Page 13 of 2204 Hunter Lane
Call me a piece of shit, but I was the realest motherfucker out there. And I wasn’t about to bend over backwards for a big city brunette with pleading puppy dog eyes.
Whatever, she’ll be outta my hair in a few hours.
I finished rehoming all of my tools and wiped the sweat off my brow, admiring the white Malibu in front of me. Nice ride, no maintenance. She probably didn’t even realize her car needed a fucking oil change.Well, not anymore. I had some extra time to spare.
I was never a sedan type of person, didn’t think I had the personality for it and frankly, my Ram 1500 was my goddamn baby - wouldn’t switch it out for the world. But as far as cars went, Bambi’s Malibu was a solid choice.
The smaller desk in the corner of the garage was my safe space. When I wasn’t helping my dad out on the farm, I sat my ass down at this table and worked on building my boat figurines.
Call me a loser, but I loved that shit. Back when I was a kid, my mom n’ dad would take me sailing at Rivertown Bay, and I’d sit in our tiny boat no bigger than a raft and watch the massive ships float on by.
I asked my mom, my beautiful,breathingmom at the time if I could sail a boat as big as theirs one day.
She smiled at me with her ice blue eyes and nodded. “Of course, baby. No tide is ever too great for a captain of the sea.”
I remember being filled with pride and poked at her. “Then where’s my sailor hat?”
She ripped out a piece of cartridge paper from her sketch book and began folding it this way and that. At the end, she had crafted a tiny little boat hat for me and plopped it on my head.
“There ya go, Hunt. The greatest little sailor I ever did know.”
I forced the memory out of my head, controlling my staggered breaths as a single tear slid down my cheek. The paper boat hat was nailed to the grid board next to my work station, containing all the bottled up happiness I could no longer feel.It should’ve been me, Mom. It should’ve been fuckin’ me.
Fifteen minutes of quiet figurine painting passed when my phone started to buzz.It better be my dad letting me know that Bambi was ready to grab her car and ride off into the sunset.
But when I checked the caller ID, it read: JOSH BAXTER.
I let it ring for a couple more seconds, finishing off a final stroke before answering with a grunt. “Yeah?”
“Down for a hike, man?” Josh suggested, accompanied by a soft woman’s giggle in the background.
I placed the phone on speaker and continued to paint the stern of my ship a bright yellow. “Didn’t you get enough exercise this mornin’?”
He chuckled in response. “I say I used my mouth a lot more than my legs this time.”
That same woman’s laugh echoed through the phone and I could place it as Beth’s.
“That you did, mister.” She said.
Yeah, alright, fuck this.“I’m hanging up.”
“No, wait – Hunt. Let’s go hiking, man. I think we could both use some fresh air, don’t ya?”
“I’m outside.” I replied, flatly.
“I meant some movement.”
“I walk around plenty.”
Just one more final coat on this bad boy and the stern will match the rudder –
“Hunter!” Josh blared, causing me to tip my paintbrush into the transom area of the boat, staining it with a bright yellow streak.
I inhaled a deep breath before dropping the paintbrush all together and pushing out my chair.
“If I come will you quit botherin’ me till tonight?” I snapped.
I could feel the motherfucker smiling through the phone. “Promise.”
