Chapter 35
Hunter
In and out. That was the plan.
Yet I can barely maneuver in and out of my old bedroom without Magnolia trying to wedge between me and the doorframe and disrupt my flow.
She’s everywhere. Flitting about and pretending. She talks nonstop, even though I don’t engage with most of what she says.
She looks awful. Her face is gray with a yellow undertone. Her makeup no longer matches, and the caked-on layers of cover-up make her look even more unwell.
“What names are you considering?” She’s leaning against the wall in the hallway opposite my bedroom door now.
Rather than answer her, I turn on my heel and drag a full hamper behind me.
All I want are my lighter spring clothes and some mementos from London and Italy. I didn’t bring a lot with me when I moved into Dr. Ferguson’s house in August, so it shouldn’t take long.
I slip through my balcony door and head straight to Levi’s room, where I jiggle the handle. When the door doesn’t open, I knock quietly.
He appears quickly and waves me in, brows furrowed in concern. “You okay?”
“Fine.” I roll my eyes dramatically. “She’s standing in the hallway and won’t stop asking questions. I figured it’d be easier to bring things out through your room than mine.”
Understanding registers on his face. “Good idea. Drag everything you want to the balcony door. I’ll haul it over here and get it into the hallway for you.”
Lightness washes over me. Like sunshine after an unexpected downpour.
“Thank you.” I push up onto my toes to kiss him. “Love you.”
Before I can pull away, Greedy appears at the open balcony door.
“Hey. Less kissing. More packing.” His tone is all tease, but the words are a good reminder that none of us want to be here any longer than we need to be.
“Magnolia keeps coming in and out of my room, like she’s purposely trying to get in my way.”
Frowning, he tugs his phone out of his pocket and checks the time. “How much longer do you think you need?”
I puff out my cheeks and release a slow breath.
I’d love to spend an hour packing up all my toiletries and carefully selecting what items I want from my closet, but given the time constraints we’re facing—and Magnolia’s meddling presence—I can get it done in half the time.
“Is half an hour too long?” I hedge.
Greedy’s face softens. He steps forward and pulls me in for a one-armed hug, planting a kiss to the top of my head. “Take all the time you need, Tem. I don’t want to rush you. I just want to get out of here as soon as reasonably possible.”
“I’m done, so I can help. We’ll work fast,” Levi assures him.
Greedy cocks a brow. “I saw your level of commitment to the tasks at hand just now.”
Levi snickers. “Jealous, G?”
“The clock is ticking,” I remind them both, before they can really get into it. “How about I hand you things and you pack them for me?” I ask Levi. We brought a few boxes, but those are already full. Thankfully, I can fill the luggage still tucked away in my closet.
Levi shuffles out the door and holds out an arm. “Lead the way.”
“Wait,” Greedy hedges. “If it’s okay with you guys, I want to try to talk to my dad. I wasn’t planning to, but I think he’s down in his office. I feel like I have to try. I promise it won’t be more than a few minutes.”
“We’re good,” Levi assures him. “Do what you need to do.”
We part ways, Greedy back through his room, with Levi tailing me into mine with a hand on my hip.
I flash him a half-hearted smile over my shoulder, then lead him over to my closet.
“Almost done,” he reminds me with an affectionate squeeze. “Put me to work so I can take you home.”
Home.
This place was never home.
The four walls of the house I grew up in may have been once, but I disassociated from that version of my life long ago.
I’ve traveled across the world to escape things I could not face. From London to Lake Como, then back here to the house where Greedy grew up. In each place, I’ve only ever been a tourist. A visitor in my own life.
Not anymore.
I have a home. A place where my heart is full and my soul can rest.
Even without the security of a physical dwelling for my family, the four men who love me—and each other—come together and complement one another in the most fortifying ways.
Home.
It’s not a place.
It’s a feeling, a shared look, a delicious snuggle session, a sultry rendezvous in a pantry. Home is wherever they are. Wherever we can all exist, out loud, without apology or preamble. Home is the only place I want to be.
“Let’s get this done.” I haul out my suitcases and pass them over to Levi, then spring into action.
“Darling. Look what I found.”
Avoiding Magnolia is impossible now that we’re packed up and almost ready to go. I’m rolling my smaller bag into the hallway when she tries to stop me again.
Barely there fingertips brush against my forearm.
I jolt as if I’ve been electrocuted and stumble back.
She pretends not to notice my reaction. Or maybe she’s not pretending. She always was exceptionally talented at blocking out anything that wasn’t about her.
“Look.” She thrusts a silver photo frame at me. It’s simple in design but sturdy in weight.
“You were so cute,” she coos, peering over my shoulder. “I don’t have many memories from your early years—motherhood is exhausting, as you soon will learn—but at least we have photos to look back on.”
She’s standing eerily close. I take a step to the side to put a bit of space between us, but she simply follows.
“I’ve got more things from when you were little stashed around here somewhere.”
I press my lips together to hold back my commentary.
I’m almost certain she threw out all my baby things when she moved in with Dr. Ferguson.
I have distinct memories of stuffed black garbage bags and a dumpster that occupied our driveway for weeks.
It’s highly unlikely she kept any items for sentimental reasons.
In fact, I’m surprised she even has this picture.
“When was this taken?” I squint down at the tiny baby wearing a white christening gown. I didn’t even know I was baptized.
“Hmm?” Magnolia hums noncommittally.
I study the picture more thoroughly. Obviously, I wouldn’t remember the moment, but it’s weird to not even recognize the image.
Niggling unease tickles up my spine. I shouldn’t care, yet I have to know.
I flip the frame over and carefully pry up one of the metal closures securing the back in place. I move on to the next, being sure not to damage the frame. I’m working on the third prong when she clutches my wrist.
Two of her nails are chipped. That’s the first thing I notice.
The tightness of her grip—as if she’s trying to crush my bones and turn me to dust—is what registers next.
“What are you doing?” she hisses.
What am I doing?
In and out. Easy peasy.
Having a full-blown confrontation with Magnolia was not part of the plan.
Boldly, I yank out of her grasp, then look her square in the eye. “I don’t think this picture is me.”
Her face screws up in disgust. But instead of an indignant gasp like I expect, she snarls.
“Ungrateful brat.” She reaches for the frame, but I hold on to it tighter, refusing to let go.
If my hunch is right, and I’m not the baby in this picture, then I’m holding a picture of sweet baby Greedy. I pull the frame to my chest and cradle it. I’m not letting her take this from me for anything.
With one big step backward, my calves brush a suitcase, but I successfully free the frame from her clutches. I glare at her, daring her to come for me again.
Her face softens.
For a heartbeat, I na?vely hope she’s given up.
I should know better. That’s not Magnolia’s style. Instead, she changes tack.
“You know.” Her tone is so soft I’m forced to lean forward to catch the words. “I had the worst sciatic nerve pain when I was pregnant with you.”
Eyes hardening, she gives me a once-over, her focus lingering on my stomach in a way that makes me nauseas.
She takes another small step toward me, but I stand my ground, clinging to the picture and refusing to cow to her manipulative intimidation tactics.
“My hips burned, and the stretch marks were”—she turns her head, eyes shuttered closed, and clutches at her chest, over the place where her heart would reside if she had one, as if the memory is painful to recall—“they were awful. But it was the sciatic nerve flare-ups, the literal pain in the ass, I hated most.”
I’m tempted to roll my eyes. To tell her to leave me alone. For now. Forever.
She takes another bold step forward, gets right up in my face, and slyly reaches around to jab one finger into my lower back, just above my ass cheek.
“Right here. Like a pinch.” She prods at me again.
Like this, she has me pinned, with the suitcases at my back, the wall to one side, and the stairs on the other side.
I freeze. My instincts scream.
This isn’t safe. It’s not just her presence or the maniacal glint in her eye.
This is all wrong.
Magnolia’s not well.
I inhale deeply and attempt to cry out, “Le—”
The sound is cut off when Magnolia slaps a hand to my face, silencing me.
“Hush, darling. This is between you and me.”
The sting of the slap causes tears to well in my eyes. I fight against them, willing them to reabsorb. The last thing I need is for her to sense my weakness.
I ease one hand down my hip, desperate to fish out my phone.
She catches the movement, her eyes flickering, and I freeze.
Suddenly, it feels critical to distract her.
“Did—did it ever get better?” I need her to stay focused on my face. Ignore my hands. I need to get her talking again.
“Better?” She barks out a humorless laugh.
“No. It only got worse,” she sneers. With the pure hatred oozing from her, one would think she’s talking about a trial much more severe than a nerve issue.
“The pain would come out of nowhere. It was debilitating. Once, I tripped over absolutely nothing and landed straight on my ass. I sprained my tailbone, but of course, since I was pregnant, they wouldn’t give me anything for the pain. ”