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Hunter
“WHY DO YOU SHAME ME like this? You know our parents are rolling over in their grave right now, right?” Tucker said as we sat in the hotel restaurant where I was meeting my agent.
“Don’t bring them into this. And I’m pretty sure Mom and Dad wouldn’t be ashamed that I refused to see a woman who was using me to get ahead in her career.”
Our parents died in a car crash when I was nineteen and my brother was sixteen. I was in college at the time, studying to be a social worker of all things. I wanted to go out into the world and help children, make sure they were safe.
And then everything changed that November night. My grandmother moved in with my brother and me, and no longer able to afford to get my degree, I dropped out of school.
My grandma told me I had a beautiful voice and encouraged me to sing. So, one night when I was feeling sorry for myself, I set up my Vidtube channel. I sang covers and some of my own songs. I got a small following over the months and then learned how to promote the channel.
Then a year later, I wrote “Price of Love”—which was inspired by losing my parents—and sang it for my audience. The past eight years haven’t been the same. My grandma was still alive but living her dream down in Florida.
When I became successful and asked her what she wanted most, she said palm trees and living on the beach. And that’s exactly what I gave her.
“You had only been intimate with her for a day when you found out that Willa was a journalist. When did she have time to tell you? In between orgasms? It’s not like you’d taken her out and treated her with respect,” Tucker said as my mouth fell open. “Come on, you two were fuck buddies at best. And despite the fact that you were using her body to get out your pent-up sexual frustration from lack of sex for so long, she wasn’t using you.” My brother pulled at the tie I made him wear.
Despite being a hotel restaurant, it was still a jacket only place. My brother didn’t mind dressing up. In fact, he usually looked more put together than I did, but there was one person in the world he hated and that was my agent.
He never came with me before to meet my agent.
Yet, tonight he insisted. Tucker thought I wasn’t on to him, but I knew why he was here.
“I wasn’t using her.”
“Have you taken her out? You know, to a restaurant for food? Or did you just order pizza after you two humped like rabbits?”
The man was right. I was using her but maybe she was using me, too.
“Okay, Mr. Smartypants. So you’re saying it wasn’t super convenient that she created a scene around my car and then came over a week later to apologize. And let’s talk about that apology, shall we?”
He frowned. “I really don’t want to throw up before we order.”
I ignored him. “Who shows up for an apology with no shirt or bra on?”
“I don’t know about you, but I don’t wear a bra. And I’ve been known to apologize with no shirt on in the past. Possibly drunk, too. But she wasn’t drunk, so that’s irrelevant.”
“You joke but you saw what she was wearing. She came over with the plan to seduce me just for an interview.”
My brother stared at me before he erupted in laughter . . . for a full minute. I knew because I checked the time on my phone. By the end, he was wheezing and rubbing the tears from his eyes.
“Oh, lordy. That was so good. I haven’t enjoyed a good stress reliever like that since Chelsea went down on me in the—”
I held up my hand. “Stop. Just stop. Nopeidy, nope, nope. Don’t want to hear what that woman or any other woman has done to your body, ever.”
“You really think a woman’s going to seduce you,” my brother shimmied his chest as he said the word, “just for an interview?”
“Yes.”
I heard worse that happened to other musicians and celebrities.
“I misspoke. You believe that Willa would seduce you only for an interview?”
I couldn’t answer him. I wanted to say yes, but I wasn’t sure. This could all be a ruse to dupe me. Those things she told me about growing up here and how she lost her dad could be lies.
Or it could be the truth.
“Sorry I’m late, Hunter. I had an issue with another client,” my agent, Jonathan Harrington, said as he pulled out the chair to sit.
I felt the urge to get up until he sat but stayed put. I swear when Jon walked into a room, everyone noticed. The air felt charged and the fact that he looked and had the style of a young Cary Grant made everyone gravitate toward him.
Everyone, but my brother. The thing about Tucker, he was picky about who he liked, which was why I was shocked Chelsea entered his life. I thought for sure he’d see through her game right away.
But we all make bad decisions when we’re down and horny.
“It’s nice to see you again, Tucker. How’s the IT business?” Jon flashed his gleaming smile at my brother.
Tucker reacted with a shrug of his shoulders and a barely audible, “Fine.”
Jon nodded and then turned his attention to me. “Per our discussion almost two weeks ago . . . Have you given any thought about coming up with songs for your next album? I know you only had a three-record deal with Jax Records but you haven’t come out with anything in two years. Fans won’t wait forever.”
“I’m just having trouble. I can’t seem to find inspiration anymore. Not after what happened to Louisa. Watching her waste away . . . it did something to me.”
Something was not the word. It broke me. Watching the woman I loved grow thin and succumb to cancer was the greatest pain I had ever felt. There’s no coming back after seeing the person you love die in front of you.
I may sing again one day. I may even love again, but I will never forget that moment. It was the day innocence died and my heart never beat the same.
My brother’s hand gripped my shoulder and squeezed. I looked up to him and he nodded. He was the only one who understood. What he saw overseas hurt him the way losing Louisa hurt me. We were two brothers lost on the same path, trying our best to help each other.
“I get it. That was rough.” Jon sighed and slapped my other shoulder. Tucker rolled his eyes and sat back, staring at the man.
“But that’s why I’m here. We can hire some song writers . . .”
I shook my head. “No. I always write my own songs.”
“Look, I’m going to a bar after here. It’s Saturday night, which you know is the best time to catch the good local singers and bands playing. I want to check them out because you never know where you’re going to run into talent. Come with me. You might find some inspiration.” Jon shrugged.
“From some garage bands playing their first gig? No, thank you.”
Jon sat back in his chair and waved his hands as if giving up. “Then I don’t know what to do here. You haven’t come out with a new song in two years. You haven’t toured in eighteen months. And no one has seen or heard from you in a year and a half. You’ve fallen off the music industry planet.”
“Would you three like to hear about our specials today?” A tall, skinny guy with a long gray apron and white button-up shirt stood beside me at the table.
“Now’s not a good time. Come back in five minutes,” Jon said with his charming grin.
“Of course. Take your time.” He scurried off, and I wondered for a moment if that should have been my life.
A hard-working job that didn’t pay very well, but I wouldn’t have anyone using me for money or fame. It was times like these that I longed for my old life when no one knew who I was, and I had to work two jobs just to get by.
It was tough but it felt real. This . . . this fancy restaurant and pleasing the public, that’s not real. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t think of songs—my life had turned to plastic.
Just like Chelsea’s face.
“It’s funny you should mention being interviewed, Jon,” Tucker said as he spun his fork on the table.
I glared at him. “Don’t.”
This was the reason my brother came to the dinner. He liked Willa and thought I was an idiot for telling her to leave me alone. He was looking for an opportunity to get her into the conversation. He knew Jon loved publicity and would salivate once he learned that Willa was a journalist.
“I never said anything about an interview, but now that you mention it, that’s a good idea. At least get you out in the public. Just tell them you’re looking for your muse. Your fans will gobble that up.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Tucker rubbed his palms together and grinned at me. “And I know the perfect reporter to interview him. She’s discrete when needed, and she’s not some garbage national journalist who is going to twist the story for ratings.”
Jon said, “Perfect,” right as I said, “No.”
