Page 58 of Still Missing You

Hunter sits across from me, wound tight. He’s been quiet since his call with Alvarez.

Before I can say anything, the server, a fresh-faced girl barely out of high school, bounces over to our table. We order with little discussion. Burgers. Fries. A beer for him, and a soda for me. I’m driving, after all.

Once the server leaves, Hunter scrubs both hands over his face. “I know we’re missing something.”

He doesn’t have to explain what he means. “I know. If Lyle and Peters aren’t suspects, who does that leave?”

“I’m not sure. We need to know more about what Matthew was doing before he turned up at your café.”

“We could ask Justine, maybe, see if she knows anyone else Matthew was spending time with.”

“Maybe,” he says, but he doesn’t sound convinced.

“We could review Matthew’s footage. There must be something in there for someone to take it.”

“I have Linc and Colin going over it all.”

Not that I don’t think his business partners can do the job, but they weren’t here, in Coldwater, dealing with all this firsthand. “Do they know what they’re looking for?”

He exhales slowly. “Hell, I don’t know if we know what we’re looking for.”

“Something about Matthew’s last few days in Coldwater doesn’t add up. He’s here, recording endless footage for his documentary, interviewing people. His film isn’t a secret. But something changes. He’s attacked, and he has to run. Why?”

“Maybe it has nothing to do with his film?” But even as the words leave my mouth, I don’t believe them.

“Unlikely. His parents disappeared, and there were other disappearances in his hometown around the same time.”

“He thinks there’s a connection,” I say.

Hunter taps his fingers against the table, then stills them. “Maybe there is. Something brought him here, and now he’s missing too.”

Before I can say anything else, the server drops off our drinks. I take a long swallow of soda at the same time Hunter takes a swig from his beer.

He sets the bottle on the table, and his gaze shifts to me, assessing in a way that makes me uneasy. “Can I ask you something?”

The change in tone sends a warning through me. “Um... sure.”

He hesitates for a moment, then asks carefully. “Can I ask what happened the first time we dated?”

His words land softly, but still manage to knock the air out of me. I struggle to keep my expression neutral, but inside, everything feels stretched too tight. I’ve known this conversation was coming. I didn’t realize how much I’ve dreaded it.

“You mean... why I ended it,” I say.

Hunter nods. “I get the part about your parents. I understand why you had to run, but you broke things off before you knew they were going to ship you away. I just wondered why.”

Hunter’s quiet voice makes my chest ache. He isn’t angry. He isn’t accusing. He’s just... asking. Vulnerable in a way he rarely lets anyone see.

“I didn’t do it because I stopped wanting you,” I say. I stare down at the scarred tabletop, at the initials carved into the wood over the decades. My fingers curl into my napkin, twisting it tightly.

“Someone saw us making out.” Hunter wasn’t out yet. Hell, he was barely coming to terms with being bi.

“What? Who?”

“Your coach,” I say. Honestly, looking back, I’m surprised someone didn’t catch us sooner.

Hunter freezes. “What?”

“Your football coach,” I repeat. “After your practice. He walked into the equipment room while we were...” I break off, heat flooding my face even now. “While we were together.”