Between These Walls (32 page)

Hunter tilted his head in reaction but kept his eyes focused on his work to prevent cutting his finger. Safety provided a convenient excuse to avoid her scrutiny.

“We’re no longer together. We ended things last week.”

“She ended things?”

“I did.”

Ellen stopped working for a moment, gave him a precursory once-over with her eyes—to gauge how well he’d handled the breakup, no doubt—then resumed cutting through a raw chicken.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Hunter winked at her. “Sure you are.”

“Of course I am!” she said, shrugging her shoulders with feigned innocence. “Seriously! I’m your friend and I care about you. Granted, I wasn’t Kara’s biggest fan, but she wasn’t a bad person. I just couldn’t get the poor girl to shut up at times!” Another glance at Hunter, then she said, “Look, I don’t want you to have a broken heart. That’s the important thing. But you sure seem okay, unless you’re hiding it well.”

“I’ll admit my heart wasn’t fully in the relationship. We enjoyed each other’s company and tried to make a relationship work, but sometimes it—”

“—isn’t meant to be?”

“Right,” Hunter replied. “Besides, as much as she traveled, we spent more time apart than we spent together. So, as strange as it sounds, my day-to-day doesn’t feel much different today than it did when we were together. She’s gone, but she’s no more absent than she was three weeks ago.”

“But you’re okay? Promise me you’re okay.”

Hunter grinned. “I promise I’m okay.”

Ellen examined his face, then looked confused. She placed her fist on her hip the way she did when she knew the details didn’t match.

“No, you seem
too
okay.” She squinted for a moment, as if to examine him closer, then her eyes grew wide. “What a sly little Valentino you are! You have another woman on your radar already, don’t you!”

Hunter felt his eye muscles expand and his pupils dilate before he took control of himself. Ellen tilted her head in one direction but kept her eyes trained on him, expecting an answer.

Nonchalant, Hunter replied, “No ladies on the radar at the moment.” Technically true. “I might take a break from the dating scene, save my money till I find a new job. That’s not a bad idea, right?”

Ellen stared at him, stabbing him with that suspicion in her eyes.

“Speaking of love,” Hunter said, scurrying to deflect her attention, “what’s the latest on your wedding plans?”

Ellen returned to her raw chicken, its flesh pallid, a trickle of blood escaping here and there. After a beat, she gestured with her head toward the array of food.

“Look at all this food,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Tons of details, each dish begging for attention. Racing the clock to get it all done. I’ve done my best to organize everything, to keep it under control. But it still feels like it’s teetering, on the verge of erupting into a hot mess.”

Hunter glanced over his shoulder at her.

“That’s how planning the wedding feels, along with everything else happening around it,” she said. “Part of it is due to my busy catering season, plus trying to get all the factors worked out for the new home. Everything is coming together at the same time as this wedding ...”

Ellen stopped her work. She gave him a cautious glance, as if to reconsider what she’d said.

“I’m supposed to
enjoy
planning my wedding, right? I’m twenty-six years old, in the prime of my life. I don’t know what it is, but I’m not ... happy. And it bugs the hell out of me because I can’t figure out
why.
”

Hunter didn’t know what to say. Though their friendship had lasted years, Ellen seldom confided in him. Her strong exterior served as her trademark, a trait he took for granted until it dissolved on rare occasions like this afternoon.

“You know what scares me the most?” Ellen continued. “I don’t want to be the woman who sold us the property.”

“The property you and Brendan bought to build your house?”

“Yeah. I’m scared of becoming that woman.”

“What do you mean? What about her?”

“That woman felt so trapped thinking she’d made a mistake with her marriage, mistaken who she was, afraid to build a house anywhere that would remind her of her regrets. What if
I
enter this marriage, then figure out ten years later that I made a mistake? Not because of who Brendan is, but because of who
I
am?” Ellen said. “You know me, Hunter. I can do anything without being afraid. But marriage—that’s not a thing, it’s a
life.
”

“Have you talked to Brendan about this?”

“Yeah, but he thinks it’s stress and wedding jitters. And he knows what to say to calm me down when I get stressed out.”

“But you
don’t
think it’s stress and wedding jitters?”

With a shrug of resignation, Ellen bit down on her lip.

“I don’t know what it is.” She pursed her lips and curled her fingers, focusing on her cutting board as if it would reveal her answer. “It’s like this tiny seed sits trapped inside my soul, surrounded by darkness, hidden inside me. But it doesn’t grow into a tree; it just lingers as a seed—a seed of doubt. Nobody can see it because it’s not a giant tree. But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s there, reminding me of all I stand to lose with love, all the people I could hurt if I make a critical mistake. It’s a small, hidden question, but it weighs me down and pulls at my attention. The rest of my life is fine, but that damn seed still lurks beneath my skin. And nobody else can remove that seed from my life.”

Ellen paused in thought, then continued slicing away at the chicken before her, working much slower than before. Hunter knew her thoughts resided elsewhere.

Ellen shook her head. She mumbled under her breath, words Hunter wasn’t sure were meant to reach his ears.

“That damn seed ...”

CHAPTER 28

On Monday night, as Hunter drove the car, he could tell Gabe felt nervous. Gabe couldn’t keep his hands still, interlocking his fingers, then kneading them, one by one. He would rest his hands in his lap for a few seconds, then repeat the process all over again. Hunter didn’t think Gabe was even aware of it.

Peering over at the passenger side, Hunter asked, “You’re okay meeting them?”

“Sure, nothing wrong with meeting new people,” Gabe replied in a casual tone, the way someone overcompensates to hide the fact that they’re nervous. “I meet new clients all the time, right?”

Despite his normal air of confidence, Gabe struck Hunter as a lone wolf. Gabe had mentioned he
didn’t
feel like he fits in, so Hunter figured an evening with the guys might help him stretch. Beyond that, Hunter wanted to test the waters to see if his friends would notice or say anything about this new person in Hunter’s life, but test it under the guise of a new friendship. He’d decided to treat it the way he would add hot water to a lukewarm bath, a gradual increase, imperceptible until, at some point, he’d reached full temperature.

Could it be that simple?

Hunter wondered if this was his way of seeking permission, of getting approval for something he’d grown up hearing others teach him is wrong.

When they reached the apartment building in Twinsburg, a community north of Hudson, Hunter parked the car and they climbed out. He waved for Gabe to follow him up the stairs.

“You’re sure they won’t mind my showing up without an invite?” Gabe asked.

“They won’t care. They’re a laid-back group of guys,” Hunter said with a knock on the door. “Good guys. I know one of them from church, the others from elsewhere. On Saturdays, I shoot hoops with some of them. Somebody said he might bring along another buddy or two tonight, too.”

Gabe shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “If they’re okay with my coming, then so am I.”

Randy Gresh opened the door. Dressed in a hooded sweatshirt, his five o’clock shadow made him look older than he was.

“Hunter Carlisle!” Randy boomed, an open bottle of beer in his left hand. He gave Hunter a knuckle bump with his free hand and opened the door wider with his elbow.

“I brought my buddy Gabe along. Hope that’s okay.”

“Of course,” Randy said, “the more the merrier. Come on in.”

Hunter made his way inside with Gabe close behind. In the living room, Randy had already placed the chairs from his dining-room table on each side of his sofa, all arranged in a semi-circle around a flat-screen television. The deep, crisp voices of two sports broadcasters emanated from the surround-sound speakers as they called plays for a Monday night football game, which had begun a few minutes earlier. The Cleveland Browns would play this game on the road in Kansas City.

The living room was sparse, true to form as a bachelor pad. Joe Garza and Matt Toenjes sat in two chairs on one side of the sofa. Two other friends of Randy’s had come and occupied the other chairs, guys Hunter had met in the past but whose names he’d forgotten. He figured he’d pick up their names as the game continued and they bantered back and forth. On most occasions, Hunter knew, Randy sat on the sofa, taking the seat nearest the door. Since Hunter knew everyone, he decided to take the middle seat on the sofa to reduce any discomfort for Gabe. He sat down and removed his coat, and Gabe followed his lead.

“Browns doing okay this season?” Gabe asked of no one in particular.

“If they win all their remaining regular-season games and two other teams suffer losses, we’ll eke out a wildcard spot next month in the playoffs,” Matt replied.

“Miracle of miracles,” Joe chimed in.

A sudden round of shouts and hand claps interrupted Joe’s comment as the Browns completed a 16-yard pass. The receiver managed to carry the ball a few more yards before the Kansas City defense forced him out of bounds and the game clock stopped.

“Hunter or Gabe, you guys want a beer?” Randy called from the kitchen, where he searched inside his refrigerator.

Gabe gave a polite decline. When the broadcast entered a commercial break, Hunter met Randy in the kitchen and retrieved two colas from the refrigerator. He handed one to Gabe and settled back onto the sofa. Though Hunter kept his words at a minimum tonight, he hadn’t disconnected himself. On the contrary, he intended to gauge his friends’ responses to Gabe and would step in if the interaction grew awkward. That might provide Hunter with clues about what he would be up against down the road if they were to discover him in a relationship with Gabe.

After a long drive and several failed attempts to deliver the football into the end zone, Cleveland settled for a field goal on fourth down. Though it generated a tepid response from the guys in the room compared to the touchdown attempts, Hunter offered a halfhearted handclap at the effort.

“Did any of you guys play football back in the day?” Gabe asked.

Two of the guys gave a finger wave but remained focused on the television as a commercial ended, kickoff occurred, and Kansas City managed a 28-yard return.

“You?” Matt grunted.

“No, not me,” Gabe chuckled. “I was one of those drama geeks. I was always better at
playing
a football player than actually being one. I left sports to the guys who were good at them.”

A nod from one of Randy’s friends. Other than that, the guys remained silent as the broadcast blared from the television. Hunter could hear Joe shift in his seat. Though Gabe sat inches away, Hunter could sense Gabe had gone tense. Gabe lifted one eyebrow as he concentrated on scratching his index finger against his thumb. Hunter assumed the guys had gone silent as they tried to predict how Kansas City would set up its next play. He hoped their silence didn’t reflect a lack of interest in Gabe. He also looked to see whether anyone’s glances flicked between Gabe and him, but noticed nothing.

Why am I so paranoid?
Hunter wondered.
I know these guys.
Joe, Randy and Matt are my friends.

Gabe eased back against the sofa and watched the game. Other than the occasional fidget, he seemed fine once again.

Kansas City attempted a touchdown on fourth down, but wound up short. They returned the ball to Cleveland. On first down, Cleveland executed a running play for two yards. On second down, the quarterback’s pass attempt went incomplete. On third down, Cleveland succeeded at a running play of eight yards, one that appeared sufficient for a first down. When the referees pulled out the chain link and measured the progress, however, they ruled the ball inches shy of a first down at Kansas City’s 46-yard line.

“Think they’ll go for first down?” Hunter asked.

“No way. I think they’ll punt,” Randy replied. “It’s still early in the first quarter. They have no reason to go for it.”

“Yeah, but Cleveland’s gotten more aggressive this year,” Matt chimed in. “Plus, they need to win tonight to have any hope of making it to the post-season. I think they’ll try to rack up as many points as possible early on.”

“Okay, stupid question since I don’t watch many of these games,” Gabe said. “If they just went for a play and got eight yards, why wouldn’t they make a play to get these last inches? If they don’t make it, they can try again like before, right?”

Immediately Joe stifled a smirk. His pointed glance hopped from Hunter to Randy. Without a word, Joe and Randy had communicated a message.

“You get four downs—four attempts—to make it ten yards,” Randy replied in a matter-of-fact tone. “If you make it, the downs reset at the new spot.”

“But if you don’t make it, you lose the ball to the other team—at that exact spot,” Joe added.

“Oh, okay, I see,” Gabe said. He leaned forward in his seat and relaxed his shoulders in a manner that struck Hunter as a tad too loose for a male. “But if our fourth-down attempt failed, what would be the problem if the other team got the ball?”

More shifting glances. More hidden smirks.

“Well, they’re halfway down the field,” Randy said. “If we punt, the other team will catch the ball, maybe run it a little, and let’s say they end up at the 20-yard line. They’d need to travel 80 yards for a touchdown.”

“If we went for the fourth down and failed,” one of Randy’s friends interrupted, “our best-case scenario is that K.C. would get the ball at their 46-yard line. K.C. would only need to travel 54 yards to score, then we’d be down 7-3.”