16. HUNTER
16
E ver since that day, this place has been an anchor point for me.
A place of hope and safety, reminding me that life can change within the blink of an eye without you realizing.
Good or bad.
I turn my truck onto the trail that leads to the creek, parking it right at the open spot next to the tree I found her sitting at a few months ago. I turn off the ignition before resting my hands on my knees, looking at the blonde who seems to occupy the biggest chunk of my life lately.
Her light strands illuminate under the moon, highlighting her cheekbones to perfection. I gave her my jacket and the leather pools around her torso, making her look cute as fuck. Gratefully, I pull my lips between my teeth, happy she’s in my truck instead of Dylan’s. Happy she’s wearing my jacket instead of his.
She is right. I am jealous.
I can’t stand to see her with anybody else, even though I know she will never be mine. It was a dick move to suggest going bowling when I picked up Kylie, but the green monster apparently tucked inside my body, lurking under the surface, was really quick to jump up and look for any excuse to go find her. Scared as fuck I would find her with his lips on hers. My turf, my ego shouted.
“You’re quiet,” I state .
She slowly turns her head to mine, a slight scowl still on her face, then turns back to the creek in front of her. The sway of her hair lifts a whiff of her rosy shampoo to my nose, and I breathe it in until it settles a warmth in my stomach.
“I’m still mad at you,” she whispers.
The words leave her lips, and a sting pierces through my heart.
“You’re an asshole, Hunt,” she said.
“I’m sorry, Charls. I don’t know what came over me. You deserve the best, and I don’t think Dylan is the best for you,” I confess, giving her a regretful face, even though it’s a partial lie.
I don’t regret shit.
The only thing I regret is pissing her off, hurting her, but when I say she deserves the best, I sure as hell don’t mean Dylan Dickhead . The guy has the same track record with girls as I do. I want her to find someone better than that. Someone who’s steady with a bright future. Someone who plans to go to college, buy a nice house, and give her a bunch of kids whenever she’s ready.
“It’s not up to you, Hunt.”
I huff, knowing she’s right, but not being able to voice it. Instead, I bite my lip in frustration and stay quiet, staring into the night right past her face, doing everything to avoid eye contact.
“Can you be my friend, Hunt?”
It’s a simple question, and it shouldn’t be hard to answer, but something tells me there is so much more weight to that question than just those five words. A hidden question that we both avoid asking, knowing I will fuck it up, even though I want to cross that line badly.
Why can’t I just be her friend? Why does it feel like she has an arrow in my heart? One that’s rooted to its core. I could find a fucking chainsaw, but I don’t think I’ll be physically possible to drill through the lifeline I seem to have with her .
My gaze locks with hers. Her eyes filled with a troubled look, her lips pursed.
“Yes,” I reply firmly. “Yes. I can be your friend. I am your friend. I’m your best friend, and I will always be your best friend.”
It should sound like a promise, but it feels like an unspoken prison I just locked myself up in. But prison, gated by her heart, still feels better than not having her at all.
“Then be my friend .” She emphasizes the last word as I nod, closely looking at how her beautiful face softens as the seconds pass, and we keep looking at each other in silence.
“Come on.” I get out of the car, and she does the same. She walks toward the big oak tree she loves to read at, while I grab a few blankets from the trunk, along with an extra hoodie for myself. I lay the blanket on the ground before we both take a seat, resting our backs against the tree, my arm around her shoulder. My nose trails off into her hair, and I can’t resist pushing my lips against her scalp. If only she could be mine.
We just sit there for a few minutes, staring into the night with the sound of the streaming creek filling the silence. It’s not much.
It’s just a quiet place with perfect company, but I live for these moments. I live for the moments we just exist next to each other, without a care in the world. Giving me a sense of peace within my fucked-up life.
“Can I ask you something?” Her voice breaks through the night.
“Anything, babe.” She doesn’t even understand the deepness of that answer. I’d give her my heart, my soul, anything I can give her. It’s all hers if she’d ask me.
“Do you tell them you love them?”
“Them?” I drag out the word, not liking where this is going.
“The other girls. Like Kylie. ”
I huff in response, letting out an amused chuckle. “No.”
“No?” Surprise washes over her face when she lifts her chin to face me, and I raise my eyebrows.
“They’re just girls I hang out with when you don’t have time for me.”
“Oh, whatever. Don’t pretend you don’t fuck them.” She wrinkles her nose while the words leave her lips, and I swear I can detect a hint of jealousy in her eyes.
“Sometimes, yeah.”
“Sometimes?” She cocks an eyebrow, calling me on my bullshit, and I let out a laugh.
“A lot of times,” I admit, noticing her face fall a little, and I pull her deeper into my side. “But they don’t mean shit to me,” I add quickly. “They’re just girls to pass the time with. It’s nothing serious. You know that.”
Her sigh ripple through my senses.
“Yeah, I know. They don’t, though.” She rests her head against my shoulder, her arms wrapped around her knees.
“What do you mean?” I wait for a reply while I play with a silky strand of her hair between my fingers.
“Liza. A few weeks back, she cornered me in the hallway at school. Wanted to clarify that she was your girl, that you loved her, and that I needed to fuck off.”
“She what?” My head snaps to look at her, the muscles in my neck tightening. “Then what happened?” Liza clearly has a social death wish.
“Told her to fuck off, and then I told her she better be nice to me because I could make her disappear out of your life real quick.” She gives me a guilty look, and my anger simmers down as I let out a full belly burst of laughter.
I can’t believe she said that, but then a big part of me also believes every word.
My girl is feisty as hell .
And I love how she’s not afraid to show it if anyone tries to come between us.
“Sorry.” She covers her face with her hands, and I peel them off, wanting to see her eyes.
“You’re a badass. When was this?”
“Funny enough, the day before, you ditched her for Dana.” She chuckles.
“Karma at its finest.” I smile as her face goes back to that stern look, her eyebrows furrowed.
“I’m sorry. Here I am, schooling you about how it’s not your place to decide what’s best for me while I basically threatened your girlfriend, telling her I’d make you break up with her if she didn’t play nice with me.”
My hand reaches out to cup her cheek as I bite my lip in amusement.
God, I wish I’d been there to witness it. My fingers spread into her neck, the beat of her pulse fluttering against my palm in a tortuous way. The moonlight dances in her green eyes and when her full lips part, it takes everything I have to not close the distance between us.
“Don’t be. You were right. You come before all those “ bimbos ,” as my mom calls them. In fact, you come before everyone. If they can’t handle that, they can fuck off. And Liza is definitely not my girlfriend. I don’t have girlfriends, you know that.”
“Well, your mom is right. She’s wrong about every other thing, but she’s right about those bimbos.” She laughs.
I disconnect my hand from her cheek before I wrap my arm around her neck so I can tuck her back against my side.
“She’s definitely right about that.”
Her body leans against mine as she stares into the creek.
“Sometimes I wonder what the future will bring us. Who will be there, who won’t.” Her voice is quiet, but her words are loud and clear, laced with the fears she’s been having for the last decade or so. There are moments when I wish I could trade my mom’s life with her mama’s. Giving her the health that she needs and giving my mom a reason to keep fighting. I know it’s a shitty thing to say about the only living parent I have, and I regret it the second it runs through my mind.
“What’s your dream?” she asks, lightness back in her voice.
“To get the fuck out of here.” I chuckle, tugging her closer.
She slaps my belly, scowling up at me.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“That’s not a dream. You can do that anytime.”
“Okay, then what’s your dream?”
She lets out a deep, content sigh, as if just thinking about it makes her happy for just a moment.
“My dream is to become a writer. A wife. A mom. I want a loving husband who might forget our anniversary, but it doesn’t matter because he makes up for it for the rest of the year, making every day special. I want kids. Two. Maybe three. And I want a big porch, where I can write all the stories that are stuck in my head while the kids are in school.”
I want that for her.
I take in her words while my mouth turns dry, a tight grip settling around my heart. Most kids would talk about how they want to achieve great things, big things. A glorious career. A big wedding. Money. But not Charlotte Roux. No, she just wants the simple life, as long as it’s filled with love. I wish I could give her that . I wish I could be more than just her bad boy best friend.
“What?” she screeches when I don’t respond.
“Nothing.” I shake my head, thinking about the one thing I’d dream of if it were up to me.
“I told you I’m boring.”
I look down at her, my eyes dripping with unspoken words. “You are far from boring, babe. ”
“Come on.” She pushes her shoulder against my ribs. “What about you?”
You. My dream is you. “I’ll tell you when I find out.”