Chapter 41
41
Caroline was right.
Red is an angry color.
And right now, it’s all he sees.
In the thirty minutes it takes to drive into town, my imagination conjures up the worst case scenario. I picture the big guy protecting my honor, pounding on my much smaller, likely inebriated father, and I wince at the ugly, ugly image.
Except when I burst into Bishop’s, a bloodbath is not what I find. It’s pretty close to the opposite; the room is strangely calm, the patrons eerily quiet as they all stare at…
Hunter.
Quietly, calmly pinning my dad’s head to the bar.
My dad who has blood on his face, running from his nose and pooling on the wood beneath his cheek. Staining his teeth too, I notice when he sneers at the sight of me. “Call off your fucking dog, Caroline.”
Beside me, Lux snickers. “More like a bear.”
Ignoring her, I step forward with a tentative, “ Hunter .”
“It’s okay, honey.” He smiles reassuringly, even as he shifts his grip to smush my dad a little harder. “We’re just talkin’.”
“He attacked me!”
Hunter’s mouth flattens as he stoops to hiss in my dad’s ear, “I threw a glass at your face. You call that attackin’? Huh .”
“ You broke my nose. ”
“And my bar.”
My gaze flits to Tommy where he stands on the other side of the counter, bafflingly nonchalant as he leans against a mini fridge and gestures at the counter. Following his pointed finger, I notice a crack in the dark mahogany.
Right underneath Dad’s head.
“My bad,” Hunter mumbles without an ounce of guilt or apology. “But you heard what he said.”
Tommy briefly meets my gaze, and I flinch at the knowing swimming within his.
Dad wriggles furiously, but his struggle is futile. He barely budges an inch. “ Get off of me . I’ll fucking kill you.”
Hunter laughs. He actually laughs, a noise that sends a shiver up my spine, and I don’t think fear is the source. Looking huge and intimidating and dark , he yanks my dad upright. “You can try. I’ll even give you a free shot. If you apologize,” he jerks his head in my direction, “to her.”
His name leaves my lips, a weak protest. I don’t want an apology, not when it’s not a real one, not when Dad doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong, not when he never will. I want to get out of here, to not feel like I’m a specimen being studied under a microscope, to rewind an hour to when Hunter stormed off the ranch and to grow enough of a backbone to ignore Lux and follow him and stop this from happening.
“Go on,” Hunter taunts. “Two words. You can do that, can’t you, Ken?”
“Fuck off,” Dad spits. “Fucking hick. You think she’s worth this shit?”
“You have no idea what she’s worth to me. And I really don’t think you wanna find out.”
“Hunter, stop it,” I snap, truly snap , because I’m suffocating under the weight of everyone watching this, looking at me, at my cheek, and I’m seeing freaking thought bubbles floating above their heads, full of cogs turning and puzzle pieces slotting together and conclusions being drawn, and I hate it and I’m humiliated and I’m furious . “Let him go, please.”
He does. Without hesitation or argument, he lets my dad go, only to grab him a second later when he stumbles a single, minute step my way.
Hunter isn’t rough or violent or even all that threatening, really—he’s just completely and utterly serious as he murmurs, low but somehow thunderously loud, “You don’t talk to her. You touch her again, and I’ll break more than your nose. You so much as look at her, I’ll bury you.”
Dad grumbles something incoherent, but his gaze drops, and his head bobs in jerky acknowledgement. Even in his drunken state, he must hear the clear, undeniable truth to Hunter’s words.
I know I do. I know I believe them. I know I don't know how to feel about them.
I know that’s a lie; I know exactly how, what , I feel. I just don’t know what kind of a person that makes me, flushing and swooning and squirming over a blatant, violent threat like that when violence is what brought us here.
The same kind of person as Lux, I guess, because out of the corner of my eye, I swear I see her fanning herself.
That snaps me out of it. Reminds me that there’s people watching, people witnessing, people jotting the current happenings down in their notes app so they can relay everything in perfect detail later to those who missed it, and I’ve never wanted something more than I want to not be here.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell Tommy, I say to everyone. “I’m so, so sorry.”
If there’s a response, an acknowledgement, I don’t notice it. For a minute, I don’t register anything but my dad, slouched over and glaring at the floor, bleeding and hurting, and guilt roils in my stomach, the instinctual urge to apologize weighing down my tongue, and I realize this is how you’re supposed to feel when you see a family member in pain. You’re supposed to care. You’re supposed to apologize if it’s your fault.
Dad doesn’t care. He would never have apologized—even with Hunter holding him down and forcing him to, I don’t think his pride would’ve let him.
I think about what Lux said about family. About my dad not being mine. About my mom.
When I turn to my friend, to Jackson hovering beside her looking very confused, and ask if they can make sure my dad goes home, I promise myself, I swear on everything dear to me, that it’s the last good thing I’ll ever do for him.
And then I turn around. I leave without looking back. I walk down Main Street until I can breathe again.
A brick wall abrading my back, I stare at my shoes. The longer I do, the blurrier the drops of blood, my blood , marring them get. When I hear footsteps, I blink away the burgeoning tears, breathing deeply before looking up. “I asked you not to do anything.”
Hunter stops barely a couple of inches away from me, thumbs casually hooked around his belt buckle. “I know.”
“I begged you.”
“I know, honey.”
I drop my gaze to the ground again. “Did you see how they were looking at me? They know . Everyone’s gonna know.”
His boots float into my line of sight. His mouth brushes my hairline a second before his forehead nudges mine. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
I jerk backward as much as I can, scrunching my eyes shut as I shake my head because I can’t disagree with him to his face, not when he’s looking at me the way he’s looking at me right now—infuriatingly understanding, infuriatingly close, infuriatingly calm. “Not wanting everyone to know every sordid detail of my entire life doesn’t mean I’m ashamed , Hunter. It means it’s my life. My business.”
I feel the air shift as he nods. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“If you know, then why did you do it?”
He pauses for a second; collecting his thoughts or, more likely, giving me a moment to collect myself. “I went to your house first. Figured he would still be there. The door was open, so I let myself in.” Gingerly cupping my cheek, he grazes a thumb over the cut on my cheekbone. “I saw the glass. The blood.” He kisses the same spot, featherlight. “Imagined him hurtin’ you. Couldn’t stop imaginin’ it.”
I open my eyes and I immediately wish I hadn’t because his? They burn . Bright and angry, but not at me, for me. “And then I found him in Bishop’s, drinkin’ and fuckin' laughin’ . He knew who I was, y’know. He said it was too late, that you were all mine now, he wouldn’t take you off my hands. He talked so much shit, Line, shit I don’t wanna repeat, and I couldn’t just sit there, I couldn’t let him talk about the woman I love like that, and I snapped.”
He snapped. He threw a glass at his face, I vaguely remember my dad saying. He cracked my dad’s head against the counter hard enough to break his nose . He—
Wait .
“What did you just say?”
Hunter’s expression is soft. So very soft. “I love you, Caroline.”
“You love me,” I repeat numbly, barely able to form the words that feel so foreign coming from my mouth. “You love me?”
“I love you,” he says for the third time yet it still doesn’t quite sink in. It’s still not quite comprehensible.
I should say it back. I think I would, eventually.
If only I didn’t look just beyond him and see his wife.
She’s wearing sweats. Clean, stylish sweats, but sweats all the same. And her hair is in a bun you could maybe consider calling messy, there’s not a lick of makeup on her face, what looks like the complimentary slippers from the only hotel—more of an inn, really—in Haven Ridge are on her feet, and she’s carrying a paper takeout bag with grease stains on the bottom.
Yet still, she’s remarkably intimidating. Especially when she cocks her head, fixes those crystalline eyes on the hand still cupping my cheek, and croons, “Well, isn’t this cozy.”
I instinctively step out of Hunter’s grip, but I don’t get very far. He has a tight grip on the waistband of my shorts, a tighter one on my hand, and his thumb strokes the curve of mine soothingly. His calm facade doesn’t go anywhere, and that’s a good thing, a counterbalance to me, because frazzled doesn’t quite begin to describe how I feel.
“That was quite the show,” Cheryl purrs, and at first, I think she means the… declaration she just overheard. But then I realize the smirk on her face isn’t just a smirk—it’s something really close to pure evil. And then I take a second look at that takeout, I recognize the logo, and the blood drains from my face.
She… she wasn’t there, was she? She couldn’t have been. I would’ve noticed. Hunter would’ve noticed.
I take one look at his expression—enraged but unsurprised—and my stomach drops to my feet.
Oh, God . She was there . In Bishop’s. Watching, relishing, thriving , probably. Like it all wasn’t horrifying, humiliating , enough.
Crooking a sardonic brow, she says to Hunter, “And here I thought you were the one carryin’ all the baggage in this little relationship.”
Flushing, I stumble back a step, ducking to hide behind Hunter like a freaking child before I realize what I’m doing. What am I doing? What is she doing? She just saw what she saw, she sees me standing here with a freaking busted face, and she’s… cracking jokes? “That’s not funny.”
Her smile falters, but she makes a quick recovery. “So sensitive . Very childish quality.”
“Could say the same thing about infidelity.”
I don’t mean to say it, but I’m glad I do. I’m glad when her face drops, when her cheeks flush with uncharacteristic embarrassment. I’m glad when Hunter makes a surprised, amused noise and she looks dejected at the sound, when she sees our hands and that horrible mask of hers slips. I don’t care if that makes me a terrible person.
I don’t care .
And, in the blink of an eye, Cheryl continues pretending like she doesn’t either.
“This is great timin’, actually. I was gonna drop by tomorrow, but I guess you’ve saved me the trip.” She pauses—for dramatic effect, I guess. “I’m leavin’.”
I feel Hunter’s hand go slack, only my tight grip holding us together. I look up at him, trying to read his mind, but he gives me nothing. Completely blank, he repeats, “You’re leavin’.”
“Isn’t that what you want?” Cheryl cocks her head. “You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”
Hunter’s jaw ticks. “I’m just surprised.”
“And I’m bored. This town is…” She makes a face, top lip sneered, nose crinkled. “It’s not worth stickin’ around.”
I think we’re both perfectly capable of reading between those lines—Hunter isn’t worth sticking around for.
“So,” she continues, all chirpy and lilting and just plain weird . “I’m goin’ home. You can have your silly divorce.”
Hunter blinks. “Just like that?”
“I’m givin’ you what you want, Hunt. You should be happy.
“What's the catch?”
And there it is; a slip. Cheryl’s unbothered charade wavers as she takes a step towards her husband, and then another, and another until she can set a hand on his chest. “You’re makin’ a mistake. I know it. You know it—some day, you’ll be able to admit it. And when you come crawlin’ back, when you snap out of the… early mid-life crisis you’re having, this whole embarrassin’ affair will have been worth it. I’ll make you pay then.” Teeth bared in some twisted version of a smile, she pats his chest. “You’ll pay now too, of course. I think I deserve it. I think I deserve everythin’ .”
“You can have everythin’,” Hunter retorts without hesitation. “I don’t care.”
Cheryl’s mouth fixes in a mocking pout. “Because you have everythin’ you want right here? That’s so sweet .”
Grabbing her by the wrist, he removes her hand from his chest and lets it drop. “Because I want nothin’ to do with you. And because I have everythin’ I want.”
Cheryl kisses her teeth as she backs away. And then, she’s just… gone. Sauntering down the road and into The Redwood Inn. So instantaneously, I find myself searching for a poof of smoke.
“That’s…” I swallow, scarcely able to believe the turn of events. Yesterday, it was yesterday , that she was in my store, and now, she’s leaving? Just like that? I can’t wrap my head around it. “That’s it?”
Hunter’s fingers flex around mine. “I guess.”
“Kinda… anticlimactic.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“No, I'm just… surprised.” I thought there would be more of a fight; I kind of thought she wouldn't ever leave. I’d all but prepared myself for a life of checking around every corner in case she’s lurking.
I think Hunter expected the same; he looks a little shell-shocked. “I’ll believe it when I see ink on paper.”
Ink on paper—ink of divorce papers. Because he’s getting divorced.
Because he loves me.
He loves me, and he turns to me, and he asks, “Can I take you home? My home.”
I swallow hard. I say, “Okay.”