The nurse handed the clipboard to Hunter, while I walked out of the room. She didn’t take her eyes off of me. Did I really look that bad?
In the hallway, I walked by the wheelchair that was meant for Hunter. The leather padding was old and cracked, but the chrome frame and plastic handles still gleamed like new. My eyes stung at the thought of Hunter in that chair. He was cheerful now, but would he still feel the same when he left the hospital?
I clenched my hands until I felt nail marks in my palms. Then I headed down the hall to the restrooms.
When I got to the ladies room and looked in the mirror, I could hardly recognize myself. My face was sunken and gray, my eyes bloodshot. How were we going to make this work? How could I possibly be strong enough for him when I was like this?
I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes, but I bit them back.
You need to be strong for Hunter. You’re his anchor now.
The faucet squeaked when I turned it on and I splashed cold water on my face. He needed me. I couldn’t let him down. And that was that.
A little less than an hour later, Hunter had finished all the paperwork and we went out the building’s revolving door. He was still in a good mood and insisted on wheeling himself rather than letting me push him. I kept a fake smile on my face and let him do it, he seemed to have it under control.
We stopped at the car, and I opened the passenger side door for him.
“Thanks,” he said. He flashed me a warm smile after hoisting himself into the front seat.
I folded up his wheelchair to put it in the back. “No problemo,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. Even though I had to fake my cheerful tone, it did make me feel a little less depressed.
Once we were strapped in, we headed onto the freeway. We had the window down and the weather was starting to get a lot warmer. The breeze was making me feel better and I guess Hunter’s positive mood was rubbing off on me too. Maybe it also helped that my nightmare about Marco was fading away.
“You know, I was thinking,” Hunter said, turning to me.
“Uh-oh,” I managed to tease in a playful tone.
He laughed before continuing, “I think it’s time for me to get a job.”
“A job? Now?”
“I dunno, I guess it would be nice to have something to do outside the house. The dining room just needs a layer of paint and then it’s done.”
“Okay, what did you have in mind?”
“Maybe I could still go work for Clint, you know, at the gym?”
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry, not like I’m gonna do anything crazy like spar or anything. I can do some coaching on the sidelines or whatever, maybe even just man the reception desk.
I looked over at his face, his eyes were round and excited. “Yeah, maybe that would be good for you.”
Even though I wasn’t sure if what he wanted was possible, it was nice to see that he was getting excited about something. It gave me some hope that things would turn out okay.
By the time we got back to the house, Hunter still seemed pretty cheerful. We stopped the car and I went to the back to take out the wheelchair. After I unfolded it, I put it next to the passenger side of the car and opened the door.
Hunter tried to lift himself into it by grabbing onto the arms but it would start rolling away whenever he put his weight on it.
“Here, I can help you with that,” I said, stepping closer to hold it still for him.
“No, I got it,” he said. He waved me away. Something in his tone made me stop. I wanted to help him but I knew that he didn’t want me to treat him like he couldn’t do anything himself.
After a few more tries, he was finally able to get himself onto the chair, but I could see the sharp line in his jaw. “Come on, let’s go inside.”
It was annoying that he refused to let me help, but I didn’t say anything.
Before we even got to the front door, the boys zoomed outside. They must’ve been watching from the window. They cheered about Hunter getting back from the hospital and he humored them for a bit. At least my cousins didn’t treat him any differently even though he was in a wheelchair.
Uncle Stewart followed them out, his tie still on, a can of soda in his hand. “Welcome back.”
Hunter gave a curt nod. “Thank you, Sir.” His jaw was tight again, and it was clear that he didn’t want to say anything else.
My uncle grimaced awkwardly and shifted on his feet. We stood there for a moment, just watching each other, while Joel and Billy poked at the wheelchair. My aunt was probably too busy cooking to notice that we had come back.
Hunter looked down at his legs, before clearing his throat. “Thanks for letting me stay at your house longer. I really appreciate it.”
“No problem at all, Caroline and I are happy to have you around,” my uncle said.
Then we were back to awkward silence again.
“Should we go inside?” I asked, uncomfortable.
“Yeah,” Hunter said. He rolled himself up to the front of the house, his wheelchair coming to a stop at the steps. He tried to get over the bottom step a few times, but it was clear that he wasn’t going to be able to get over it, much less the next three steps leading up to the door.
He sat there, his face scrunched up. I walked over tentatively. I didn’t want him to get upset like he had earlier when I tried to help him out of the car, but this time, there was no way he was getting into the house if we just left him there.
“Hey, can we help you with that?” I asked, trying to keep my voice as normal as possible.
Hunter stared at me intensely before his eyes darted to the steps and then my uncle.
“Um, yeah,” he said, running his hand through his hair, and gritting his teeth.
I walked towards him and Uncle Stewart joined me after setting his soda down. Hunter’s brows were furrowed. My uncle and I tried to find a good spot to grab the chair by, while Hunter stared ahead, not making eye contact with either of us. Finally we grabbed the wheels and lifted Hunter together. He just held onto our shoulders with his arms and grimaced.
Even though Uncle Stewart and I were the ones out of breath, Hunter’s face was beet red. He mumbled a thanks to us before he rolled himself inside. I wanted to talk to him, but he was already gone.
My uncle went back for his soda, so I headed inside to find Hunter. I guessed he had gone straight to the guest room and I was right. Hunter had already moved himself to the bed by the time I got there.
He sat with his legs hanging off the side, his shoulders slumped forward, his lips tight in a thin line. Whatever good cheer he had left the hospital with was now long gone and he made no effort to disguise it. Seeing the pain in his eyes made my heart ache and I took a deep breath so I wouldn’t cry.
It felt like it was so long ago that Hunter had told me that he would save us both. Now, he was the one who needed saving, but I didn’t know how to do it.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, regretting those words as soon as they came out of my mouth.
He laid down on the bed, and lifted his legs up with his hands. Then he rolled over and turned away from me. I bit my lip. I hated myself for asking such a dumb question but I didn’t know what else to say.
“Nothing. I’m gonna get some rest. I think the move from the hospital wore me out.”
“Okay,” I whispered.
I turned to leave but stopped at the door. Even though I wanted to add something else, all I could think about was the tortured expression on his face. I needed more time to figure out the best way to help him.
Chapter Twenty-two
HELP
The next couple days passed by in a blur. My nightmares about Marco intensified and—on top of it all—he was starting to take up a lot of my conscious thoughts as well. I couldn’t help but think that if he wrote back, with a reason for why he killed my mother, the nightmares would finally stop. I needed to focus on being there for Hunter, but Marco’s intrusions into my thoughts were making
it difficult.
I did my best to put a cheerful face on, but inside I was tied in knots. Seeing Hunter in a wheelchair was hard. Seeing how much he was struggling to adjust to it was even more painful. He tried to hide it, but when he thought I wasn’t watching I kept catching him staring off into space.
Every day we fought to find normal, but the life we’d hoped for seemed to be slipping further and further away.
Late Wednesday morning, I came up with an idea that I hoped would make Hunter feel better about his situation. He had said he wanted a job at Clint’s Gym, so maybe it would cheer him up if I took him there. Obviously he wouldn’t be able to do the same activities he had done the last time we went, but he could still at least be around the fighters and maybe offer some tips on technique. More than anything, it would get him out of the house. Plus, doing something tangible for him would make me feel better about whether I was being as supportive as I needed to be.
When I came downstairs I went to the living room, where I assumed he would be. The couch was empty.
That was strange. I quickly checked the downstairs bathroom but saw that was empty as well. Nervous, I walked toward Hunter’s room, hoping desperately there wasn’t something else wrong with him. Maybe he was getting worse.
As I made my way to his door I heard a sound in the dining room. Brows furrowed, I changed course to see what was going on.
I entered the room to see Hunter sitting in his chair and using the gripper tool my uncle had bought for him to try to get a paint tray down from the top of a ladder. Uncle Stewart had just come home with the gripper the previous day.
“Hunter, what are you doing?”
He looked over at me briefly before going back to his attempt to grip the paint tray. There was already a can of paint and a roller on the floor next to him. “I’m gonna get some paint on these walls.”
“Hunter, you don’t have to do this. I’m sure my aunt and uncle understand—”
He shook his head before I was finished. “I want to do it, Lorrie.”
I bit my lip, but said nothing. If he thought he could do this, I knew it wouldn’t help to argue with him.
“Okay,” I said, trying to make myself sound as cheerful as possible. “Let me get that tray for you.”
I took a couple steps toward the ladder.
“NO!” Hunter boomed. My heart pounded in my chest and my cheeks felt heated. Why was he being so difficult?
He looked at me briefly and shook his head. “I can do this. I need practice with this thing if I’m going to be stuck in a wheelchair for a while.”
I stood on my heels and watched him struggle to get the tray. The lip he was trying to grab the ladder by by was pretty small, and since he was at an angle to begin with he had to get it exactly right if it was going to grip properly.
As he struggled with the gripper, his wheelchair slipped forward. He lunged dramatically to maintain his balance. The gripper caught the top of the ladder, tipping it.
The ladder fell with a loud crash.
I took a few steps toward Hunter’s side, but stopped when I saw his expression.
He was okay, but I had never seen someone more frustrated in my life. His eyes were scrunched up and his jaw was set in a combination of anguish and rage. He shook for a moment, but didn’t even yell.
He stared at the ladder and I stared at him for several seconds, neither of us making a move. Then I stepped tentatively toward the ladder.
“Don’t touch it,” Hunter rasped. “I got this.”
“Let me help,” I offered, bending towards the ladder.
“I SAID DON’T TOUCH IT!”
I froze, then straightened up and turned to face him. My heart beat loudly in my ears. A tense silence hung in the air, and I didn’t want to be the one to break it.
Hunter saved me from having to. “Please leave,” he said through his teeth. “I can handle this. Sorry for the noise.”
I took a deep breath, trying to stop myself from screaming. “Hunter, what’s your problem? I’m trying to help.”
“I know,” he said through gritted teeth. “You’ve been trying to help ever since I got back from the hospital.”
“Then why won’t you let me help? I care about you.”
He threw his hands up. “If you care about me, then leave me the hell alone. I can do this stuff for myself.”
I bit my tongue as I watched him wheel over to the ladder and put it upright. It took him a while, but he was so strong he did end up getting it by himself.
After he was done he turned to me. “I’m gonna paint now,” he said. He picked up the can and a screwdriver to pry it open.
I pursed my lips, then decided to tell him what my plan had been. “If you want to do that, then fine, but I came down here to offer to take you to Clint’s. I thought you might want to get out of the house or something.”
Hunter stopped what he was doing and looked at me, clearly thinking about it.
“If we’re going to go, we kind of have to go now,” I added. “I told my aunt I’d help with dinner later.”
He thought some more, then put the paint can down and left the screwdriver on top of that. “Alright, let’s go.”
We stood there in silence for a moment. Finally, I walked out of the room to get my jacket and keys, my lips pressed tightly together as I did my best to avoid another argument. Hunter followed closely. Soon, we were out the door.
Neither of us spoke much the whole ride. Hunter turned the radio on almost as soon as he got himself situated, and we listened to the music rather than continue the discussion we’d started in the house. For my part, I didn’t even know what I could say.
Eventually I caught myself daydreaming about what Marco’s response to my letter might be. I shook my head, angry that I was letting him creep in again, and soon we were in front of Clint’s Gym.
When we got there, I helped Hunter out of the car and told him I’d be back in a couple hours. Then I drove back home, thinking about everything that had happened to us. We’d almost been there. Almost happy. Hunter was going to get an apartment in Eltingville and we had everything figured out. Now we were back to the drawing board.
After parking his car in front of my aunt’s house, I walked inside and was greeted by Rampage. I went to pick him up, but he scurried away to Hunter’s room. Sighing to myself, I followed him in. He had managed to hide by the time I walked into the room. My guess was he had hidden underneath the bed.
As I got down onto my knees to look, something caught my eye. Hunter’s gym bag was at the foot of the bed with his clothes folded neatly inside. On top of the clothes was a little black pouch. His MS treatment. The burden he carried with him everywhere he went.
My breathing quickened. I stood up unsteadily and plopped onto his bed, arranging myself so I was face down in his pillows. They still smelled like him. Memories of all the different times we had spent together washed over me.
Would the memories we made going forward be as good? How many more would there be?
Tears sprang to my eyes. Of course they would as good. I just had to figure out how to help us navigate us past this rough patch. Hunter’s MS was in a bad spot, but that didn’t mean I had to start acting like he was going to die any minute.
The more I thought about it, the angrier I got with myself. Hunter was the one with MS. It was him that was stuck in a wheelchair. I had to be the one who was strong and made this relationship work. He was already doing everything he could. He had enough on his plate.
I shook my head in frustration, tears still streaming down my face. Why couldn’t I just focus on him? Even in the car earlier that day, I had drifted off thinking about Marco right after we’d had a fight. I wasn’t even sure the fight was over.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t keep myself from crying. Anger crept up inside me anew.
Here I was, sobbing into Hunter’s pillows, leaving them wet and messy. Hunter was trying to deal with being in a wheelchair and I was a sobbing mess. br />
How could I help him? How was I going to help myself?
I grabbed a pillow and pulled it tight to my face so I could scream into it. Why was I falling to pieces when Hunter needed me most?
Why?
Why?
WHY?
I turned onto my back and stared at the ceiling numbly.
This was just another step. I had to figure out how to get past this mess. I had to be stronger for Hunter.
Chapter Twenty-three
FRONT DESK
Hunter
I rolled into Clint’s Gym in a shitty mood. Adjusting to the wheelchair had been more of a pain in the ass than I expected. It had only been a few days but I already hated being in this fucking chair. I could barely do anything for myself, which made me feel more and more like a burden on the people around me.
I was fucking things up again. Lorrie just wanted a healthy relationship, but it was hard to see a way to do that now. We’d almost had it, but now with my MS it was ruined.
Lorrie had worked her ass off for that art competition and she could’ve fucking won. Because of me, she couldn’t go. How many other sacrifices was she going to have to make?
I knew she wanted to stay with me, but every time I thought about it, the more I realized how much she was giving up. My MS was totally unpredictable. It was impossible to make plans for the future when we didn’t know when the next attack would strike. I wracked my brain endlessly for a solution, but nothing had come yet and I wasn’t hopeful anything was coming.
Shaking my head, I rolled past the front desk. There was no point thinking about it anymore for now.
The desk was unoccupied again. I wondered if there were any days it was actually manned full-time. It was clearly still in use based on the papers and stuff, so someone came in at some point. Just not either of the times I’d been around.
Maybe Clint had his coffee there in the morning. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense it was just him that used the desk in the early morning. It was hard to imagine anyone putting up with Clint long-term. Or him putting up with anyone, for that matter.