Chapter 3
3
APRIL
Well, this is pretty embarrassing.
After having a phone session with my therapist Sandy, I’m a vulnerable mess.
I haven’t even told her about the daydreams, or how I still visit that safe space in my mind.
No, I confessed it to Hunter, who probably thinks I’m delusional.
Sandy still insists that I take baby steps.
What kind of step was it when I told Hunter that if I had never been kidnapped, maybe Donovan would have liked me?
Stupid , I think to myself. He doesn’t want to hear about your insecurities.
But when his golden eyes burn and his spicy scent swirls around me, part of me thinks he genuinely does.
Now, I stand in front of a blank canvas with a paintbrush while he sits on top of a table to my left, a sketchbook on his lap with a pencil in his hand.
“It’s weird if you draw me,” I say, blue pigment dripping down the canvas.
I don’t know what I’m doing, but according to Hunter, watercolor is a great paint for beginners.
I’ll take his word for it.
“Who says I’m drawing you?” he smirks. “Maybe I’m drawing Liam from memory.”
I snort. “Sure.”
It’s hard to stay insecure with Hunter around. Dressed in worn jeans with a brown hoodie and combat boots, he looks the part of a rebellious artist, not a billionaire tech guy.
He catches me staring, and he winks at me. “See something you like, sweetheart?”
I laugh and shake my head, returning to the canvas.
How am I supposed to paint what I feel?
“Art therapy is a real thing,” he adds, as if reading my mind. “There’s no right or wrong answer. This isn’t like baking. It won’t explode in the oven if you get the measurements wrong.”
I huff, moving the brush along. I create cerulean lines that mean nothing to me and look uneven, as if done by a child.
But still, I continue to do it, and I think.
I think about my time in that room.
I think about Donovan’s eyes and how every emotion he has is concealed behind them.
I dip the brush in a jar of water to swirl the pigment off, then switch colors.
Like Liam’s eyes.
I know nothing about color theory, but the mess on the canvas doesn’t do my artistry any favors.
Still, I’m lost in shapes and strokes, swirling the brush around as quickly as my mind does.
That room.
The fear that I’m still there and don’t realize it.
That instead of coming back wrong…
I never did.
Hunter gives me silence. At first, I feel his eyes on me, but the longer I paint, the less I notice it.
I paint until the sun starts to set and the homes on the hills turn their lights on. Hunter stays by me, and occasionally I hear the sketching of his pencil.
Eventually, I set the paintbrush down and heave a sigh. Hunter joins me by my side and crosses his arms, taking in the canvas.
“How do you feel?” he asks me softly.
I stare at my creation.
It’s a mess of muddled colors, splotches of muddied browns and blacks decorating the surface. Slashes of red cross through it, along with splatters of greens, blues, and purples.
It’s how my mind feels most of the time.
A cloud of darkness, with the occasional color peeking out.
“Better,” I answer honestly.
Hunter nods. “I like it,” he says carefully.
“Like it?” I turn to look at his amused expression. “Hunter, it’s a shitshow. All I did was think about everything fucked up in my head.”
He nods. “And now it’s out of you and on the canvas.” He smiles before his eyes fall back to my painting.
And suddenly, I get it.
I understand what he did for me, and why he took me here.
It’s out of you and on the canvas.
“Do you have a pair of scissors?” I ask him.
“Sure, baby.” He heads over to the drawer of supplies against the wall and hands me a thick metal pair.
And because Hunter won’t judge me, and it’s obvious he knows what I’m about to do, I don’t hold back as I stab the canvas over and over, destroying the chaos that was inside of me. I grit my teeth as I do it, my fist aching from the force I apply to the scissors.
I stab, I cut, and I tear at my painting until it’s ruined beyond repair.
And when I hand the scissors wordlessly back to him, he watches me carefully.
“Better?” he asks.
I nod. “Much.”
He gives me a lopsided smile. “Well, now that that’s over…are you hungry?”
My stomach gurgles in response, and he laughs.
“One of these days,” he says, watching as I pick a grape off my plate, “I’m going to have you sit on my lap so I can feed you.”
I raise an eyebrow. “That is…a very strange thing to say to someone. And absolutely not.”
His gold eyes glimmer while he takes a bite of his sandwich. “Not even once?”
“No, you psycho, not even once. I’m not a child.”
Hunter said he brought snacks—he brought a feast . He packed us sandwiches, fruit and cheese, and a bottle of wine in a cooler, and we set up a makeshift dinner table in the far corner of the studio away from all the supplies. Strawberry macarons are for dessert, which he picked up at a local bakery while I was in Heat.
They’re not as good as mine, but they’re still damn good.
It’s all very thoughtful, and I’m having such a good time that it’s hard to tell him no to anything.
But feeding me on his lap?
Ridiculous.
His foot brushes mine under the table, but I don’t move away. “You’re not a child,” he smirks, “but that doesn’t mean it’s not fun. What, can’t a guy worship his girlfriend?”
Girlfriend.
It sounds wrong when he says it, but I can’t tell if it’s because I want us to be more than that, or if it isn’t true at all.
The contract still looms over our heads.
I take a sip of wine from a paper cup and change the subject. “How often do all of you come here?”
He takes a macaron off a plate. “We used to come a lot,” he says. “But sometimes we get too wrapped up in work. Every time I come back, though, I’m reminded of why I love it. Especially now.”
I try to stifle a smile. “You’re just a flatterer.”
“I’m a truth teller. We’ve never brought anyone else here before, you know. You’re the first.”
My eyes widen. “Really?”
“Of course. We all discussed it. You belong here, as much as we do. You’re can come anytime, now.”
I’m dumbfounded. “You don’t have to do that for me.”
This place is too intimate for them to share with me.
It’s theirs.
But Hunter fishes something out of his pocket, then hands it to me.
“Anytime,” he repeats, as I close my fist around the key. “A place where you can feel safe and create, if you want. Sorry it’s not exactly a kitchen with twenty ovens, though.”
I stare at the key. It’s new and shiny, as if it was made specifically for me. “This is…too much. I mean…what about after…”
I can’t even finish the sentence.
What about after the contract ends?
“It’s not conditional, baby. It’s always yours.”
My heart aches.
The intent behind this means so much, and I have a feeling giving the key back isn’t an option.
“Thank you,” I murmur, placing the key in the pocket of my jeans.
Then, because I don’t know how to process the significance of what Hunter offered me, I down the rest of my wine.
Hunter chuckles. “That terrible, huh?”
“No,” I insist, placing my cup down. “I’m just surprised you would offer this to me.”
Hunter cocks his head and looks at me like I said something ridiculous. “Really,” he says, unimpressed. “You still don’t get it.”
Get what? I want to ask, but I’m not sure I can handle the answer.
We’re fake dating.
We have a contract.
This is all pretend.
But the more I try to believe it, the more it sounds incorrect in my head.
“This is real, baby,” he says, as if reading my mind. “For all of us.”
I swallow. His eyes shine with earnestness, and I can’t hold his gaze.
I have the terrible urge to text Skylar and freak the fuck out.
But panic texting my friend in front of Hunter isn’t an option, especially when I feel his eyes trained on me.
Instead, my gaze flicks to the bed in the loft.
“I think…” I say as I stand. “I think I want to lie down.”
“I can leave, sweetheart,” he says softly as I head toward the steps. “I can pick you up later, if you want time alone.”
That’s the problem. I don’t want him to leave, but I also don’t want to discuss everything that’s building up inside of me.
Despite destroying the painting that depicted the ugliness inside of me, I still feel like a coward.
You have to take baby steps, April , my therapist’s voice says in my head.
I stop at the bottom of the stairs and turn to Hunter.
“You want to take a nap with me?”
His wicked grin tells me I made the right choice.
“Oh, come on,” I murmur as I slide under the sheets, “no bed should be this comfortable.”
“Of course it is,” Hunter says as I snuggle next to him. “I’m here, right?”
I chuckle. “You’re ridiculous.”
Hunter climbed into the bed first so I wouldn’t be trapped between him and the wall. And I locked the door to the studio myself, keeping us both protected from outside.
I have a key now.
I’m in control of leaving or entering.
Hunter begins to purr the moment I join him under the covers, and I place my head on his chest as he strokes my hair. Moonlight shines on us from the skylight above, and as I close my eyes and breathe in his rich, spicy scent, all is right in the world.
“I’ll never get over it,” Hunter says quietly after a moment of silence.
“Get over what?”
“Holding you. Being in bed with you.”
I hum contentedly as he strokes lazy circles on my back.
“How I smile like a lovesick asshole anytime you’re around.”
I chuckle into his chest. “Sure.”
“And how happy you make my best friends.”
I freeze in his hold, but his fingers don’t stop stroking me. “Are you sure about that?” I ask carefully.
He scoffs. “Baby. Believe me. You should have seen them before you met us. Liam was a nervous wreck, and Donovan was an emotionless freak. And I was stuck in the middle of it, being perfect and all.”
He tugs my hair playfully, and I lift my head to nip at his neck, eliciting a warning growl from him. I nuzzle into him, breathing in the rich scents of cinnamon and pepper.
“Don’t start something you can’t finish, baby,” he breathes. “Unless you’re ready to desecrate this bed.”
It’s tempting. My body always responds to the three of them, and it would be so easy to swing my leg over and grind against Hunter while he sucks on my mating gland.
But I’m also drained. After the painting and the key…
“Could you just…” I swallow, unsure how to ask, “…could you just hold me?”
I don’t know why I expect him to reject me, but the answering kiss to my hair is all I need.
“Of course, baby.”
Hunter’s purr increases as I nuzzle my nose into the crook of his neck, breathing deeply and relaxing against him. We’re quiet for so long that I almost drift to sleep, the wine making my head fuzzy.
“What was it like for you before Axton ?” I ask softly.
There’s so much more I want to learn about Hunter and his packmates.
At first, I think Hunter actually fell asleep, but then he speaks. “My parents were worried I wasn’t going to amount to anything. My grades were shit, and I was getting into fights all the time. I got kicked out of high school and sent to continuation school because I broke a kid’s nose.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Wow,” I mutter into his chest.
“To be fair, it’s because he was making fun of Liam.”
“Why were they making fun of him?”
“He was nerdy. He spent all his time in the computer lab and wasn’t into sports. Some jocks thought it would be funny to pick on him.”
I frown, thinking of a teenage Liam being harassed.
The kind, gentle giant being teased just for being himself.
“That’s horrible.”
“Yeah, well, Liam and Donovan were best friends, and Donovan hacked into all their computers and exposed them for being pieces of shit. He did it the smart way, and I did it the way that got me kicked out of high school.”
“I know I shouldn’t encourage violence, but I’m kind of glad you did,” I admit.
He chuckles. “Yeah, me too.”
“So, after high school, what happened?” I ask.
“We all just hung out in Donovan’s storage unit and worked. He taught me how to code, actually. He and Liam already knew how to do it, and I figured it was something that could keep me distracted. That and sketching.”
“Skylar and I used to do wreck my mom’s kitchen in high school,” I say. “We would experiment all the time with baking. It’s not the same thing, we weren’t in a storage unit?—”
“It’s still fucking cool,” Hunter says. “You make the best damn cookies I’ve ever had.”
“They’re not the best?—”
“They’re the fucking best,” he growls, and my eyes open in surprise. “The best, baby. I’ll defend the honor of your cookies until my death.”
“Okay, okay. They’re the best, whatever you say. Geez , Hunter.”
But then he laughs and squeezes me tighter. “I’m passionate, baby. And don’t talk shit about your talents.”
I sigh in his hold. I’ve never been aggressively complimented before, but I guess there’s a first time for everything.
“Anyway, back to Axton,” Hunter says. “After we blew up, the first thing I did was pay off my parent’s house. And Donovan bought his mother a house. It was amazing; she cried and hugged all of us. It’s one of my best memories with him.”
I smile softly. “He said he also visits her in his helicopter.”
“Yeah, he did.”
Hunter’s fingers run through my hair, catching on tangles and slowly working through them.
“And what about Liam?” I ask.
His fingers stop. “Liam’s been no contact with his family since his junior year,” Hunter says softly. “He slept in his car a lot, or when my parents could convince him, at my house.”
I let out a gasp. “What?”
“Yeah. He’s been through a world of shit. I don’t know how he turned out the way he did.”
Tears prick at my eyes. “What happened to him?”
“That’s his story to tell, baby. But he’s so fucking happy now that you’re in his life that it’s almost nauseating.”
Hunter’s words do nothing for the heartache I feel for Liam.
“We’re all fucking happy, by the way,” Hunter continues. He wipes a tear away from my cheek, and I didn’t even realize I was crying. “No tears,” he whispers. “You make our life better. And hopefully, we do that for you, too.”
But my tears flow freely, and Hunter holds me as I quietly cry, overwhelmed by my emotions.
What was meant to be a nap ends with us sleeping through the entire night.