Page 37 of Seeing Grayscale

Hunter is the goddamned governor’sson.Am I trying to ruin the guy just because I have attachment issues? I try to calm down when he rakes a shaky hand through his hair and takes a deep breath.

His cheeks are flushed, and I’m sure mine are too. “Please use the crutches,” he says gently, a complete 180 from the thunderous boom a moment ago.

I take them, feeling like shit and hating that I’m being such an asshole. Hunter hasn’t done anything wrong yet, and I’m actinglike the worst has already happened. Call it survival instincts unwilling to relent. “Sorry,” I grumble while getting the crutches situated.

“I—thank you.”

Finding the strength to use my words, I swallow hard and meet his gaze. “What you’re offering me is too good to be true.” Another swallow. His eyes track the movement. “I don’t want to let myself get used to it, either.”

“Because you think I’m going to abandon you? Send you back out there with nothing?”

“Yeah,” I admit.

“Why didn’t you just say that?”

Caleb, that’s why.

When I’d gotten my first felony, fresh out of the group home with nowhere to go, I met Caleb. He’d taken me in, promised me x, y, and z, and then one day, he was fucking a guy in fancy slacks over my bed. Everything I had was no longer mine but Caleb’s. I was thrown out the same night. The worst part was, I fought it. I begged for my things, for more time to figure things out, and Caleb refused me.

But Hunter doesn’t want to know all that, and honestly, I don’t want to say it all out loud. So, I purse my lips and nod towards the clinic.

“Gonna be late.”

He searches my face for a few beats, wanting to push and find out what I’m not saying, but eventually, he concedes, nodding his head. “Let’s go.”

A hairline fracture in my shin is the diagnosis.

Doctor Perry says it’ll take four to six weeks to heal with a brace and stay off it as much as possible. He writes me another prescription I’m meant to get filled in two weeks for my pain medicine and asks me about…my other injury. After a lot of arguing, I let him examine me. I already feel raw and exposed, like a hunk of meat, so when he’s done, I want to throw up.

“I meant to give you these pamphlets yesterday, but in my rush to get to you, I forgot them.” Perry hands me three different ones. One is for shelters, the second is about free trauma counseling, and the third is for state aid.

“Thanks,” I mutter, folding them and putting them in my pocket. I'll throw them in the trash after I leave.

With my new brace on my leg, everything else is squared away, and I’m ready to get the hell out of dodge. But the good doctor has more to say. Flicking his eyes from my chart on his tablet to my face, he asks, “Parker is it?”

“Yeah?”

“I knew a Hudson Parker once. Any relation?”

My already sensitive insides turn necrotic. Spit pools on my tongue, a stab landing smack between my chest. “That was my dad.”

His eyes soften. “We were in school together. I hadn’t seen him since, but I remember him well. Good man.”

“He was,” I croak, balling my fists and trying not to sob right here on his stupid exam table.

“Did he ever—never mind. I’m sorry if I upset you, Gray.”

Shaking my head, I quickly wipe away the moisture around my eyes and say, “He was going out for date night with my mom. It was kind of a celebration because he got his PhD. So, yeah, he did get to become a doctor.”

Perry nods solemnly. “I knew he would,” he smiles wistfully. “Anyway, before you leave, I got back your blood work and urine. Everything looks good. Nothing to worry about except some minor dehydration.”

“And the…” I trail off, unable to say it.

“No STIs.”

“Thanks.”

“My pleasure. Shall we?”

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