It wasn’t a question, and I followed him into the bedroom. The window on the far wall was open, curtains waving in the breeze. The bed was a disaster, a bottle of lube and one of Hunter’s ties on the nightstand.
“I’d rather have this conversation in front of God and every Covington known to man than to sit on that bed right now, Hunter.”
My brother ignored me and sat on the floor, leaning his back against the footboard and stretching out his legs. I joined him, arranging the plate on my lap and staring at the wall.
“This is why I like the window seat,” I reminded him.
“I can’t stand the color you chose.”
A laugh aborted itself in the back of my throat, and I stabbed my finger into the center of a chip that was particularly large. It cracked and shattered into much more manageable pieces, and I shoved one into my mouth.
“I painted over it,” I told him after I swallowed.
“When?”
“Last week,” I said carefully. “Smith and Riggs helped me.”
Hunter rubbed his chin and then lifted his sandwich to take a bite. He chewed and swallowed, then said, “I would have helped.”
“I know.”
I would have called him, if not for the catalyst that had sent me to Smith in the first place. I never wanted to tell Hunter about that. I didn’t want to tell anyone about it. If I could erase last weekend from my memory, I’d empty my 401k to do it, no questions asked.
“What color?”
“It’s called Pelt.”
“That doesn’t tell me anything,” he said.
“It’s purple.”
“A vast improvement from pink.”
I kicked Hunter in the ankle.
He didn’t miss a beat. “Why are you in yesterday’s clothes?”
“Because I haven’t been home. Obviously.”
“Obviously.” Hunter picked at the crust of his bread, peeling it off and flicking it onto the edge of his plate. “Are you going to make me ask where you were?”
“No one is making you ask.”
“You weren’t with them?” he blurted, grimacing as the words left him mouth. “Were you?”
“No.”
“Someone else then?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Someone better?”
Another nod and an unwelcome tightness in the back of my throat when I thought about just how much better Sophie and Daniel were. Not just for me, but as people.
“Are you going to tell me his name?” Hunter glanced at me from the corner of his eye. “Her name? Their names?”
Was I so fucking easy to read?