Secret Identity ▶▶A Hunter Hayes Fanfiction◀◀

10

Hunter’s P.O.V.

I was right all along; Joslyn is Little Birdie. I feel like screaming it to the world, but I can’t. Joslyn would be arrested far more easier if the police knew her real identity.

When I arrive home, I go over to Joslyn’s house to see if she’s okay. I was watching her when she helped that one kid get out of the way of that really big dog. It was heroic and selfless of her to let herself be hurt instead of a child she has never seen before. The dog bit into her arm pretty hard, and I’m pretty sure it drew blood. I know that revealing her face was a little unnecessary and rude, but I really needed to know for some reason. Plus, now that I do know, I feel safer living next to an individual that has faced many bad people that have caused harm and havoc in Nashville.

I knock on her front door. A faint voice is heard from inside the house, and then there are footsteps approaching. The curtains are pulled back briefly to the window in the middle of the door, revealing Joslyn’s face. She scowls when she sees me, but she opens the door nonetheless. She has somehow already changed into sweatpants and a short sleeve shirt. I notice the dove tattoo on her wrist, but what catches my eye is the bloodied cloth she’s holding against her arm.

“What are you doing here, Hunter? I thought I told you that we can’t be friends,” she says sternly.

I ignore her question entirely. “Do you need to go to the hospital? I can-”

“Hunter,” Joslyn interrupts. “Leave. Please.” She tries to shut the door, but I hold it open with my hand.

“Seriously, let me take a look at your arm.”

“I’m fine. Just a scratch.”

“You’re practically bleeding out.”

“I’m not going to ask you again,” She warns. “Leave. Me. Alone.”

“No.”

She scowls, then pushes me to the ground outside with her right hand before slamming the door shut.

Sitting on her front lawn, obviously failing at being a good neighbor, I stand and brush my hands off on my jeans. “Fine. You win this round, Joslyn. But, just so that we’re clear, I’m winning next time.” I pause, then add, “And by the way, that last article that Jennifer wrote, I’m sorry. I told her the truth about you saving my life, and she twisted it so that it sounded like you were trying to harm me.” I shove my hands in my pockets. “That is all. I’ll see you around, neighbor.”

With that, I head back to my house. I heat up some leftovers real quick, eat it, and then get ready for bed. For the first time in a week, I don’t cry myself to sleep, and it feels good. I still think about how awful of a boyfriend I was to her, but I don’t cry.

Maybe this is my first step in moving on.

Joslyn’s P.O.V.

As soon as I shut the door on Hunter I shoot up the stairs into the bathroom. I rummage through the drawer until I find an extra roll of toilet paper. I take off the cloth I was holding against my arm to stop the bleeding and throw it into the trash bin. The skin underneath is already swollen with three deep teeth marks in it, a few inches away from my wrist. Dark crimson blood is still oozing from it.

I take the toilet paper and start wrapping it around and around my arm, using the rest of the roll. I toss the middle cardboard tube to the side and flex my arm, wincing.

Hunter was wrong about me being a hero and selfless. I am neither; I’m just trying to do the town some good after all the wrong I’ve done in it. I start being Nashville’s Little Birdie because I wanted to redeem myself further than just asking for forgiveness. I needed to do something that was really helping the community, and thus Little Birdie was made. The things I have done in the past no longer define me. Even though most of Nashville hates my guts, I know that I’m doing the right thing.

I stumble into my bedroom and make my way to the small closet. I reach up and take out a single copy of a newspaper. I blow on it, the dust flying. The date on the top is from three years ago, a few days after I became Little Birdie. The picture on the front is of me, but my face is masked by my hoodie. My little dove tattoo on my wrist is showing, and the headline reads:

ANONYMOUS WOMAN SAVES FOUR LIVES IN JUST TWO DAYS

I remember the four people I helped in those first two days. The first day I had Little Birdie as my other identity, nothing happened. The day after, however, there was a car accident and I pulled an infant out of a car that blew up moments after she was safe. The next day, a building collapsed. Many people got trapped and many others died. I happened to be off work on that day, so I arrived on the scene before anyone else. I managed to find three people, two men and one woman, and got them to safety just as the police and paramedics got there.

I suddenly get woozy and have to sit down. The blood loss isn’t deadly, but it is making me dizzy. I set the newspaper back where I got it and then lie down on my bed.

Memories of the first article written about Little Birdie flood my mind. Everyone wanted to know who I was. Everyone loved me and the idea that they had someone besides the police department to count on. They felt safer. Now, they think I’m a threat. That I’m going to harm them.

I hope Hunter doesn’t make things worse for me, considering he now knows my secret. I also hope I don’t make life worse for him. The last thing Hunter needs is another thing in his life that makes him want to attempt to end it again. I should probably try to loosen up a little bit for his sake. Being nice to him is always an option, too.

I exhale loudly.

“Fine,” I tell myself. “I’ll try to be relatively nice to Hunter. But we’re not going to be friends.”

Hunter’s P.O.V.

I crane my neck, trying to get a better look into her kitchen window. She’s nowhere in sight. I lean against the counter, defeated. If she isn’t going to be my friend, she could at least let me be a concerned and friendly neighbor.

My phone buzzes in my back pocket. I take it out and answer without looking at the caller ID.

“Hunter. I’m surprised you picked up.”

It’s my manager, Hilary. I sigh. “Yeah.”

“Is everything okay? You haven’t showed up at the studio in a while; I beginning to think that you died. Or worse, decided to stop making music.”

I scoff. “Like that’d ever happen.”

“Seriously, though. What’s going on?”

“You know Jennifer Realms, right?”

“Journalist. Pretty. Sassy. Hunter Hayes’s girlfriend.”

“Ex.”

“Oh, I see,” Hilary says. “That’s gotta be rough. How long were you two together?”

“Two years.”

“Yikes. Look, Hunter, I understand what you’re going through. Remember that one guy I dated last year, Ben? Anyways, you still have music to make, fans to impress, and guitars to shred. You’ve gotta come back in.”

I nod. “Right, sorry. How about tomorrow?”

“Sounds good. I’ll contact the band. Have a good evening, Hunter.”

“You too, Hilary.”

I hang up and run my hands down my face. Maybe I’ll find all the answers I need in a song tomorrow.