“You would have kicked me off the schedule and I need to be able to trust the person I tell all my secrets to.”
I nod and motion him to go ahead. “What do you want to talk about today?”
“My father.” His eyes flick up to me with that signature smirk. “Unless that’s too on the nose.”
I arch an eyebrow. We’re not doing his stupid cocky bullshit right now. He either talks or he doesn’t but either way, this is a serious environment and it’s staying that way. Hunter gives up with a roll of his eyes.
“He thinks I’m weak. Suggested counseling to fix my issues.”
“And what do you think?” I ask.
His eyes meet mine and I see the briefest flash of surprise. “I think my father would love any excuse to commit me when I don’t meet his expectations. He thinks every decision is life and death and so if I offer another way, considering anyone but our direct family or shareholders, I’m out of line, disobedient, or an embarrassment.”
“And what do you think about yourself.” I rephrase.
He considers that, rubbing his chin. Then he talks in circles. About how he wants to do things a different way, and how important it is for companies, people, and morals to change with the times and with the situation. How not everything can be solved with a cutthroat attitude and then he slumps. He says he’s tired of pretending to be someone he’s not, that he’s tired of not having control over his life, and how he doesn’t even get a say in what he does with his time. Like he’s living someone else’s life and only gets the smallest input.
I keep watching him.
Hunter swallows. “I think I’m fine other than that. I think that things need to change in the business and that showing some regard for other people is a good thing, not a sign of weakness. I think …” His fingers trail over his bottom lip as he watches me. “I think, if anything, I should push for more freedom.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“It’s not as easy as it sounds, sweetheart.”
I don’t bother to correct the nickname.
Not when he leans forward with his face covered. “I’m forty-two and still taking orders from my father like they’re law. How pathetic is that?”
“It’s not pathetic.” I make a note about his constant negative self-talk. “It’s a survival mechanism.”
“What?”
“You mentioned that he came into your life when you were in high school, right?”
Hunter nods. “Yeah. He took over when our uncle left. Father is a mean son of a bitch too. Every rule break comes with violence. But I don’t want to be pitied. I could take him if I needed to. But …” he looks to the side. “I worry about my brother.”
“Your brother, who’s also a grown man and able to take care of himself,” I remind him. I take a slow breath. “You learned to obey or to disobey in the ways that show you’re willing to listen to survive the sudden change to make sure that you could protect yourself. That’s not weakness, Hunter.”
His eyes raise to mine.
“That’s understanding life. The only issue I see here is that you are willing to forgo control over what you want, you’re willing to give up the life youcouldhave because you are afraid of the very real consequences of those actions. When you work with family, it’s nearly impossible to get real work-life balance because everything circles around until it feels …”
“I feel trapped,” He whispers. “I work almost seven days a week and I never have a full day, a full weekend to myself. It’s selfish to want time to do anything other than protect others – our business – and give them the opportunities I didn’t have.”
“Why do you feel like that’s on your shoulders alone?” I ask. “Why can no one else take care of that for the weekend?”
He gapes at me, tries twice for an answer, and shakes his head. “Because they are stuck in the old ways and if I don’t control it, it will spiral somewhere else. And if I connect with someone, really connect with them…”
Now I feel him looking into my soul. Not as a counselor, as me. My body heats as electricity ripples between us. I can’t look away from his eyes, can’t pull myself out of his unfinished sentence.
“If I was to take a chance and be real with someone and show them what’s under the jokes and flirting, they’d leave.”
“Why?” My voice shakes.
“My life is pretty on the outside, enchanted, but it’s ugly on the inside. Violent, hard, unforgiving. And it’s turned me into a monster, even though I fight it every day.”
I shift forward in my seat. “You’re afraid that if you showed someone who you really are, they’d push you away? That they wouldn’t be able to love you, or even like you?”