“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.”