Spirit (5 page)

“It’s not like that.”

“What’s it like, then?”

Hunter almost couldn’t speak through the tightness in his chest. “It’s—it’s a misunderstanding.”

“Is
this
a misunderstanding?” His grandfather hit him.

The blow snapped Hunter’s head to the side. He’d seen it coming, but his brain couldn’t quite believe it, so he didn’t make a move to defend himself.

It hurt.

He’d been hit before, but there was something different about it coming from his grandfather, as if their history—not all of it bad—was loaded into that backhand slap.

Hunter sucked in a breath through his teeth. His mother’s hand was over her mouth, but she hadn’t said a word.

“You want to hit someone,” said his grandfather, “you pick on someone your own size.” His grandfather hit him again, an open hand slap this time. “How’s this feel?”

Hunter forced his hands to stay at his sides, but he couldn’t keep them from curling into fists. “Stop it.”

“Stop it? Can’t take it? Did she ask you to stop?”

Casper barked.

“It wasn’t—I didn’t—” Another hit, and Hunter flung up an arm to protect his face, but it didn’t help. His grandfather wasn’t being gentle. These were full hits with strength behind them.

An adult had never come after him this way. His eyes were burning, more fury than tears. Anger lay coiled in his chest, ready to spring free and slam his grandfather to the ground, but Hunter was having trouble fighting through this layer of bewilderment and disbelief.

His grandfather was hitting him.
Hitting him
.

And his mother was
letting it happen
.

Then his grandfather caught him on the cheek, a sharp hit that stung. Hunter shoved him back. His breathing was loud in the sudden silence.

He had to get out of here. Hunter turned, hunching his shoulders, keeping his hands tight at his sides.

His grandfather grabbed his arm, and it was like pulling a trigger. Hunter whirled and struck.

The man wasn’t ready for it—or maybe he just didn’t expect Hunter to hit back. His grandfather hit the counter and fell.

His grandmother cried out. Casper was barking, bouncing on his hind legs, waiting for Hunter to give some direction.

His mother was crying again. “Hunter,
stop
.”

As if he’d started this.

Maybe he
had
started this. His breathing was too fast.

His grandfather was struggling to his feet. There was blood and a murderous expression on his face.

Hunter had no idea how to fix this. And all he could think about was his father’s final lesson, how he’d had the opportunity to employ lethal force, and he’d
failed
.

Just like he’d failed with Calla.

His thoughts were spinning in a dangerous direction, and he couldn’t rein them in. He needed to get out of here, before he did something he couldn’t undo.

You already did something you can’t undo
.

Then his grandfather was coming after him again.

Hunter ran. He was through the front door before registering that he’d grabbed one of the bags by the door, and then his jeep tires were spinning gravel from the driveway. Casper was in the back, his head hanging between the seats, his tongue rasping against Hunter’s cheek.

Hunter brushed him away and yanked the wheel to pull onto the main roadway. His heartbeat was a roar in his ears, his lungs grabbing for breath. He needed to slow down. He needed to get hold of himself.

He drove to Quiet Waters, the only county park he knew. He’d come here once before, with Becca. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Kids were attacking the playground equipment, so he drove to the other side of the grounds, stopping his jeep by the pond. The sunlight was dying in the west, but there was still enough to warm his face.

His cheek felt hot and sore where his grandfather had hit him.

Hunter killed the engine and focused on breathing.

In. Out.

His mother had let him go. She’d let her father throw Hunter out of the house.

She’d let his grandfather
hit him
. He and his own father had scuffled, sure. But his dad had never hauled off and decked him.

But his mother thought he’d hit Calla. She thought he was involved in illegal activities. She hadn’t even asked for his side of things, hadn’t waited for an explanation.

He’d barely been able to get eye contact out of her in
months
, and now she thought he was—

Stop
.

More breaths. He could do this. He could figure it out.

He picked up his cell phone. No messages. His mother hadn’t tried to call. Should he call her?

She’d stood there and watched his grandfather belt him, then told
Hunter
to stop.

More breaths. He needed to slow down. He rubbed at his eyes.

Finally, he opened the door to let Casper out of the car. He pulled the duffel bag onto the front seat and unzipped it. Clothes, all clothes. Not a lot, but enough for a few days. The only shoes he had were the ones on his feet. It had been windy today so he was still wearing a hoodie under a denim jacket, along with the jeans he’d worn to school. No soap, no razor, but it wasn’t like he had access to anywhere to use those things. He could go to school early and shower there. Maybe things would look different in the morning.

He checked his wallet. Seventeen dollars. He had half a tank of gas in the jeep. He hadn’t eaten dinner, but the rest of his money was in an envelope in the top drawer of his dresser—if his grandfather hadn’t already confiscated it during the “search.” Seventeen dollars wouldn’t last very long, especially if he burned through the rest of his fuel.

All he had to feed Casper was a baggie of milk bones in the glove box.

Suddenly it seemed cruel to have brought the dog.

Hunter swallowed. Wind whipped across the pond to lace through his hair and make him shiver.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said.

He looked at his phone again, wanting to call . . . someone. He just couldn’t think of anyone who wouldn’t hang up on him. Explaining what had just happened—he couldn’t take it. He already felt guilty enough. He didn’t need someone else to add to it. No way he could ring up Becca or the Merricks and say he’d been thrown out of his house.

Gabriel would probably laugh in his face.

It would be dark soon. He could go one night without eating. Hunter fished the milk bones out of the glove box, divided them in half, and tossed them in the grass for Casper.

Then he lay back in the grass and stared at the darkening sky, attempting nothing more challenging than filling his lungs with air, until a park ranger came around and told him to leave.

After writing him a citation for his dog being loose.

Hunter shoved the citation in the glove box and started the ignition. His fingers felt like icicles, and his empty stomach was starting to protest this whole not eating thing.

The headache was back, clawing at his temples.

Hunter didn’t want to drive far, because he didn’t know how long he’d need to make his fuel last. He settled on the parking lot behind the twenty-four-hour Target on Ritchie Highway, parking in a row of other cars that probably belonged to employees. He blasted the heat as high as he could tolerate, until his breath fogged the windshield and even Casper was panting. Then he pulled an extra pair of sweatpants over his jeans and climbed into the backseat, cramming his legs into the small space and resting his head on the duffel bag.

Casper crammed himself onto the bench seat, too, pressing his back against Hunter’s chest and his nose into the space under Hunter’s chin.

He’d be covered in dog hair in the morning, but Hunter didn’t care. Casper would keep him warm.

He checked his phone again. Nothing.

His throat felt tight.

He told himself to knock it off.

He wished he knew how to fix this. All of it.

His breath was catching. Casper lifted his head and licked Hunter’s cheek.

There was no one here to see, but
he’d
know, and he wouldn’t let himself lose it. Not when he’d been the one to cause this.

But his breath wouldn’t stop hitching, and he buried his face in the scruff of Casper’s neck.

He missed his father so much.

He thought of where he was right now, and how he’d gotten here, and knew exactly how disappointed his father would be.

He’d fix it. Somehow. He’d fix this.

His phone chimed, and Hunter swiped at his eyes. His heart flew with hope. Maybe his mother had reconsidered? Maybe she’d give him a chance to explain?

But it wasn’t his mother’s number on the face of the phone.

What do you stare at when you’re not in school?

Kate.

Hunter lifted his head. For an instant, he thought about turning the phone off and burying it in his pocket—but really, what else did he have to do?

Obviously I stare at text messages from girls with theories.

Her response was lightning quick.

Slow night, huh?

He smiled.

Long night would be more accurate.

A long pause, then:

What’s with you and the girl from the caf?

Hunter frowned. She meant Calla. He remembered the look on Kate’s face when she’d watched, standing there with her hand on Nick’s arm.

Wasn’t it obvious?

No. And don’t get all >:O at me.

How did you know I was >:O?

Please. Your text style screams >:O.

Hunter smiled again, but only briefly.

It’s complicated.

I have a theory about complicated boys.

He smiled. Before he could type anything else, another message appeared.

BTW that was a pretty sweet spinning backfist you used on the guy who flipped your tray. Where did you learn to fight like that?

His smile vanished altogether.

Another sentence appeared before he could say anything.

Though you’re out of practice. You were lucky that teacher stopped him. Your timing needs work.

He stared at the phone, wondering if he should be impressed or insulted. Then he typed.

This is me right now. :-O

I prefer you like this: :-)

He smiled. Another message from Kate appeared.

Seriously. Where’d you learn to fight like that?

Ninja school.

Funny. Why are you having a long night?

He paused, studying the phone. He didn’t know her at all. But somehow this was easier, sending text messages into the ether.

Family stuff.

Mom or dad?

Grandfather and mom. My dad died at the beginning of the summer.

After he hit SEND, he stared at the words. It wasn’t the first time he’d said them, but it was the first time he’d typed them into a text message, and now they were burning themselves into his brain, like they held more power in writing.

He typed something else quickly, just to make the screen scroll.

We live with my grandparents now.

Her message appeared almost instantly.

I’m sorry about your dad.

A long pause, and then another message from Kate.

My mom is dead, too.

Her words held weight, too, as if the screen knew their power. He typed automatically.

I’m sorry.

Then he added,

Don’t you hate when people say that?

Yes. I’m sorry I said it.

Me, too.

This time the pause was really long, as he fought for something to say after
that.
He wondered if she’d given up on the texting, when a new one appeared.

How did your dad die?

Normally the question would piss him off. But it was different in a text message, from someone else who’d lost a parent.

In a car accident. I was with him. My uncle died, too.

My mom drowned last year.

Hunter flinched. Somehow it seemed worse—but what was the difference?

Another message popped up on the screen.

It wasn’t supposed to happen that way.

It should have seemed like a weird statement—but he got it.

I know exactly what you mean.

Were you and your dad close?

The words hit him like a bullet.
Close.

He and his father hadn’t always gotten along, but Hunter had always felt like his father
understood
him.

He slid his fingers across the screen.

Yeah. Sort of. Sometimes not at all. Bizarre, right?

We’re all pretty bizarre. Some of us are just better at hiding it, that’s all.

He smiled.

Was that a quote from The Breakfast Club?

O_O Most people don’t get that one.

My uncle loved eighties movies. I’ve seen them all.

Nobody puts Baby in the corner.

Wax on, wax off.

I can’t believe I gave my panties to a geek.

He froze. That one sent his thoughts in a dangerous direction. His phone buzzed.

STOP THINKING ABOUT MY PANTIES.

He grinned.

Can’t help it now.

Stare at me tomorrow?

Sure. I’ll be in the caf early.

And that was it. She didn’t respond.

But that was okay. For five minutes, he didn’t feel so alone.

Hunter put his head down against the duffel bag, closed his eyes, and smiled.

K
ate sat in the cafeteria and sucked on the end of a Twizzler. She should have been looking for the Merrick brothers.

Instead, she was waiting for Hunter. Her heart was buzzing, and she told it to knock it off. She was here on assignment. She had a
task
.

And she remembered the way he had gone from total control to utter disaster with the flip of a switch, like watching an intricate glass sculpture shatter into a thousand pieces—only to pull together again until you could barely see the seams. Something about that was intriguing, like the guileless way he responded to her text messages.

Silver didn’t know anything about that.

She had no intention of telling him.

Her cell phone chimed.

I can’t come sit with you.

She didn’t bother looking around. She just texted back.

Why not?

Complicated.

Kate shoved the bag of Twizzlers into the front of her backpack.

I’ll come to you. Where are you?

He didn’t respond, so she sent another text.

Don’t tell me. You’re sitting by the pool on the roof.

That got a response.

Please tell me you didn’t fall for that one.

Kate smiled. Like she’d fall for a freshman prank.

I almost fell for the one about the bomb shelter under the school. Then I realized it was probably just a euphemism. Where are you really?

I’m headed back to my car. You’re sitting near someone I’m not allowed to be around.

She frowned and looked up. She didn’t see the Merricks, so this wasn’t about the one he’d fought with yesterday. But there, at the next table, was the girl with punk hair and flame tattoos along her wrists. The one he’d shoved.

It seemed so incongruous with the way he’d defended her in the office.

Kate gathered her things and started for the parking lot. She had no idea what kind of car he drove, and it wouldn’t be easy to find him—the lot was packed with arriving students. Wind whistled across the pavement to sneak under the lapels of her leather jacket and make her shiver. She wanted to beg the sunlight for warmth, to ask the air to ratchet back a few degrees, but there were too many Elementals at play in this town, and she kept her guard up.

Her phone chimed.

You didn’t have to come looking for me.

She held the Twizzler between her teeth and wrote back.

I thought we had a staring date. Vehicle?

A long pause. She shivered again and wished she’d worn something heavier under her coat.

Finally, her phone chimed again.

White jeep. 20 yards to your right.

She spotted his car at the end of the row, under an oak tree with sagging branches. The engine wasn’t running, but at least she’d be out of this wind. She didn’t even hesitate; just climbed right in and flung her bag on the floorboards.

Hunter glanced over, but it was quick. “Hey.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but a German shepherd stuck his head between the seats and gave a low
woof
of greeting.

Kate grinned and rubbed the dog’s ears. “You have a dog!”

Hunter nodded, his eyes on the windshield. “His name is Casper.”

His voice was easy enough but carried an undercurrent of strain, which made Kate stop playing with the dog and really look at him. The ends of his hair hung across his face, still damp, from a shower probably, and he hadn’t bothered to use a razor this morning. His eyes looked vaguely shadowed, as if he’d been up half the night.

This was a very different boy from the one she’d met yesterday.

She wondered what had happened. The fight with Gabriel Merrick? The girl with the tats? The family issues he’d mentioned last night?

She should drop her guard and touch him, to let the elements feed her information, so she could report back to Silver.

Kate immediately called bullshit on her subconscious.

She wanted to touch him because Hunter looked like he needed someone to be gentle with him for five minutes.

She softened her voice. “You want to talk about it?”

“I’m just tired.”

“This looks like more than just tired.”

He laughed briefly, without much humor to it. “You don’t know me at all.”

She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and whipped her thumb across the keys.

You want to text about it?

His phone chimed almost instantly. Hunter glanced at it and gave a ghost of a smile.

Then his fingers slid across the face of his phone quickly. He didn’t look at her.

Her phone buzzed in her hand after a moment.

My grandfather threw me out of the house last night. The school counselor called and told him I was hitting Calla, the girl you saw in the caf. So he punched me and told me to get out.

She snapped her head up. Her mouth opened, but he held up a hand, his eyes still on the windshield.

“Don’t,” he said.

No wonder he was barely holding it together.

In a flash, she remembered the first time her mother had brought her to that tiny farm somewhere in southern Virginia, saying they were going to the “training compound,” which turned out to be a dark barn that reeked of alfalfa hay and blood. She hadn’t wanted to go inside, and then a massive man had walked out of the darkness.

When his hand came out, she’d thought he was going to introduce himself.

She’d never been hit in the face before that moment.

She remembered rolling in the dust and scattered straw, wondering when the world would right itself, hoping her mother would intercede.

Instead, she’d said, “Stop disappointing me, Kathryn.”

Kate typed quickly on her phone.

Are you OK?

When his phone chimed, he glanced down. Then he looked back at the windshield.

And shook his head.

She knew that feeling, when your life felt so out of control that you had to do something to get it back on a track, any track, just so you didn’t explode with tension from staying in one spot.

She was supposed to be doing some kind of reconnaissance, but she couldn’t disregard the brittle state of the boy sitting beside her.

“Was Calla your girlfriend?” she asked softly.

He hesitated. “No. I thought—I don’t know.”

“What did you think?”

His eyes were locked on the steering wheel. “She found me at a party a few weeks ago. Her dad is in the Marines—mine was, too. I just thought she needed someone to talk to. I didn’t realize—”

Kate waited, but he stopped there.

“You didn’t realize what?” she said.

Hunter took a deep breath—but then he didn’t let it out, and the tension rolled around in the car with them. “You should get out and go inside. I think I’m going to cut, and you’ll be late for first period.”

“I’ll cut with you.”

He shook his head. “No—I mean, I’ve got things I have to do.”

Her phone buzzed in her hand, and she was so surprised that she almost dropped it.

Silver.

What are you doing?

She hit a button to clear the screen. Her pulse jumped.

It buzzed again.

Is that our mysterious Hunter Garrity?

Did that mean Silver was watching them
right now
? She cleared the screen again and shoved the phone into her pocket, where it vibrated a third time.

“Someone wants your attention,” said Hunter.

“He’s like a toddler,” she agreed.

Hunter’s eyebrows raised just the tiniest bit. “He?”

“No one important,” she said. But her phone buzzed again.

The emotion in Hunter’s eyes was walled up now, and she could see the tightness in his jaw. He looked so tightly wound that she was almost afraid to leave him alone. “Where do you want to go?” she said. “I’ll go with you.”

He didn’t look over.

She put a hand on his arm. “Come on. Maybe you can show me around—”

He caught her wrist. Not hard, but fast enough that it made her gasp.

“I don’t want to be a jerk,” he said, his eyes shifting to meet hers. “But I can’t do this.”

She didn’t understand. “This?”

His eyes were tired and wary—but also sharp and intelligent. “Yeah. This.”

Kate stared across at him. “What just happened?”

He glanced at her phone. “Boyfriend?”

“What? No.” Then she remembered Silver’s cover story. If she denied it now, would it screw things up later? “It’s not like that.”

But she’d fumbled her words, and she knew exactly what it looked like. Hunter leaned across her body to pull at the handle to release the door. Cool air streamed into the car.

He was throwing her out?

His expression said he was.

“You’re getting this all wrong,” she said.

“I don’t think I am.”

She slid out of the car. Before closing the door, she said, “I just thought we could get to know each other.”

He finally looked at her fully, and he laughed shortly. “If you’re lonely, why don’t you text Nick Merrick? He seemed perfectly willing to stare at you.”

Then, without waiting for an answer, he reached out and grabbed the door, pulling it shut and leaving her out in the cold.

Hunter waited until he couldn’t ignore the hunger clawing at his stomach, then bought two breakfast sandwiches at Dunkin Donuts. He was hungry enough to inhale both, but he’d fed Casper the last of the milk bones this morning, and the dog was staring at him desperately. So he set the second sandwich on the wrapper on the ground.

Eleven dollars left, and a third of a tank of gasoline.

His cell phone remained blank. At least he had a car charger for that.

He’d been so stupid, entertaining the thought of . . . of
anything
with Kate. Like his life wasn’t complicated enough right now. She’d climbed into his car, he’d almost broken down, and then she’d started texting with some other guy.

God, he’d looked like such an
idiot
.

Really, it shouldn’t have been a surprise that she’d pick him to screw with. His abilities drew people to him. He was just used to the heckling, fist-swinging type of attention. He’d been dumb enough to think this would turn out differently.

Besides, he had other things to worry about.

Like finding a way to earn money. It would cost a fortune to fill his gas tank, and if he had no transportation, he was sunk.

His mom hadn’t even called to see if he was okay.

He felt like he shouldn’t care—she’d let his grandfather throw him out—but he did.

A lot.

He could fill out applications. How hard would it be to find a job?

Three strip malls later, he knew the answer: hard.

He wrote his personal information so many times that he started to bore himself. At first he was meticulous, knowing that he only had one opportunity to make a first impression. He knew to make eye contact, to shake hands, to speak confidently.

Regardless, it was like a fist to the gut when bored workers would take his completed application and fling it in a box.

It was a slap in the face when he was told he
couldn’t
complete an application because of how he looked.

This was at a little café on Ritchie Highway. The hostess had frowned when he asked for an application—reminding him of his grandmother’s constant look of disapproval—and said, “No piercings, no long hair, no tattoos.”

He’d nodded and thanked her, figuring it was just a fluke. An old people’s place.

Then two more stores said the same thing.

Like what he looked like would matter if he was washing dishes or stocking boxes in the back.

By three o’clock, he was bitter and jaded and starving again.

And exhausted. He’d slept in the car all night, but he hadn’t really
slept
.

His phone chimed, and Hunter immediately thought of Kate.

No. Becca.

You ok? Why aren’t you in school?

His thumb hesitated over the screen—but then he remembered her brush-off, the way she’d whispered about him with Chris. The way she didn’t trust him anymore.

His car was down to a quarter of a tank of gas. He spent a dollar fifty on a bottle of water and told himself it would have to suffice until dinner.

Less than ten bucks left. And he was starting to run out of options.

Home Depot sat with two other big box stores off the main road, but they had a
NOW HIRING
sign out front.

The man behind the service desk was counting cash in a drawer. He didn’t glance up when Hunter asked for an application.

“You’ve gotta be eighteen, kid.”

Hunter had heard this one before. “I am eighteen.”

The guy’s eyes flicked up and his hands went still on the money in his hands. “Sure. Prove it.”

Okay, he hadn’t heard that yet.

The man laughed and went back to counting cash.

“All right, look.” Hunter felt like he’d reached the end of his rope and found it a frayed, tangled mess. “I need a job. You’ve got a sign out front. I can work hard. I don’t understand why everyone has to act like I’m some—”

“You look.” The man flung the stack of cash into the drawer. “Forgetting the fact that you’re underage, I’ve got guys coming in here with families to feed. You want me to turn them down because some kid wants money to take his girlfriend to the prom?”

Hunter glared at him. “I need a job.”

“Join the club.” Then the phone beside the register rang, and the man turned away to answer it.

Hunter stood there, feeling the air bite at his cheeks. The fluorescent lights in the warehouse ceiling seemed to be buzzing more loudly than normal, but maybe it was just his shot nerves.