Unmaking Hunter Kennedy (33 page)

Curtis texted back: ‘Yeah. Your BRO invited to stay for dinner. Did he tell you?”

Dustin snorted. “He would be in it for the food first.”

“He always eats at our house. That’s standard.” Vere defended him, shooting Dustin a glare. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Sorry. Guess I’m tired.”

She typed: ‘Yeah-see you then’ into her phone, and then, when the trumpets went off in response she turned away so Dustin couldn’t see, and she typed some more.

“Vere, I was kidding. What are you saying to each other?”

“He’s bringing the last summer peaches from his mom’s tree. I told him I’d make us some peach milkshakes!” She beamed. “He’d like that, don’t you think?”

“He’d be a fool if he didn’t.” He shook his head, kicking his feet roughly into the sand of the dry river bed.

“The rocks usually aren’t buried that deep,” she called out as he moved away from her. “This is killing me. Why won’t he text me back.”

“Look at this! I’ve found one!” Dustin held up a small white rock.

Vere dashed over and examined the rock. “Yep. One perfect heart. See? Aren’t they just amazing—”

The phone trumpeted again. Vere laughed, breaking Dustin’s gaze as he frowned at her phone. “I guess I better change the ringtone. It’s brutal. I know. Stop glaring.” She opened her settings, still laughing, swapped out the ring tone, and read the next text.

“He wants to know if you’re coming to dinner?”

Dustin raised a brow.

She beamed at him. “You should! You know my mom wouldn’t mind. Peach milkshakes. Your favorite.”

“No.”

“You sure?” She frowned, again wondering at his tone.

“Yeah.” He took her hand, pressing the little heart rock in to her palm before continuing, “I’ve got homework and I’m fighting a stomach thing. Cramping up all over.”

She closed her fist over the little rock, chewing her upper lip with worry. “Then we should go? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s been coming on all week.”

He turned away, but not before she saw a real flash of pain cross his face.

“Poor you.”

“Yeah. You’ll want to get ready anyhow. So let’s go.”

27: what really happened

Dustin

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Hang in there.

Hey—I’m typing this on the fly.

Wish I could fire your impostor. He’s turned into a hell raiser.

Afraid if I cut him now he’d spill our deal to the press. Little shit.

I gave him a raise and a credit card to calm him down. This whole thing’s giving me an ulcer.

Before she hung up on me again, your mom told me you’re doing ok. I’m glad to hear the updates, but can you two lay off the chat? The cell phone bill shows she’s called Colorado every day. Sometimes twice. I thought I said no direct calls.

Had any time to write some music or lyrics at least? Email me anything you’ve got. We’re starting on the stockpiled stuff soon but will run out fast. We need you. More than you know.

Continue to lay low. Nothing’s leaked yet. I can’t believe it’s working. Another week and I’m back in LA. I SWEAR. I will have you permanently home by Thanksgiving.

Either that, or I’ll have a stroke. Since you appear to be talking to your mother so much can you convince her to please take my calls again?

It’s been two days of the silent treatment. I need to talk to her. Whatever game you two are playing, I’ve lost my sense of humor.

We’ve got contracts. Tell your mom that. We’ve got contracts and I don’t appreciate you plus your aunt messing with me!

Martin

WTF. What did he mean Mom had called here?

It had been three days and a whole weekend since Martin’s last email.

Since the night he and Vere had gone hiking and she had made peach milkshakes for
Curtis
. Hand made, probably hand cut, fresh, peach milkshakes—that were not for him!

Worse, he’d hardly seen Vere or Charlie the whole weekend. They’d gone to the football game Saturday. Sunday, they told him ‘they had something to do’.

Both of them had been acting really strange, too.

Meaning: they’d wanted some time without him. Most probably so they could spend it
with Curtis
. In what felt like some sort of ‘consolation prize’, Vere had half-promised she’d take him back to the hike with the rocks again this afternoon.

After she’d made it clear her time with her
bestie
now all depended on
Curtis’s
schedule. Jenna had been grumbling about that situation some today too.

At least he wasn’t the only one suffering.

He forced himself to think about Martin’s email. His mind had been spinning so much on Vere’s progress with Curtis, he’d all but forgotten about his stand in.

Well, if the fake HIM was wreaking havoc in New York, then things were probably rolling along just fine. He missed none of that scene at this point. He secretly hoped the kid would be caught in a hotel room with two hundred naked strippers, or that someone would catch on that the kid was NOT HIM.

Shit! Let the press fry us all.

Martin deserved what he got for hiring that guy and coming up with this idiotic plan!

He hadn’t been able to resist checking his phone. He charged the thing just enough to load his emails. But now he jerked the charger out of the wall. He was pissed at himself for not being strong enough to leave the phone alone.

He rolled over and yanked open the top drawer of his night stand, catching a glimpse of the bent hair-color box he’d brought from Falconer, glinting from the back of the drawer.

The woman on the box smiled up at him as usual. He flipped it to block out her face, tossed his phone in there again and grabbed out the half-used tube of scar cream from the bag Martin had given him at the airport.

He squirted some of the bright green cream onto his finger and dutifully rubbed it on each wrist as he surveyed his self-imposed damage.

A thick, almost luminous, light pink line was still very visible on each wrist. Most of the angry red color had disappeared. The lines had diminished in width—but not much.

He hated looking at them. Wanted them to be gone.

So gone.

He added a little more cream for good measure and rubbed that in as well. Not one email from Royce and Adam?

Nothing. Nothing at all. Hell, even Some forwarded jokes, or those ads that promised to make your junk bigger would have been awesome at this point.

And Thanksgiving was a lifetime away. What happened to this month, or October, at least? They’d promised it would be soon. Thanksgiving was not soon.

He sat on the edge of the bed and rested his head in his hands as he glared at the night stand. He resolved to leave the stupid cell phone dead no matter what, from now on. No obsessive checking, no calling Vere this time.

None of that.

He needed to be able to go through this alone.

A soft knocking combined with Aunt Nan’s voice came from the other side of his door. “Are you in there? I’ve been cleaning out the linen closet and I have something—”

He jumped off the bed and yanked open the door.

His lightning fast appearance had startled her because she’d jumped back. “Oh good. There you are—I’ve got—”

He didn’t give her a chance to finish. “My mom has been calling you every day?”

She blinked behind her glasses, speaking over the folds of a white, down comforter. “Yes. She calls. Sometimes twice.”

“What the hell?” Dumbfounded, Dustin froze and could only stare down at her.

Aunt Nan shifted her feet, a sign that she needed to sit down, or that she was nervous. “She didn’t want you to know.”

He took the comforter out of her hands and stepped aside to let her pass into the room.

She motioned to the comforter. “That’s for you. In spite of the long Indian summer we’re having, it is going to start to cool down quite a bit in the night.”

“
That’s it?
Now we’re back to talking about the weather? I guess I should clarify.” Dustin crossed the room and tossed the comforter onto his bed as he went on, “What the
hell
? What the
hell
is my mom doing calling you every day? What the
hell
does she talk about, and why the
hell
haven’t you told me?” he said, his voice pure ice.

Aunt Nan winced and frowned as she all but stomped her slippers right up to him. “I’ll thank you for not using foul language in this house or speaking to me like that, young man.”

“Sorry,” he said, feeling bad for making her upset.

She nodded and squinted up at him, making her smile lines show deep. It was impossible to stay mad at this woman. Why should he? None of this was her fault. “I didn’t know your mom’s calls to me were an issue. I thought you knew we talked. Your mom implied as much.”

Dustin’s let the fire drain out of his voice. “I haven’t even had one call, not one email, or even a crappy text message from my mom, and she’s been calling you every single day.”

Nan sighed. “I didn’t know that. She’s calling to check up on you. To see if you are okay. Depressed. Sad. Heading for a relapse. Anything like that. I tell her daily you are fine and happy so she can make it through her own days. Have you read the letter?”

“No. Don’t you see? That woman plays games. She’s playing me with that letter and I refuse to play. Why have we never visited you in such a long time if you two are so close?”

“You used to. I think you came out here at least twice a year until you were six. Sadly, it seems you don’t remember but I do.”

“Your mom is very protective of her feelings. She’s always been a very private person. It’s not her style to talk about things that would bring you pain. What happened with your dad dying...bringing him up would hurt you I’m sure.”

“Maybe not bringing him up at all has been worse. Who knows.” He glanced away from her too kind eyes as his throat threatened to swell up.

“As a mom, she’s sheltered you. She also never lets anyone into her head about your father unless she trusts them completely.”

“Right. That would be why she never talks to me then. I’m first on her untrustworthy list.” He couldn’t cover the sarcastic tone in his voice.

“No. She’s protecting you. And me. Her own broken heart, I’m sure.”

He flicked her an eye roll. “You must be worth a lot of money if she’s looking after you too. Do you have her in your will or something?”

“Easy. Your mom bought this place for me. If she’s in my will it’s only to give back what support I gave to her after your real father died.”

“How many years ago did she buy this house?” He had to know.

“Six.”

He shrugged, forcing away the lump in his throat. “If you think about it, then didn’t
I
really buy this house for you? It was all my money, my time in front of the camera. All Mom’s money comes from me.”

“This conversation is totally inappropriate, but I’ll humor you.” She sounded slightly pissed again. He didn’t blame her; it was a rude topic. But money was always rude, wasn’t it?

“It was my understanding that your mom pulled her own salary. She’s driven herself to the brink of exhaustion as your manager. Until you could afford a larger entourage she worked 80 hours a week or more. You can’t deny that.” Nan sighed and looked deflated. “You know you aren’t being fair.”

“Maybe.” He looked away. “But let’s talk about ‘fair’. Was it fair for her to pull that pumped up salary off my back? I never asked for my career. It just sort of happened.”

“You never once told anyone you wanted to stop. I thought you liked it. Did you want to stop? Do you now?”

That question floored him. “I don’t know.” He had no idea how to answer that. He ran his hand through his hair, desperately trying to process. “I like when people are moved by my music. I’ve never considered stopping as an option. I can’t leave my band. They’re counting on me. So are Martin and Mom. If I stop then how do they get paid? What about the other guys?”

“They’ll find something else to do. They were okay before you hit it big, they will be fine after.”

He paused and looked skeptically over at her. “Would they? I wonder.” He knew for a fact that Martin and his mom would crumble if he stopped working. They didn’t know anything else but working with him either. And Royce and Adam...would they care?

“You must not know your mom’s whole story. Has she never told you how it all started? You working instead of her? You don’t remember?” Nan pulled off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She put them back on and met his gaze.

“No.”

“Your father—when he—died, he didn’t leave much behind. You had begged your mom to be on TV from the time you were able to talk. So, on a whim she took you to a talent agency. They signed you, did head shots that were sent out the same day. It was only a matter of days and poof, you filmed that cereal commercial. We were so proud of you.”

“Yeah. I’ve heard the stories. I only remember eating the cereal. Mom never let me have sugar cereal before that job. After, I could suddenly have whatever I wanted. Because I paid for it all, right? She couldn’t say ‘no’.”

“Absolutely not,” Nan snapped. “It’s really hard to say ‘no’ to a kid who’s father has passed away. We all just wanted you to be happy so we messed that up. Your career wasn’t about the money. Not at first. It gave you both something big to do so you could stay busy and forget how much you missed your dad.”

His heart twisted, and he whispered, “When I think of him...I don’t remember his face, but I do remember how much it hurt to have him simply there one day and gone the next...just gone.”

Nan nodded. “Imagine how your mom felt. Your dad was the love of her life.”

He pictured his mom in a space he’d never considered. Tried to think how she would have been, younger, happy and completely in love.

How he felt for Vere right now floated through his mind.

Though they had only just met—and they weren’t even near to being ‘in love’—his friendship with her was the closest comparison he had.

He played it forward. Pictured them years together and how it would feel if Vere suddenly died. But it was impossible to stay with it. The instant, searing pain it caused in just
thinking
about Vere not being around almost imploded his soul.