Page 26 of Heart of Stone
“Hunter’s motorcycle is parked down by the marina. I don’t know what the hell is up with him. Asshole.” His phone rang again. “It’s Rooney.” He pressed it against his ear. “Is he there?” He paused. “You dickwad, where the hell have you been?”
It was Hunter on the other end. I relaxed back and tamped down the tears of relief that badly wanted to spill.
“Are you coming home? You sound like shit.” Slade listened. I could hear Hunter’s voice through the phone, but I couldn’t make out the words. They sounded slow and deep.
Slade rolled his eyes at something Hunter said. “Yeah, all right. You had everyone worried, fool. Yep, I guess I won’t start selling off your stuff yet. Later.” He hung up. “He’s been playing poker for three days. Sounds like he’s been living on whiskey, weed and blow and nothing else. He says the sea air is making him feel better.” He looked at me. “Not going to lie, Street. He’s been on a downward spiral and?—”
“And I helped start it.” I finished for him. I got up and zipped up my sweatshirt. “I’m going down to the marina to check on him.”
“Might be a good idea.”
I walked out of the kitchen.
“And smack him upside his head for me, would ya?” Slade called.
I laughed. “Aren’t you the brave one?”
I went inside my house and peeked into my mom’s room. She was fast asleep, snoring softly from beneath the flamingo beach towel. I grabbed my keys and climbed into my car. The wave of relief I felt after finding out that Hunter was safe assured me that as hard as I’d been trying to break free from him, I was still just as attached as ever. There’d been too much time and shit between us. Somehow, just being friends didn’t seem like an option. Our relationship was a giant, tangled ball of feelings. But I wasn’t going to sort it out tonight or anytime soon. I just needed to see him. Horrible scenarios had been bouncing through my head for the past few days, and I couldn’t sleep easy until I saw for myself that he was all right.
SIXTEEN
HUNTER
Hair of the dog wasn’t helping me as much as I hoped. By the time I got back to Trayton, I felt as if I’d been chewed up and spit out. I headed straight to theDurango, thinking the cold sea air would be better than our stuffy house. And, somehow, it was going to be easier not seeing Amy’s house or her shabby little car or anything else that might remind me how much I missed her. It was like walking around with a cold hard fist in my stomach, and I had no clue what to do about it. The more I thought about us together, the more I convinced myself she needed more. She was like fucking perfection, put on this earth to absorb some of the unwanted darkness. Having her living just a few yards away had made our lives better. She had been the one bright spot in our grim existence. She needed someone who deserved her. That sure as hell wasn’t me.
I held the whiskey bottle to my mouth and lifted it straight up to get the last drops. The liquid burned going down, and the alcohol was no longer having much effect. I let the bottle dangle from my fingers. Leaning forward to put it down on the floor was going to take moreenergy than I had. I’d expected to climb up to the pilot house and collapse into a long winter nap like a goddamn hibernating bear, but instead, my mind was spinning. I seemed to have reached that point of being so tired, I couldn’t rest my head enough to sleep. My mom used to call it the sleepy-crazies. She never had it easy. Aside from having to dodge my dad’s iron fist, she had to deal with three wild, out-of-control boys. Guess that’s why she eventually took the easy way out.
I yanked off my shirt and leaned my back against the cool plaster wall as I stared out the front windows of the pilot house. The moon added a strip of gold to an otherwise black sea. The rhythmic, lonely clanging of the pulleys and chains dangling from masts made the marina feel extra deserted. I felt as empty as the dock.
A shadow passed outside, but I dismissed it, figuring my lack of sleep was bringing on hallucinations. Then the door to the pilot house opened. “Shit, Slade, I told you I was fi?—”
Amy stepped inside. The small lantern that hung on a hook near the door swung back and forth, casting shadows across her pretty face and making her hair shine like copper.
“Well, damn.” My words were stretched and slurred. “They sent an angel down to pick me up and take me to eternity. And here I thought I was going a different route.”
She walked closer. I looked her up and down.
“If I knew angels were going to be this hot, I would have drank myself to death long ago.”
She reached down and took the whiskey bottle from my fingers and put it on the floor. “I have about as much chanceof being an angel as you have of meeting one as you leave this world.”
She pushed between my knees and stood in front of me. The willowy soft scent that always surrounded her floated over me, making some of the ache in my head and chest lift away. She reached forward and pressed her finger near the gash on my cheek. The blood had dried, but one long yawn would get it flowing again.
“Why the hell do you always have to walk around with big gaping cuts? Can’t you ever just go out and come back the same way you left?” She walked over to the captain’s chair and leaned down into the compartment that held the first aid box. I watched her. My sleep deprived mind seemed to be making everything move in slow motion, and her long, graceful movements were causing the air to stick in my lungs.
She turned around with the first aid box and walked back. She sat on the bench next to me. Her body brushed my arm as she reached up with some antiseptic soaked cotton. I winced as she pressed the stinging solution against the cut.
“Does it hurt?” she asked.
“Little bit.”
“Good.”
“Street, I?—”
“Shh. No talking. When you talk, it fucks things up. So, just shut up and let me take care of you.”
“I’m O.K. with?—
