Between These Walls (20 page)

Kara checked her watch, a child bubbling with anticipation, and whispered, “It’s almost time.”

Hunter felt a waft of heated air trickle past him. In its wake, a strand of Kara’s hair strayed and landed upon her face. With his free hand, Hunter reached over and brushed it away with his knuckle. Their eyes locked. She searched his face, her eyes flicking back and forth, the way she did when she desired a display of tenderness from him.

Hunter focused on her face, tried to summon a more intense attraction toward her. Searching her eyes, he found it difficult to locate depth in them, one with which he could connect. He so wished he could. He
wanted
to desire her from the deepest part of his heart, but couldn’t find a way to get there. Frustrated, he remained cool and kept a tender exterior in an effort to give to her what he
could
summon.

Leaning forward, he gazed into her eyes and laid a soft, protracted kiss upon her lips.

When they parted, Kara opened her eyes and smiled, her eyes shimmering in the theater’s ambient glow. Her smile spoke of contentment, a heart touched.

“That was nice,” she said, her tone soft and earnest.

Her words pinched Hunter’s heart, a tinge of sadness as he looked into her eyes and realized, in a degree new and profound, that she hadn’t the faintest suspicion of his lack of desire toward her. He had played his part well.

Hunter loved her. He truly did, in some shape or form. No doubt about it. His love for her emanated from his heart. And while he could sense it within, he couldn’t identify which
type
of love it was. It resembled gentle compassion more than romantic urge, a quality that brought comfort but not invigoration.

Yet tonight, he stared into her eyes and continued to search, desperate to find an ember that could draw his soul to hers.

This is how I want to be,
Hunter thought to himself.
I’m not gay.
Keep it suppressed.
Force it down, and the nightmare will go away.

Granted, he had fought it this way for years without success, but maybe that’s the way it was. Maybe it took years to see victory. Nothing more than a prolonged battle, a foe that took longer than others to conquer.

Just forget about it for tonight.
You’ll be fine.

The theater lights flashed twice to signal the program was about to begin.

He felt he should say
something,
express
something,
to her before the moment passed. Something genuine from his heart. But he wasn’t sure what.

Retrieving his arm from around her shoulder, he took her hand in both of his. Her pixie-size hand looked diminutive when engulfed in his. He gazed into her eyes once again, one more try, and opened his mouth to see what words he could find.

Too late. The lights dimmed. Music boomed from an orchestra. Kara beamed, turning to face the stage as the overture played.

Soon the curtain opened to reveal a train setting. Hunter found the details impressive—the props, the costumes, the backdrop. It was amazing how much a curtain could hide. Hunter sank into his plush seat to enjoy the show.

Onstage, salesmen engaged in rhythmic banter, their speech gaining momentum to simulate train movement. Back and forth, the salesmen traded jabs and professional philosophies. In Hunter’s opinion, their cadence sounded like roosters squawking a limerick.

Hunter enjoyed teasing Kara while they watched her musicals at home, poking fun at the nostalgia of yesteryear, so he decided to give it a whirl.

“Few people know this,” Hunter whispered in Kara’s ear, “but this was gangsta rap in its early era.”

Kara didn’t find his joke funny during a live presentation. She glared at him, then returned her attention to the stage.

With humor no longer an option, Hunter rested his chin on his palm and watched as the scene changed, as Iowan characters drifted into a song about their town. A place where life was simple, straightforward.

Hunter’s mind drifted back to the kiss he and Kara had shared a few minutes ago. As he analyzed its details and his lack of authentic engagement in its affection, his frustration mounted.

He hated this battle. He hated it for the unsuspecting hearts that stood to get hurt in its wake.

* * *

Sleep eluded him that night.

Lying in bed, Hunter’s eyelids felt heavy. And while he’d flirted with slumber several times tonight, he’d startled himself awake in the final instant, unable to relax enough to drift away.

Darkness. Hunter listened to the steady tick of his watch, which sat atop the dresser. A faint noise he would have overlooked in other scenarios. Tonight, however, each tick reminded him of how much closer the night crept toward dawn.

Lying on his back, with his lower-back muscles at rest, his mind wandered to his evening with Kara at the theater: Her porcelain arm in his as they treaded across the red carpet in the lobby. The sound of her gasps as she admired the ornate carvings along the walls. The way she had leaned into him in the auditorium as the storyline unfolded.

That kiss. The innocence in her eyes.

And his awareness that he had deceived her.

Hunter couldn’t shake that notion. Despite the sense of love he held for her, he feared he could never surrender his heart to it. And that didn’t seem fair to Kara.

It didn’t seem fair to
him,
either. After all, he
wanted
to love her. He
tried
to love her.

He needed time. What was wrong with that? Didn’t all relationships take time?

Then a more frightening thought emerged: Hunter wondered if he could ever give his whole heart to
anyone.
If not, should he settle for less? Is that what other people did? If you couldn’t find complete happiness, was it possible to get 95 percent of the way there?

Hunter listened to the furnace hum as the heat kicked on. From a nearby vent, a faint, toasty draft tickled his face. Outside, a streetlight flickered in the distance. The moon cast its electric glow through the window, which created long shadows at perfect angles on the far side of his bedroom.

Hunter pulled his blanket snug beneath his chin.

Gabe.

Images of Gabe floated across his mind in a stream of consciousness.

Gabe’s smile, the one that warmed Hunter’s heart with the glow of a hundred candles and ushered in a sense of security. The openness in Gabe’s eyes, which welcomed Hunter’s honesty, eyes that wouldn’t think less of Hunter for revealing a glimpse of his soul. Perfect, succinct ears that Hunter knew would listen to words he had buried since childhood.

Then his mind’s eye skipped to Gabe’s arms, the arms Hunter had noticed during his first appointment as Gabe had worked along Hunter’s shoulders. The way the muscles flexed along Gabe’s forearms. Deep crevices that lined Gabe’s arms to form narrow moats between bone and muscle, which showed up whenever Gabe angled his arm in the midst of therapeutic motion.

Hunter knew he should stop right now. But he didn’t. He allowed the images to run their course.

He concentrated with more intensity, adjusting the lens of his mind’s eye to bring Gabe’s arms into sharper focus. Hunter closed his eyes. He could feel Gabe’s fingers make contact on his skin as they worked their way along his back, descending from his shoulders to where his shoulder blades converged, then farther down toward Hunter’s waistline.

Hunter sensed himself stir below his waist. Heat emanated from his torso and sent a steady, electric current coursing through his veins. He thought of his own bare skin on the massage table, the vulnerability present when a towel had provided the only barrier between the flesh of his midsection and Gabe’s sight. At that first appointment, the thought had made Hunter uncomfortable. But now, its mystery enlivened him.

Gabe’s face came into focus as he worked through the routine, coming nearer to Hunter’s skin as he concentrated on Hunter’s back. Drawing closer, yet his chin or cheekbone never made contact with Hunter’s flesh. Hunter had wished for contact, just one moment of it. He imagined the fever from Gabe’s breath as it landed on his flesh.

Now, lying in bed, Hunter felt his resistance wear thin. The slide occurred in a gradual decline, the way it always did. Thought by thought, image by image, he peeled away layers of onionskin, one by one.

Hunter’s breathing grew heavier, his gasps more desperate. He held each breath a full second before releasing it. He fought—halfheartedly—to endure this inner torture, to resist the pictures he had allowed to ambush his brain. Caught between the urge of his flesh and the desire to bring this thought pattern to a screeching halt right now, he winced. Of all the aspects of his battle, lust was the most difficult, the toughest obstacle to resist. God would want him to put a stop to these thoughts, he knew. Yet Hunter continued to tiptoe forward, brushing against the boundary line, nuzzling it.

Beads of perspiration burst across his scalp, soaking his hair at its roots.

Gabe’s hands again. Strong fingers. Blue eyes like ice on fire.

Hunter curled his hands into fists at his sides, arms locked at the elbows, eyes aimed toward heaven, whispering for God’s help. With every ounce of defense he could summon, he tried to fight the pressure.

Yet Hunter sighed as he felt his resistance crumble, sand washed from the shoreline during high tide.

His hand now rested feather light on his chest. He clenched his jaw. Bit his lower lip.

Fully aroused at his torso, he hurt from withstanding for so long.

The crack was almost imperceptible. A breaking in his will.

He allowed his hand slide down his chest ... farther ... farther ...

Hunter tilted his head back. His fingers continued to slide until he experienced an involuntary jolt as they made initial contact with his midsection.

Images raced ... raced ... a flurry of sporadic pictures that melded into a blur.

And within seconds, it was over.

With his heart racing, his neck went lax against his pillow. He panted for breath.

Hunter felt an anchor drop in his gut.

He had been through this scenario countless times before. But not with Gabe on his mind. Now he had crossed
that
line.

Hunter couldn’t deny it. He knew his attraction to Gabe was real.

Shame settled in. Part of him wanted to weep because he felt as though he had let God down. Another part of him felt a stronger pull toward Gabe. Incidences like this, these five-minute rollercoaster rides, had occurred before, ignited by thoughts of other guys his age, all the way back to when Hunter was a young teenager.

But this instance was different.

This time, the guy about whom Hunter had fantasized was someone he actually cared about, someone with whom Hunter felt comfortable opening up—a rarity in his life.

Unable to reconcile the incongruity, Hunter felt helpless.

Exhaustion overcame him. His breathing slowed. His heartbeat coasted toward its normal speed, and soon he drifted to sleep.

CHAPTER 17

Hunter knew he should have seen it coming. He should have listened to the nudges he’d sensed in his spirit.

But he hadn’t.

The call arrived at 10:26 on Monday morning. Out of habit, as soon as he’d hung up the phone, his eye had darted to the lower-right corner of his laptop screen to note the time. A conscientious Hunter always noted the time a client called so he could create a journal record in his customer-relationship software, where he would summarize their conversation. Then, prior to calling a client or prospect, Hunter would scan the last few records of their interaction to jog his memory. If the client mentioned his kid would play third base in a softball game that weekend, Hunter would, during the next call, ask how the game went, how many stolen bases the kid had prevented, or the number of runs he’d scored.

But this call hadn’t come from a client. When this call arrived, the phone’s double-ring tone indicated it had originated from within the building. Hunter glanced at the phone’s display screen.

Human Resources had summoned him. The
director
of Human Resources.

Gretchen Miller’s voice had sounded askew in a way Hunter couldn’t identify—not so much what was in her voice, but what
wasn’t
in her voice. She had sounded pleasant, yet removed, a neutrality Hunter sensed as intentional. The sort of neutrality that preceded bad news.

Hunter wondered if the call would involve bad news about his manager, Wayne. Wayne had left for Detroit last week. He was supposed to continue to Milwaukee this week.

Wayne got on his flight to Milwaukee, right?
Hunter wondered. Hunter assumed he had. Come to think of it, however, he hadn’t received any phone or email messages from him today. For a man like Wayne, whose battle cry occurred in full force around daybreak, today’s Monday-morning silence wasn’t in character.

Hunter’s tongue went fuzzy. He took a sip of coffee, which had gone cold.

As he pondered the situation, he caught himself chewing his thumbnail and ceased.

No, this definitely can’t be good,
Hunter thought. Wayne must be in trouble. Hunter had heard of the man’s heated exchanges with other managers when he was tense. Had it finally come back to bite him, prompting Gretchen Miller to notify Hunter that, for the interim, he didn’t have a boss? Or maybe Wayne had quit on the spot.
That
would fit his personality: a renegade who would spend two years planning his own business venture, line up a slew of clients, walk out on his job, and then, the next day, notify his former employer he’d become their major competitor.

Had anyone else received Gretchen’s call?

He checked his clock again. 10:28 a.m. The foreboding continued, but he couldn’t stall any longer. He’d better head to the first floor, he figured.

Hunter took the long way through his department. Instead of cutting through the narrow corridor between his cubicle section and the next, he walked toward the far end of his area, wrapped around the final row of cubicles, and headed up the corridor on the opposite side of the room. Along the way, he eyed various cubicles to see if anyone was missing, to get an idea of who else Human Resources might have contacted. He didn’t hear a chain of ring tones, but maybe they had called him last. He noted a few absences but knew one of those individuals had called in sick. Another had mentioned a client visit first thing this morning. Close to the glass doors, one person was away from his cubicle—Hunter didn’t know why—but his light remained on. Otherwise, the team appeared in place, no signs of abnormality. No one sneaking into a neighbor’s cubicle to whisper. No muted chatter in corners of the room.