I’m tired as hell, but I won’t give up now that I’m almost there. Hunter’s nose is bleeding, leaving bloodstains on the carpet as we go upstairs. I drag him to the bathroom closest to my room and set him down on the toilet. His face is covered in blood, and it doesn’t take long for the bathroom to look like a crime scene. I snatch a few rolls of toilet paper standing on the table and rip some off. I grab a stool standing in the corner and sit down next to him. Dabbing the cotton against his face, I check if his nose is really broken. He winces when I touch him, but doesn’t cry out in pain. He refuses to show me any pain. How very noble of him. “I have to call an ambulance,” I say. I turn to fetch my cell phone from my purse, but Hunter grabs my wrist and stops me from moving. “Don’t. I don’t want to go there. I can’t.” “Why not?” “Because the cops will be asking questions, and I don’t want to answer them.” His nostrils flare and he cracks his knuckles.
