Page 22 of Hunter
“Do what?” he snaps, now marching over to me with a thoroughly confused expression, even though he must know what I’m talking about.
“Destroy yourself and guilt me all at the same time,” I plead, slapping at his extensive chest in the process. “What happened tonight could have happened anywhere, it’s got nothing to do with my working for Daniel.”
“What happened to ‘Mr Hunter’?”
“Oh, my God, Phoenix!” I huff and roll my eyes at the same time. “Just because you don’t know him, or his family connections, doesn’t mean he’s a bad guy.”
“Perhaps not, but at least if I do know, I can be prepared,” he argues.
“Like you were with Tony? You couldn’t have known him better!”
“Tony didn’t hurt you, he—”
“Tony didn’t hurt me?” I gasp as the pain of what he just said hits me. “Did you really just say that to me?”
“Shit, Lou,” he rushes out before pulling me into his arms, “shit, shit, shit, I’m so sorry.”
I should still be mad, even if it was a slip of the tongue, but I’m so exhausted, so hurt over everything that happened between Tony and me tonight, I need this hug as much as he needs to give it. Besides, I understand what he was trying to say, even if he did put his usual Phoenix-sized foot in his mouth.
“It still hurts, why does it still hurt?!” I cry out in frustration.
“I know, Lou, I know,” he says softly, which is so unusual for him, it makes me want to cry even more. “You shared so much together; you can’t expect it to just go out like a light.”
“He still smells the same,” I whisper in a post-breakdown fog of misery, my eyes focusing on a stained coaster on top of the bar. “I just want to forget and move on.”
“You will, and I think you are,” he tries to soothe me. “It’s like when Dad died, you don’t just stop caring, but you learn to live with it a little more easily each day.”
“Dad’s different; he didn’t do what Tony did, he didn’t crap all over my trust.”
“You were best friends, each other’s firsts, as much as I hate to think about that,” he says, making me smile through the pain of it all. “But that’s not who he is anymore; you’re mourning the loss of that guy, the boy he once was.”
“When will I get over it all, Phoenix?” I ask sadly.
“You know how I said it wasn’t like putting out a light?” He pushes us apart and looks at me with a smug smile on his face, so I cautiously nod. “Well, think of it as the afternoon sun, making its slow ass descent in the sky. It will sink below that horizon at some point.”
“That’s your analogy?” I ask with laughter in my voice because he looks just that stupid proud of himself.
“Yeah, how’s that for being deep?” he grins, and I end up laughing properly, from deep in my belly.
“You’re an idiot!”
“Probably, but I bet I just made that sun set a little bit faster,” he teases, “even if it’s just a smidgeon.”
“Phoenix?” He stops smiling at the tone in my voice but remains silent as he looks at me to continue. “Dad would be proud of you, and even though I never knew Mom, not really, I know from how you turned out, that she never would have wanted to have traded places with you.”
“You’re getting sloppy on me, Flynn,” he says as he moves away to continue lifting stools on top of the tables.
“Ok, well, guess I should leave you to think about those sunsets,” I tease before taking myself to bed. Moving out won’t just help me to grow and move on, it will hopefully do the same for him too.
_____
Louisa
On the first Sunday of every month, my brother and I always do the same thing together, no matter what is going on in our lives. Even though last night got a little explosive, today is no exception. By ten o’clock, a few hours before Phoenix will open the bar, we are entering the cemetery where our parents are buried. Fresh flowers in hand, a few tools to clear away the moss from the stone, as well as the weeds from the graves, and a few heavy, bittersweet sighs, and we appear to be ready. We always vowed to make these visits as cheerful as possible, however, it’s a promise neither of us is very good at keeping.
Walking side by side, I realize Phoenix and I must look pretty strange together. Him being the big-tattooed biker, always dressed in black, and me, the much smaller girl who is usually covered up by a pair of jeans and a sweater drawn up to her chin and the hood thrown over her head. You can see what people think of us by the glances we get, as though I’m a battered girlfriend in need of saving from the big bully boyfriend. Looks are deceiving; I know that from more than one experience in my lifetime.
“Louisa, would you mind giving me a hand with this file? You’re so much better with computers than I am.”