Unmaking Hunter Kennedy (6 page)

This upside down situation will right itself if I can hold my ground. It has to.

I’m Hunter Kennedy for God’s sake.

Without me, none of them can pay their bills, right?

Right?

Hunter swallowed, pulling in as much air as he could hold.

Time and patience is all this will take.

He turned toward the small buffet, forcing his eyes to focus on the food. He filled a plate with hummus, pita bread, Greek olives, Feta, grapes, and he grabbed a bottle of water.

His mother’s favorite low calorie, high-protein food—even for breakfast.

Feeling a bit more in control, Hunter pulled off the evil-medieval-sword necklace before sitting. He shot a glance at a tall, familiar looking, blond guy, eating apart from the bodyguards and the rest of his entourage. Each and every person in the room seemed to be avoiding Hunter’s gaze except for this kid.

The kid actually seemed to have no problem meeting his gaze or staring like a wide-eyed fanboy.

Hunter shook his head, trying to place him.

I’ve seen him before. Maybe someone’s son? Nephew?

Could be a new intern. One who had not received today’s IGNORE-HUNTER MEMO?

The kid had his elbows propped on the mahogany conference table. He was demolishing a large plate of food that contained only red grapes and crackers.

The dude motioned to Hunter’s plate. “What is all that junk? I’m scared to eat it, so I only took what I recognized.” He grinned. A large piece of grape skin had stuck to his front tooth making, him look like whacked hillbilly.

Hunter bit back his own smile and tilted his head—still trying to place the guy. “It’s Greek food. Hummus, goat cheese?” He pointed to the kid’s tooth. “Dude—you’ve got something stuck right there...”

The kid flushed slightly, and wiped his tooth with a napkin. “Oh. Thanks. You’re Hunter Kennedy.”

“Yes. Yes, I am.” Hunter squelched a grimace. It wasn’t this kid’s fault he was meeting him on the worst day of his life.

“Nice to finally meet you.”

“Thanks.” Hunter sighed, hoping the kid didn’t want him to chat longer, or worse, sign autographs. Before he could make a polite escape, the kid reached across the table and picked up Hunter’s necklace.

He let the chain dangle down between them, and spun the sword until it became a whirling blur. “This is
nice
.”

Hunter snorted. “And sharp. Be careful.”

“I guess we’re supposed to swap outfits soon. I’m going to catch the plane to New York with
GuardeRobe
, but you have to hand over the matching outfit first.” His toothy smile almost blinded Hunter. “New York! I can’t wait. I’ve heard it’s so awesome. What size shoe are you?” The guy shoved three crackers into his mouth and continued, “I hope eleven, because those new sneaks are sweet. I’m psyched to have them.”

Hunter coughed. An olive had lodged in the back of his throat. He forced it down and stared at the guy, trying to process what he’d just heard.

“If that’s okay with you, I mean. You don’t need them back. right?”

The dude’s grin was now so big Hunter wondered if it would fall off his face.

The kid blabbed on, “Can I keep that hat, too?” He studied Hunter’s head and his grin faltered when Hunter still didn’t respond. “If you don’t care. It’s as cool as this necklace!” He dropped the chain over his neck.

Hunter blinked, unable to respond, or breathe, or think.

“They let me keep the other outfits so...I just figured...”

Hunter gripped the sides of his chair for balance as his mind spun out of control.

Hell. No way.

NO WAY.

They’ve replaced me!

Hunter couldn’t believe his life had morphed into this.

Well aware the room had just gone completely silent, Hunter unclenched his hands and grabbed a handful of grapes.

Methodically putting them into his mouth one at a time, he stapled his expression into
extreme press mode
. He concentrated on chewing, swallowing and willing the buzzing fury in his head to dissipate.

He shot another hooded glance at the huddle in the corner and noted everyone had turned to watch him, except his mom. She was obviously pretending not to notice the exchange.

Typical.

His entire life was spiraling out of control because of her stupid need to punish him, and the woman didn’t even have the courage to watch anymore.

I have to think. Shit. I have to breathe.

He let air in through his nose and popped in another grape, biting through the skin. It tasted like dirt.

The effort to swallow almost did him in, but he knew he was winning when he managed to throw in another, chew it, swallow again and add in more breathing.

Hunter surveyed the guy top to bottom. The kid looked almost exactly like him.

How I used to look six weeks ago with shorter, blond hair. Minus the dorky, shit-eating-grin, of course.

Kid has so many damn teeth.

“Dude. Hunter? We cool?” he asked, frowning.

Hunter felt his legs start to shake, but managed to flip on a smile and a nod. “Just starving,” he muttered. “You know how it is.”

“Oh, yeah. Me, too. We have
so
much in common!” The guy shot him another overlarge grin. “I’m always hungry too!”

Hunter shot Martin a desperate glance.

Martin nodded, but made no move to come talk about this.

Hunter decided he was not going to do what they probably expected him to do.

No way was he going to blow up. Not even a little.

Though he had every right.

He took in another big breath and looked back at the goofy guy in front of him and cracked his own smile.

A fake,
dumbass
smile that matched the other kid’s smile. One that hurt so bad he felt like the insides of his cheeks were cracking all the way to his soul.

“Dude. You can keep the whole outfit. Forever. My shoes are an eleven. Are they paying you a lot?”

“Tons! It’s the best deal ever. Thanks for—uh—the job—and the trip to Paris too.”

“You actually went to Paris?” Hunter’s heart dropped. He was mostly amazed that he could still be surprised at this moment.

“Yeah. Me and the
guys
. When you were...sick? Didn’t they tell you?” The blond kid nodded toward Royce and Adam.

Hunter shook his head. “No. They didn’t.”

“I had to keep mostly to the hotel, but the hotel was sweet. So deluxe. And they got me anything I wanted—room service, video games, movies, French pastries—anything, even wine. No drinking age over there!”

“Right. Lucky you.” Hunter wondered how long it had been since he’d found unlimited room service or the accessibility to alcohol exciting.

He studied the kid close up.

Shit. My twin. Eye color, not as blue. Everything else—dead on. Except for the part where he’s got way, too many teeth.

“This gig will more than pay for my college or anything I want to do next year. It’s cake acting too. No lines to learn. All I have to do is keep my face down, wear sweet clothes, and not talk.”

“Well, at least one of us has a solid future,” Hunter said, hating that he’d been unable to hide the utterly desolate tone in his voice.

The dude noticed, and at least had the grace to dim his smile to a sincere frown. “Oh. Right. Well, I’m sorry about you know—that you’re
sick
? But they told me it wasn’t like—
fatal
—or too major? Is it?”

“Apparently it’s more serious than we all originally thought,” Hunter managed.

“Oh. I’m really sorry.” He leaned farther across the table and continued, “I totally love
GuardeRobe
. It’s an honor to help you out. Really. I hope you don’t have to go through anything painful like surgeries? Or—well—I’m hoping there’s some sort of bright side for you.”

“Are you always this chatty?” Hunter unclenched his fists.

“Yeah! I am. My name’s—”

“No!
Don’t
.” Hunter stood abruptly, picking up his plate.

The guy sat back, startled.

“I don’t want to know your name. Too weird. I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“Oh. Okay. Sure.”

The guy had stopped smiling at least.

“Shall we—get this over with?” Hunter motioned to the rest room signs behind them, as a wave of extreme exhaustion hit him low and heavy across his chest.

His body felt as though it weighed thousands of pounds. He had no idea how he made it to the other side of the room.

And then it was done.

They’d traded out everything but their boxers.

Truthfully, Hunter couldn’t have been happier to ditch the white and silver hell-suit for the other guy’s plain Levis, white under shirt and his wrinkled, long sleeved, light blue button down. It all fit him like a glove. The freakish skate cap had been replaced with a faded, black and purple, Sacramento Kings ball cap. The offensive white sneakers had been upgraded to surfer flip-flops with dark red canvas tops.

Hunter pulled nervously at the shirt cuffs. The sleeves were long enough to do the trick.

After they’d changed, they made their way back to the table where Hunter’s band-mates were now sitting and eating.

Unlike before, everyone was now openly staring, but they all seemed jumpy.

YA THINK?!! TRAITORS!

I’M A LITTLE JUMPY TOO!

Hunter wanted to scream. Flip tables. Throw a chair or two.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he let Adam give him a low five and sat down like this was ‘no big thing’.

Royce hadn’t spoken, just ate his hummus and stared away from him like he was all pissed. And Royce was supposed to be his
best friend
. Truthfully, despite what the magazines said, the three of them rarely hung out when they weren’t working.

He couldn’t blame them for being pissed. His exit was risking all of their jobs too.

“Dude. How you handling—all of this?” Adam asked, grimacing at Hunter’s new outfit.

“What do you think,” he evaded. “Tell me you guys weren’t in on thinking up this ridiculous plan?”

“Hell no!” Adam whispered. “Just get better, or get back home soon. It’s so freaking weird without you. We hate your stand-in. He’s a total tool. We can’t even be mean to the guy because it makes you feel like you’ve kicked a puppy. He’s so damn friendly and
nice.
” Adam shuddered.

Hunter cracked a small smile.

Royce finally piped in, “They wouldn’t let us call or email you. Not once.”

“Why? I knew it! Damn Martin and Mom. I’m sorry about all this, guys. I really messed things up.” Hunter adjusted his ball cap.

“Martin said if we left you alone, it would help you to—recover. You know, to have some distance from us. So...you’re feeling okay? Strong, or better or—whatever now?” Royce added.

“Yes.
I am.
I don’t know why I did all that shit. You guys have to talk to my mom. Tell her I’m fine. I handled things so badly. That’s all. She won’t talk to me. If you get the chance, let her know I’m sorry. See if you guys can crack her. I only want to come back to work.”

That was all he got out before they were swept away by Martin. Within seconds his agent was back at the table, just as Hunter was hit with another wall of exhaustion.

He tried to concentrate but he felt as though Martin’s lips had detached from his face. The voice droning out at him sounded like a robot with low batteries. “Thanks for not flipping out. I’ve got a lot to say and not much time,” was all Hunter heard clearly.

He focused on making an internal list of Martin’s words so he could recall it later, when he could think.

1. Get to Colorado and hide your identity at all costs—the press can NOT know.

Check. Press can not know. I’m already on that.

2. Don’t tell anyone about spending time at
Falconer
, or the details of what you did to yourself.

As if I’m going to take out an ad in the paper about any of that.

3. Scar cream. Use lots of scar cream.

What? What?

Martin shoved a huge brown paper sack under his face.

Hunter nodded just in time when Martin asked if he would apply the cream three times a day. He managed a deep breath and checked himself back into the odd, impossible conversation in time to hear Martin’s last sentence.

“Hopefully they’ll fade out, man. This prescription stuff works miracles.” Martin grinned expectantly at Hunter.

“That’s what I thought when I gobbled down all of Mom’s antidepressants,” Hunter volunteered. “Miracles. You know?”

When Martin flushed, Hunter knew he’d said the wrong thing.

Whatever. What exactly is the right thing to say anymore?

Ever again. Shit.

“So, your Aunt Nan will be the only one outside of our private circle who knows about it,” Martin finished.

“The scar cream?”

Martin’s face changed from red to purple, and he lowered his voice even more. “
The suicide—the suicide attempts, dammit! Ramp the hell in!
We had to tell Nan, in case you need more—help. Someone to talk to? You can call Barry directly any time. Or, your aunt can find you a local shrink.”

“I’m not going to need any more help. I didn’t try to off myself.
I didn’t
. I’m not that person.”

“You were that night.”

“You don’t know anything.” Hunter looked away. Martin had never spoken to him like this. Like they weren’t on the same team anymore. “It was me taking all those pills. Plus the wine. I’d never been hammered like that before. A bad fight between me and Mom, plus some mega-stupidity on my part made for a prank gone sour,” Hunter insisted. “I’m
fine
now, and I was pretty much fine then,” Hunter fronted. “Ask Barry, he’ll back me. I only needed monitoring while I tapered off the antidepressants I shouldn’t have been taking. You’ve got to save me.”

“Believe me. I’m on it. Just give me a little more time to try to work on your mother.” Martin leaned even closer. “Look. Hunter. This secret—what we have worked so hard to set up— it’s flipping beyond serious. You can’t deviate from the plan. You have to hit every mark, or all is going to be lost.”