12. Hunter
Chapter twelve
Hunter
“What do you mean?” Ellie’s voice takes on a higher pitch than usual, and I feel her muscles tense beneath my hands.
I take a deep breath, relaxing my hands so that they rest on her feet.
“I mean rings, vows, sickness, and health. I’ll take care of you and the baby.
You’ll have insurance and protection.” And love.
I think about the past few weeks with Ellie living here and how well we work together—we would make a great family.
Even if she’s not in love with me. Because this isn’t about tricking Ellie into falling for me, this is about taking care of her for as long as she’ll let me.
A guy can hope, though.
“And I’ll keep you safe. I’d do that regardless, but I think the extra layer of marriage would help a lot.”
I watch as she sits up and tucks her feet beneath her. When she meets my eye, I’m afraid she’ll see through my words to the heart behind them—that I’m hopelessly in love with her and always will be. Her eyes are wide, but not with surprise. She’s really considering this.
“What happens, though, when you officially leave the Marines?” Ellie asks. “Won’t that be the end of your insurance?”
“I’m joining the Selected Reserve so I can keep the insurance.” It’ll require one weekend of drilling per month and two weeks of training per year—a very small price to pay for Ellie.
She raises an eyebrow. “Was that your plan all along?”
I shrug. It became my plan as I researched the best way to help Ellie and the baby. “I didn’t really know what my plan was when I came home.” That’s the truth.
Ellie starts toying with a tassel on a throw pillow—an adornment that I suppose showed up around the time Ellie did, and I just now noticed it—and whispers, “Dylan said I was a leech.”
It takes me a second to connect the dots with why she’s saying this now, but when I realize it, fury whips through me.
I would relish dismantling that man with my bare hands.
But right now isn’t about Dylan, it’s about Ellie and taking care of her.
So I take a deep breath, attempting to calm my anger at Ellie’s ex.
“Dylan’s an idiot”—Okay, so I can’t help but take a small swipe at the guy.
It’s not my fault he’s an easy target—“But it’s not leeching if I’m offering. Happily.”
Ellie stares at me a little too long, and for a moment, I wonder if she can see right through me.
“Yes,” she finally says, like even she can’t believe what she’s saying.
I don’t quite believe what I’m hearing either. “Yes, what?” I say the words slowly, like that might make time crawl so we can really get this right.
“Yes.” She puts her hand on top of mine where it rests on the couch between us, and the contact is explosive. “I’ll marry you.”
“Really?” My heart is beating out of my chest. I’d expected to have to try to convince her. I was up far too late Friday night running through my argument over and over in my mind.
“Was it a real offer?” I can see the cogs of her mind turning, as if I don’t solidify her answer now, she’ll talk herself out of acceptance.
“You know I wouldn’t bring it up unless it was.”
She presses her lips together, nodding. She knows me. She knows the offer is real.
“I have a lot of questions, and I can’t even believe I’m saying yes right now,” she says, wrapping her hands over her ever-expanding belly.
“But this sounds like the best thing for the baby, which means it’s the best thing for me.
” Her eyes take on a misty quality. “I just don’t know why you’d want to do this for us.
Surely this isn’t the best thing for you. ”
I reach across the couch for her hand. She slips her delicate fingers into mine. “I care about you, Ells. I always have, I always will.”
“I know, I know,” she says, dabbing under her eyes with her other hand. “I care about you too. That’s why I’ll probably spiral fifty-two times in the next week while I think about this, because I don’t want to trap you with all of this—” she waves a hand at herself, circling it around her belly.
“I’d happily be trapped with you, Ellie.”
She gives me a watery laugh, squeezing my hand. “You’re too good, Hunter Dawson.” She flops one hand to her belly and then groans, long and low. I lean forward, tense.
“Is it the baby? Is she okay? What’s wrong?”
She waves a hand at me. “No, no. I’m just thinking about this. I don’t want you to put your life on hold for me.”
I don’t know how to tell her that my life has been in a holding pattern since she got engaged to Dylan. Waiting for her. I knew she was married, but something inside of me couldn’t let her go. It was like there was a little voice saying, “Just hang on.”
“It’s not on hold.” Not anymore.
“Oof.” Ellie puts her hand on her belly. “It is the baby this time. You wanna feel her? She’s twirling like a tornado.”
I’d laugh at the picture that paints. But this moment feels important, like the true start of something more with the woman I’ve dreamed of for so long. “I’d love to.”
I extend a hand, not sure where to touch her. To touch them. Ellie takes my hand, and reaches for the other, then places them on either side of her belly. The feeling is so strange, so foreign, but one thing that isn’t foreign is the kernel of love I feel pop open inside my heart.
Ellie’s voice is soft and sweet when she says, “Maybe this is Sweetpea saying she approves.”
“What’s going to happen to Sweetpea when you’re ready to move on and marry someone else?” Ellie asks later that night as we’re watching Friends.
I try not to look at her because I know my eyes will give it all away. I’ll never be ready to move on. I’ll never marry someone else.
But I know I can’t say that. I’m not trying to make her feel trapped. I’m just trying to take care of her. Truly.
“I’m always going to be in your life, Ellie,” I say as lightly as possible. “You and the baby,” I can’t bring myself to call her “Sweetpea” like Ellie does. They have a closeness that the baby and I don’t yet have. “You’ll always have a place in my life, and I’ll always be there for you.”
I dare a glance at her, only to find her eyes welling with tears. Before I know it, I’ve got a sobbing pregnant woman on my hands. And I have no idea if it’s because I said the right thing or the wrong one.
On Saturday afternoon, we’ve finished grocery shopping and I’m unloading the cart into the back seat of my truck. Ellie takes the toilet paper from my hand but doesn’t turn to put it in the truck.
“What if someone finds out it’s not real?
” she hisses, looking around the parking lot to make sure no one’s overhearing.
“And then I have to pay a fine or something to the insurance? Can they do that? Charge you extra because it wasn’t real?
” With each question, she pushes the toilet paper further into my chest, her words taking on a hysterical edge.
“And what about our families? We’re going to have to lie to them and pretend this fake marriage is real. ”
“Ellie.” I take the toilet paper from her and toss it into the backseat of the truck. It ricochets around before landing on the ground. I grasp her shoulders and hold her gaze. “It is real.”
“Right,” she says slowly, like she doesn’t believe me.
“I’m marrying you for real.” I swallow, my throat feeling dry as I speak those words. “Sure, we might need to play it up a bit in front of our family and friends, but this marriage would be as real as any other marriage.”
“Right,” she says, more confidently this time, but there’s still a question in her eyes. How for real are we talking? she seems to ask.
If only I could answer her.
“Maybe people in town will stop giving me a hard time about Dylan divorcing me if we get married,” Ellie says later that evening. We had just settled down to watch Friends and she’s got a big bowl of popcorn balancing on top of her belly.
I recoil at her words. “Why in the world would anyone give you a hard time about that?”
“They don’t really know Dylan,” she says with a sad shrug. “All they really know is that he’s rich and good looking, which, for some reason, makes them respect him, I guess.” She puts a handful of popcorn in her mouth, crunching away before adding, “And they think he’s some kind of hero.”
“For what?”
She scoffs. “He stopped a robber coming out of the general store one time.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“It was an accident. I was there with him and the guy tripped over him. Old Man Lewis and a few others were sitting outside, saw it all happen. I’m fairly certain that Dylan decided to tackle the guy after he noticed they were watching.
But Mrs. Truman—and everyone else in town—thinks he’s a hero.
” She makes a gagging noise and I’m inclined to join her.
“Not that I care what they think, I just wish they’d stop talking about it. ”
“And you think marrying me will help?”
“It’ll be a nice cherry on top,” she says with a smile that makes my chest ache. “The best part for me is that, unlike Dylan, you’re actually a hero.”
I wipe a hand down my face, scratching my beard to try to cover up the goofy smile that I’m sure is taking over. Because Ellie just called me a hero. But before I can revel in it too much, she starts tossing pieces of popcorn my way. “C’mon, soldier,” she chides me.
Marine, not soldier. I almost correct her.
I sit up, moving around to catch the popcorn in my mouth. The way she shrieks with glee, I decide she can call me whatever she wants.
On Sunday after church, I’m tinkering with the crooked cabinet door in the kitchen, a screwdriver between my teeth as I line up the hinge. Ellie charges into the room, a laundry basket on her hip.
“What if you meet someone and want to marry her?” Her tone is almost accusatory, as if I’ve already decided to marry someone else, even though I just proposed to her a few days ago.
I give her a cursory glance, even though my eyes want to linger, and return to the cabinet, putting the screwdriver in the screw. “I won’t.”
“But what if you do?”
I set down my screwdriver and back away from the cabinet, wiping my hands on my jeans. “Who could be better than you, Ells?” I say it casually, not to tip my hand at the depth of my feelings for her.
She rolls her eyes like I’m just saying that because we’re friends. “C’mon, Hunter, be serious. What if tomorrow the most beautiful woman walks in here and wants to have your babies?”
“First of all, if some strange woman came in here—”
“The most beautiful woman—”
“Saying she’d want to have my babies? I’d send her to a mental hospital.”
She scoffs, jostling the basket in her hands.
“Secondly, I’ve already got the most beautiful woman in the world under my roof, and I’m not looking to trade her in for a different model.”
She laughs, shaking her head, before she turns on her heel to put away her laundry. Laugh all you want, Ells, it doesn’t make it any less true.
On Monday morning, we’re back in our typical spots in the sunroom.
“This baby is going to cry, you know,” Ellie tells me as she sips her coffee. “It’s going to be very frustrating.”
“It’s nothing I can’t handle.” A sentiment I’ve been relaying to Ellie all weekend long about my proposal.
“She’ll poop.” She leans forward, eyes wide, like she’s just said something really scandalous.
I chuckle into my coffee. “Everyone poops.”
“She’ll throw up on you.”
“Yep, that’s where I draw the line.” I set my mug down and stand up, pretending to walk away. “I’m done with this marriage …”
Ellie giggles, grabbing my hand and tugging me back to our little table. I let her pull me in, returning to my coffee.
And hopefully, my future wife.