Page 25 of Seeing Grayscale

He is bored, movements sluggish as he turns and heads for the counter under the heating lights. Plucking a bag off it, he comes back and slides it over. “$16.24.”

I pull out my credit card, tapping it over the pin pad, and the register chitters as it prints a receipt. Signing it, I offer a quick smile and leave. With Gray’s food in my grip, I hurry back to the car as my stomach turns.

I hate my mom’s roast. It’s always dry and flavorless, and the potatoes arenevercooked fully. She’s made it the same way my entire life. My dad doesn’t ever eat it, and always too busy nursing his evening scotch and reading reports on his laptop.

But I’m expected to eat it—obligated to enjoy it.

“Here you are,” I say to Gray, placing the bag in his lap as my eyes flick over to the digital clock on the touch screen.

Shit.I’ve got an hour.

Quickly calculating how long it’ll take to drop him off and get to my parents’ house, I internally cringe. Cutting it close is hardly accurate. Even if I speed and blow through a few stop signs, I’ll be a few minutes late. I refuse to dump him out in the driveway. He’ll need to be shown where things are, and I have to make sure the downstairs bedroom is made up so he doesn’t have to go upstairs.

Again, I rake a hand through my hair, tugging on it a little.

“Everything okay?” Gray asks. There’s an honest concern in his tone.

“Fine.”

“Right,” he says, drawing out the word.

I want a cigarette, but it’ll have to wait. As we pull out onto the road, heading north towards the summer cabin, I submit to his subtle prying. “I’m going to be late—meeting my dad, that is.”

“Because of me?”

I don’t like the rise in his voice or the way he curls inward. “Hey,” I tell him, and he slowly looks back at me. “I want to do this for you. He can wait, alright?”

Clutching the bag of food tightly, he nods once. “Alright.”

One fire put out, but at least four more will be waiting for me in an hour.

THIRTEEN

Youknowwhatisfuckingcrazy? The fact that I…care.

Hunter is a stranger.

Stranger.

I’ve known his name for less than forty-eight hours. I’ve known his face for slightly more. Yet here I am,caringthat he’s going to run late. Imagine that?

I can’t recall the last time I truly gave a fuck about anyone. Probably some of the kids at the group home, but that was so long ago that those memories all blend together. If I had to really dissect it, I cared about Caleb—my ex.

Not enough to make me miss him or wonder what might’ve been, but I did give a fuck.

So what gives? Is this some weird, suppressed attachment issue I’ve never realized I have? Am I clinging to this dude because he’s been nice to me?

I side-eye Hunter while he drives faster than before, white-knuckling the steering wheel and chewing his cheek like bubble gum. It’s difficult to determine if I care out of fear or something else. It’s possible that running late for his meeting with thegovernor—yeah, I still haven’t forgotten that part—will make him change his mind about helping.

He could see the writing on the wall, knowing that he and I should’ve never met, let alone whatever white-knight crap he was pulling. Our worlds don’t mix for a reason. Hell, maybe his dad already knows about his new hobby and will tell him to call it quits this instant because the snoots he calls friends won’t like any of this. I doubt that looks good for their clean-cut appearances.

A…COO or whatever mingling with a homeless guy? Especially one that looks likeme?

Yeah. It’s probably all over, and Hunter knows it.

That’s why he’s so tense. That’s why he doesn’t want to talk and—

“Do you mind if…after I’m done at my parents’ house, I come back? To the cabin, I mean.”

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