Home is a Four Letter Word

chapter fourteen

Mid-April

Hunter Anderson came to school with bruised knuckles on display. Jake noticed his hands before his new haircut—something everyone else that passed him was seemingly oblivious to. But asking about it meant a sure-fire boost to Hunter's ego, and Jake was too tired to put up with his over-masculinized explanation of his side of whatever events.

He sank into the locker beside Hunter's, talking about anything else under the sun while Hunter dug through scattered papers in his backpack looking for the right one to turn in.

This boy needs a damn folder.

"You seen Aaron today? He missed English." Jake pondered, noting how unusual it was for him to skip the only class he was actually at risk for failing.

"Think he said somethin' about skippin' to go to work."

Bullshit, we don't have any jobs until Saturday.

"Nah, he's probably hungover or something."

"Makes sense. He didn't answer his phone this mornin'. I was gonna grab pancakes at the diner to see Alyssa before school, but I guess he didn't wanna come."

A smile crept across Jake's lips as he rolled his head away from Hunter. "Man, I don't know why you even try with her. You know her daddy's a lawyer right?"

"That don't scare me off."

"She's also like five years older than you."

"I know." He clicked his tongue. "Love me a challenge."

"You sound as stupid as Aaron."

Jake watched as people passed by them without a care in the world. There was the bustle of a dozen different conversations that muffled the sound of Hunter shifting papers around in his locker in frustration. For second period, the usual traffic jam that should have already started down the hall was somehow nonexistent. Jake watched the corner carefully in anticipation of when it all would turn to shit, but it never did.

Maybe I'll make it to Mr. Mooney's on time today.

The next body that turned the corner walked alone. Jake watched as he came down the hall, books held out to his side as if he couldn't care less about being here today. Through his disinterest, his eyes still managed to scan everyone in front of him—watching each of them carefully although none of them watched him back. No one besides Jake.

When their gazes met, Jake didn't feel the typical flutter in his chest. Connor watched him with the same careful precision he gave everyone else, his tongue tracing over the back of his bottom lip drawing Jake's attention. There was a cut on the right side that etched its way over to Connor's lip, stopping just outside of where it met his skin. The faintest darkened shadow that surrounded it led Jake to believe it probably hurt like hell, and he couldn't help but wonder how badly it pulled when he smiled.

Connor noticed who was standing beside Jake before Jake noticed the animosity that breached his features. When his eyes finally flickered back to Jake, it was with spite. There was a disappointment that Jake didn't get to make out under the contempt in his eyes, but he wasn't oblivious. He felt his stomach drop as the locker beside him slamming shut made him flinch.

Goddamnit, Hunter.

The way Connor looked at him before he finally let it rest held a question Jake didn't want to answer. Did you make him do this to me? When Hunter noticed where he was staring, he followed Jake's glare to his latest project. A smug smile broke across his face when he tilted his chin up in affirmation. It took everything Jake had to swallow down the sudden urge to vomit.

Fuck no.

Hunter watched Connor walk all the way down the hall, Jake's gaze following not too far behind. There was a sinking fear that if he didn't keep tabs on Hunter, he might have reached across the hallway and done it again. He already fucking did it again.

This wasn't the first time Hunter had lashed out on Connor. Jake had heard stories about all the other times when Aaron was dumb enough to ask. He paid them no mind, like a given in life—something that was bound to happen, but that was absolutely none of his concern. They were tales told on days when the name Connor Morgan was just that: a name. Connor wasn't a person. He wasn't an individual. He didn't have a story, or fears, or aspirations. He was just another thing that caught Hunter's attention. Jake had caught Hunter's attention once upon a time, but he had never once lashed out on him. Hunter never got physical with Jake, even on days when Jake absolutely deserved it. He used his frustration up through mind games in middle school football practices and left it at that. Jake's torment from Hunter in those first few years before they were friends was left on the field. Connor was unlucky enough that his followed him home.

Jake wore his in a distant memory, Connor wore his on his face. He paraded it just like Hunter did. They were both proud of themselves. Connor likely because he had stood up for what he believed in, not daring to stoop to Hunter's level of depreciation. Hunter more so because he was convinced that one of these times he might be able to beat that fight out of him. But what Hunter didn't know—or maybe he did—was that Connor didn't trust anyone. His apathy towards needing others' approval made him dangerous because it made him relentless. Hunter wanted validation. He ran his mouth and used his fists as words when it got him in trouble. Little was he used to people telling him he was wrong. Wrongs were met with fights. Connor was a fight he would never win, because even with all the words on the tip of his tongue that he could snap back, Connor just wanted him to shut the fuck up.

Hunter's knuckles met Jake's arm with a gentle tap that startled him. When he looked out to his friend's hand, it was in a much worse condition than a single hit could have warranted. The marks on his knuckles didn't match the one mark on Connor's face. Jake hated that his mind wandered into thinking about all the other places that Connor might have acquired bruises in Hunter's misplaced rage. His growling stomach from skipping breakfast that morning no longer seemed hungry. The thought of Connor in pain made him light-headed and the feeling of Hunter's hand so void of violence when it touched him was the icing on the cake to send him reeling in nausea.

Something so previously removed from his line of sight was now the only scenario he could see. Even as he stood frozen against the locker, he doubled over in turmoil inside. It was so easy to ignore before, but this? This was personal. This was Jake's reality. This was picking a side. Hunter and Connor were two sides in the same battle and Jake had run out between them calling a cease-fire that neither of them heard. He didn't have the voice to say it. It bubbled up in his throat and suffocated him as he hoped neither of them would shoot him down too.

When the bell rang in the mostly empty hallway, Jake realized sometime along the way Hunter had left him. He was grateful for it because it allowed him the one redeeming moment of clarity to gather a breath to calm his nerves without someone there to take it from him. Only then, in the quiet of the hallway where the last remaining locker slammed shut in the distance, Jake realized despite his earlier observations, he was now unmistakably late for class.