she could change her mind.

Amber:
Yes

Hunter must have been sitting by his phone because her phone rang an instant later.

“That was quick,” she said as a greeting.

“I was afraid you might change your mind,” Hunter said.

“I haven't made any decisions yet,” Amber said, to warn him in advance. “So I hope that isn't why you're calling.”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line and Amber realized she might have been too abrupt. Well, that was kind of the point wasn't it? Still, she did agree to the call.

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn't intend to sound so harsh.”

“Um . . . I suppose I had it coming. But for the record, I did call to discuss something else. I found your wig and stuff in the car. Also a schedule and some information on a stained glass art course.”

Amber grabbed her purse and looked inside. She could have sworn she had put the papers in there. Of course, she had been flustered before she got out of the car. Now that she thought about it, she remembered not wanting to put her sticky fingers from the croissant on the schedule.

“Amber?”

“Sorry, I spaced out a second. I hadn't noticed that the art stuff was missing. The course looked interesting. I thought it might fill the time when I'm not working. They have an early evening course where I could pick up the basics until I can save up enough money to take more.”

“That's what I wanted to talk about,” Hunter said, suddenly sounding nervous. “I thought we could make a deal.”

“What kind of deal?”

If he offered to pay for the courses in return for getting back together, she planned to hang up the phone immediately. She already felt weird enough about accepting the living arrangements.

“It's not what you think,” Hunter said quickly. “I . . . um . . . I would be willing to go to a . . . well . . . a shrink if you agree to accept a gift of some classes.”

Okay, she definitely had not seen that coming. Amber felt her mouth drop open.

“Are you serious? You're willing to see a psychologist?”

“Yes,” Hunter said firmly. “If there is even a sliver of hope of getting you back, I'll spill my guts to anybody.”

“Hunter, that's great! I know that this is such a huge step for you.”

“So you'll accept the classes?” Hunter asked. He still sounded anxious.

“I don't get how me taking classes is a good thing for you,” Amber said, puzzled. “I mean, I totally want you to see someone. But what's in it for you paying for my classes?”

Hunter whispered something and Amber had to have him repeat himself.

“I said that I feel guilty,” Hunter said. “I brought you here and now you probably feel stuck and . . .”

“Hunter, stop,” Amber said. “You don't have to feel guilty. I don't know of any jilted boyfriend who would be this kind and caring. Really, paying for the classes isn't necessary.”

“Please, Amber,” Hunter said and his voice had such longing and sadness that Amber relented.

“Okay, Hunter. I don't get it. But if spending more money on me makes a difference, I'll allow you to pay for some courses.”

“Thanks, Amber. You don't know how happy that makes me!”

Amber had to admit that he did sound happier. Of course, this was more evidence that he really did need to see a shrink.

Amber giggled. “Well, I'm happy that you're happy.”

“I have to go now,” Hunter said. “I promised Mom and Dad that I wouldn't stalk you. Sweet dreams tonight.”

“I'm really proud of this step you're taking, Hunter,” Amber said. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I'll do whatever you want me to, Amber,” Hunter said, his voice husky. “Anything at all.”

“Goodnight, Hunter,” Amber said, her eyes tearing up. “Sweet dreams.”

She made herself hang up quickly. As Amber sat on the sofa, cradling the phone, she realized that she now felt even more confused than before. Quite frankly, Hunter's reaction to this whole breakup was throwing her for a loop. For the first time since she met him, he seemed unsure of himself. She sighed, knowing she was going to have another restless night of sleep.

Hunter

When Hunter walked into the office building, he was immediately transported back in time. He remembered this particular building from his childhood. In fact, this was the very same building of several of the child psychologists his parents had tried making him see. The first therapists had been easy to ignore. They had given him small toys to play with and sat quietly across from him as he played. He had refused to answer even the simplest question.

And then he had gone to see one last specialist. Hunter had been afraid of him from the very beginning. This man did not give him any toys. In fact, he asked to see Hunter all by himself. And then, to Hunter's great surprise, the man had said something quite perceptive.

"I believe that you are quite a clever little boy having fun with my colleagues, Hunter."

Hunter had pretended to ignore the man, but he was paying attention with a rapid beating heart.

"I don't think you are doing so maliciously. I think you are frightened by what you might reveal. That makes me very curious."

The doctor had opened up a dish shaped like a beehive. From inside, he pulled out a wrapped caramel.

"I love these candies," he had said with a friendly voice, unwrapping one and popping it into his mouth.

Hunter had watched in fascination as the doctor chewed slowly, smiling and murmuring until the candy was finally swallowed. He tried not to look interested, but his hand shot out as soon as the doctor offered him a piece. He sucked hard on the piece as he watched the doctor warily.

The doctor had not even looked at him. Instead he stared out the window.

"Are you afraid that you did something wrong, Hunter? Because your parents think you are simply mourning the loss of your pet."

Hunter had gasped, suddenly afraid that this man could somehow see inside his mind. He stood up, walked to the trash can and spit out the remainder of his candy.

"Hunter, let me help you," the doctor had said quietly, not moving his head. "No matter what you think you did wrong, you have built it up out of proportion."

But Hunter was already backing away. Reaching behind him, he grabbed at the door.

"Let me get that for you," said the doctor. "Why don't you think about coming back to see me next week?"

But the next week, Hunter pitched a royal fit when his mother asked him to get in the car. She tried waiting him out. But he had proven quite stubborn. As soon as she pulled the car back into the garage, he became calm and subdued. However, the moment the car eased into the street, Hunter began to wail. He cried until he could scarcely breathe. By the time she reached the office, she was crying with him.

She picked him up, carried him inside the office, and deposited him on the floor of the psychologist. The doctor sat at his desk, calmly eating his caramel candies while Hunter thrashed on the office floor, working himself up until he drooled all over himself. At the end of the session, the doctor approached Hunter on his knees and informed him that their time was up.

Hunter instantly stopped wailing. He sat up and allowed the doctor to help wipe the tears and snot from his face. Once Hunter was presentable, the doctor shook Hunter's hand, telling him that he was glad that he had agreed to see him. He then gave Hunter three caramel candies and asked him to wait in the lobby quietly while he spoke with his mother. Thirty minutes later, Hunter's ordeal with psychologists ended.

Now, taking the elevator as an adult, Hunter found himself wondering what the odds were that his mother had made an appointment with the very same psychologist. Would the man even still be practicing?

The patient waiting room resembled any other physician's office. There were several worn leather sofas to sit on as well as an abundance of magazines stacked neatly on a long, low glass coffee table. The counter was stocked with coffee, tea, and bottled water. Hunter checked in and sank on the sofa. He was exactly five minutes early, as was his custom.

No one else was in the room. That made him feel a little better. Still, he caught himself jangling his legs nervously. He felt like an idiot being scared of a psychologist. Fortunately, he didn't have to wait long.

The doctor, a slender man in his mid sixties approached from a side door. He had  thick, dark hair graying at the temples. Smiling, he extended a hand.

"Hello. I'm Dr. Gautier."

Hunter stared into the eyes of the same doctor he had seen as a kid. He tried to hide his surprise. Forcing a smile, he jerked his hand out to shake hands. But he was rattled. Had his mom arranged this on purpose?

After offering Hunter a chair, the doctor sat down across from him, crossing his legs. He wore simple corduroy trousers, a pale-blue button down shirt, and a dark-blue sweater vest. The small office appeared remarkably the same as it had when Hunter was just a kid. Even the beehive candy jar was still on the desk.

Dr. Gautier smiled warmly.

"I wasn't sure if you would remember me," he said. "Your mother thought you might be upset. I assured her that you were probably way past pitching a temper tantrum these days."

Hunter wanted to be insulted by the doctor's words. Instead, he felt an ease that he hadn't expected. For the first time since he allowed his mother to make the appointment for him, he actually relaxed.

He found himself smiling. "I've set aside my demon theatrics," he said. "I should thank you for treating me so nicely when I was such a little monster."

Dr. Gautier waved a hand as though to dismiss the need for apologies.

"I should be apologizing to you," he said. "I always wondered if I pushed you too far too early. Perhaps you would have eventually opened up."

Hunter laughed.

"I'm afraid that wasn't going to happen, Dr. Gautier. I was pretty damned determined that nobody was going to learn my secrets. I only grew afraid because . . ."

He broke off, embarrassed to say the rest.

But Dr. Gautier simply sat there, his eyes on his own fingers as he patiently waited for a response. Perhaps he was used to having people talk in fits and starts.

"Well, the thing is that I was convinced that you had super powers and could see into my brain," Hunter admitted at last.

His deep blue eyes crinkling at the corners, Dr. Gautier smiled delightedly.

"Ah! A super power! That would have been a wonderful tool to have in my bag of tricks."

"So, anyway, my mom thinks that whatever happened when I was a kid might have made me more controlling than is appropriate."

"Do
you
think that you are too controlling?" Dr. Gautier asked, gazing at him serenely.

The question caught Hunter off guard.

"Well, um . . . I get accused of it a lot. So I suppose so."

"But how do
you
feel when you are actually engaged in the so-called controlling manner?" Dr. Gautier persisted. "Do you think that your actions are appropriate at the time?"

"Actually, I think I'm doing the right thing most of the time," Hunter confessed.

"Sometimes I don't get why people react why they do. I mean, sometimes I know that I'm exerting some pressure to get someone to agree. But most of my problems with my girlfriend surface when I'm trying to do things to keep her safe."

Dr. Gautier nodded his head. "You mother told me that your friend has experienced some very real danger in the recent past. I would think that it was reasonable for you to be antsy. The question is the degree to which you are offering your protection for her."

Hunter shook his head. "I don't get it. I limited her involvement in this one situation and she went nuts."

Dr. Gautier tapped his fingers together thoughtfully.

"And what level, say on a scale of one to ten, would you have rated her level of mortal danger in that particular scenario?"

Hunter flushed. "Well, there probably wasn't a huge element of danger."

Dr. Gautier wasn't letting him off that easily. "So, the number would be . . . ?"

Hunter sighed. "I suppose a one or a two. But anything could have happened."

He wished Dr. Gautier would say something else. Instead, the man had gotten up and was walking to his desk.

"I'm afraid I'm rather addicted to these sweets," he said, pulling out the familiar caramel candy from the bright yellow pot. "Care for one yourself?"

Hunter held out his hand. He wondered if Dr. Gautier did this when he wanted a patient to stop beating around the bush and get to the heart of things.

"I never told anyone what really happened," he said. "You were right that day. There was something that I was afraid to tell anyone. And later it seemed stupid to bring it up at all."

Dr. Gautier relaxed back in his chair, gently chewing his piece of candy.

Hunter kept his own in his hand, moving it from palm to palm.

"The only rule my grandparents ever had for me at their house was to never leave the pasture," he said at last. "There was a gate that led to an alleyway to a nearby town."

Hunter risked a look up. But Dr. Gautier was calmly eating his candy, his hands quiet on his lap. The thought that there was no judgment coming from the man helped him continue. He licked his lips and continued.

"That day wasn't the first. I had sneaked out before all by myself. I'm not sure why. Maybe just because I had been told not to. Nothing happened and I started to think that it was a stupid rule."

Hunter clenched his hands as he allowed himself to relive that day. It was winter and he had woken snuggled up against his dog. His grandparents were spending the morning working on a giant crossword puzzle in a corner of the kitchen near the wood burning stove. It was a Saturday and his parents were traveling to a wedding.

He found himself telling Dr. Gautier all the details while he relived each scene in his head. He had jogged down the hall in fluffy bear slippers, wearing thick, striped pajamas. He had paused only to put on his boots and coat so that he could let Coco relieve himself in the back yard. Then they came inside for breakfast, the puppy squatting eagerly at his feet as he dropped bites of pancakes and bacon under the table.

Afterward, he had dressed quickly, eager to play in the small amount of snow dusting the ground outside. At some point, he had seen the gate in the distance. Coco hadn't been with him the last excursion. He couldn't remember why. Perhaps he had even left Coco inside because he knew he was going to break a rule. Whatever the reason, Coco didn't want to stray outside the gate.

"It was as though he knew it was wrong," Hunter said softly, as he mangled the piece of candy in his hand.

"I yelled at him at first. And he just looked at me with his little head turned up to the side like he didn't understand what I was asking."

Hunter flashed back to Coco sitting there, his beautiful brown coat ruffling in the sharp wind. Those soft brown eyes stared at him curiously. His best friend in the whole world.

"I don't know why I did it," he whispered. "I was so angry because I wanted to go exploring with him. And just sat there being stubborn. And then, I picked up my foot and nudged him. But he wouldn't budge. I got even angrier. And then I kicked him."

Hunter's head dropped in his hands and he could feel tears spilling down his cheeks.

"I kicked my best friend. And he made the worst sound and just started running out the gate. I started to run after him. But he didn't stop. He just ran and ran until I couldn't see him any longer."

Hunter started to sob. "I don't even know if he survived or not. Every day I went to the gate and looked, hoping he would try to come back. That was the worst part of all. Not knowing if he was dead or alive. And knowing that it was all my fault."

He felt a soft hand on his shoulder. Dr. Gautier gave his arm a small squeeze and handed him a box of tissues.

He looked up, his chest tight. He expected to see horror or disgust on Dr. Gautier's face. Instead, he found the man staring at him sympathetically.

"That's quite a burden to have carried on your shoulders all these years, Hunter. I imagine that it has always been at the back of your mind. And coming back here to Paris probably brought old memories to the surface."

"You don't look surprised," Hunter said, studying the face of the kind doctor. "Did you somehow know even back then?"

The doctor shrugged. "I suspected there was more to the story of your dog running away from home. As terrible as that tragedy is, it happens quite frequently in society. Your distress seemed disproportional. A stress which often happens when there is an element of guilt involved. I didn't know what happened. Only that your reaction was extreme."

"I loved Coco so much," Hunter said. "Even now I ask myself what the hell was past that gate that was worth looking for."

Dr. Gautier smiled slightly. "Ah, it's the proverbial question in life. Don't we all seek greener pastures at some point in our lives, convinced that something wonderful lies just out of reach? And remember, Hunter, that you safely left the gate yourself before. Even with all your guilt, you must know that you meant no harm to come to your beloved pet."