Chapter 21 Hunter
Hunter
Iwatched her as the light slipped in through the bedroom curtains, spilling pale gold across the rumpled quilt and catching in the loose strands of her hair. Outside, the maple tree in her front yard swayed just enough to make the light shift, dappling her skin in warm, uneven patterns.
She was curled against me, bare leg hooked over mine, her cheek resting on my chest like she’d been built to fit there. I traced the smooth length of her spine, slow as I memorized the way she felt under my palm, so soft.
Her hair tickled my chin when I breathed in—lavender shampoo, a hint of her lotion, the warmth of her skin. The quilt was tangled around our waists, soft from years of washing, and her hand was splayed across my ribs like she’d forgotten she’d put it there.
I should’ve been content. More than content. She was here, in my arms, letting me hold her like I’d always wanted. But a thought had been pressing at the edges of my mind since we’d started seeing each other, and I couldn’t quiet it anymore.
I slid my hand up her back, fingertips tracing the curve of her shoulder blade. “Paige?”
“Mmm?” She shifted slightly, her knee sliding higher against my hip, eyes still half-closed.
“Where do we stand? You and me. Can we talk about it, just a little bit? I need to know—I need to know that it’s okay to want more.”
Her lashes lifted, and for a second, the light caught in her eyes—brown with a golden ring around the edges, sharp and soft all at once. She didn’t pull away, but I felt the pause in her body.
She didn’t answer.
I kept my voice low, steady. “I need to know what this is to you. I’m in your house, in bed with you. I’ve been inside your body. And you have to know you’re in my heart.”
She took a breath and let it out slowly, her gaze holding mine. “I’m with you, Hunter. I am.” Her hand flexed lightly against my chest, like she was preparing herself to let me down. “I just don’t want to go public. Not yet.”
The words settled in my heart like a stone.
I nodded, keeping my expression easy even though something in me tightened. I understood why she wanted to hide what had happened between us, but it still hurt. “Okay.”
Her brow furrowed, the line between her eyebrows deepening. “It’s not about you. It’s about the kids. And the gossip. And—” She looked away briefly, her hair sliding across my arm, “I can’t take all of that on top of everything else right now.”
“I get it,” I said, and I meant it. But it didn’t stop the ache in my chest.
Her eyes searched mine. “You’re not mad, are you?”
“No,” I murmured, brushing my thumb along her jaw, feeling the faint flutter of her pulse there. “Not mad.” I just wished I could tell the whole damn town she was mine and that everyone knew I was hers so I could protect her like I needed to.
She relaxed against me again, tilting her face up.
I met her halfway, our mouths brushing first in a slow, testing kiss, then again deeper, her lips parting under mine as her fingers slid up to cup the back of my neck.
The way she kissed me made it hard to remember that she wanted to keep this quiet.
When she pulled back, her forehead rested against mine. “I like this,” she whispered. “Us. I just need to keep it ours for now. I need to keep it safe.”
I pressed my lips to her temple, feeling the warmth of her skin and the faint, steady beat of her heart under my palm. “Ours,” I repeated.
She smiled faintly and curled back into my side, her leg still tangled with mine, her hand warm over my heart. Outside, the light faded as the sun slid behind a cloud, leaving the room nothing but shadows and the soft, shifting shapes of us tangled together on the bed.
She didn’t hear the part I didn’t say—it’s not what I want, but I’ll take it if it’s all you can give me.
She shifted against me, sighing in that way she did when she was finally letting herself rest. Her leg slid free, but she kept her hand over my heart, fingers curled loosely like she was holding onto something without realizing it.
“This is just a nap,” she murmured, eyes already drifting closed. “I have to be at the bar later. Grandpa’s coming over to be with the girls.”
I smoothed a strand of hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “I know. I’ll make sure you get up.”
Her lips curved faintly, like she didn’t quite believe I’d wake her when the time came. “Don’t let me sleep too long. No more than twenty minutes.”
“I’ll try,” I said, even though part of me wanted to keep her here until morning.
She let out another slow breath and settled in, the steady rhythm of it telling me she was already half under. I stayed still, memorizing the way she looked like this—quiet, unwound, the furrow between her brows finally gone. She was fucking beautiful.
Her grandfather would show up soon. He’d take care of the girls, and she’d head out to the Twilight Tavern, stepping into her role like she hadn’t just been here in my arms, telling me she was mine in every way except the one I wanted most.
I wanted to believe her “for now” meant temporary, that she’d get to a place where she could walk into the bar with me at her side and not care who saw.
For now, I’d take this. Her warmth against me. Her trust.
She made a slight sound in her sleep, curling closer. I pulled the quilt up over her shoulder, my palm resting there, and stared out the window at the shifting light.
I’d do whatever it took to keep this safe.
To keep her safe.
Even if it meant lying here in the quiet, holding her, and waiting for the world outside that door to give us a reason to stop hiding.
She slept for almost forty minutes, long enough for the sun to slide to its afternoon angle, pouring pale gold through the curtains. I let her sleep longer, even though she’d told me not to. She needed it more than she realized.
When I finally brushed my hand over her arm and murmured her name, she blinked awake slowly, confusion softening into recognition.
“What time is it?” she asked, her voice rough with sleep.
“Just after two.”
Her eyes widened, and she pushed herself up on one elbow. “Crap. The girls will be home soon.”
I sat up with her, the quilt falling to our waists, and watched as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. The light caught in her hair, making it shine, but there was still a heaviness in her movements—like every muscle was remembering the weight she carried.
“You’re still tired,” I said quietly.
“I’m fine.” She reached for her jeans draped over the chair and found her shirt on the floor. “I just need to get myself together before they get home. I’ve got work tonight.”
“Paige…” I started, but she gave me a small smile over her shoulder, more like an apology than reassurance.
“They’ll be fine. Grandpa will be here soon to hang out with them while I’m at work.”
“I know they’ll be fine,” I said, watching her pull her hair into a messy knot that was already spilling loose again. “It’s you I’m worried about.”
She paused, clothes gathered in her arms, one hand on her bathroom door. “I can’t stop, Hunter. Not right now.”
I nodded, but it didn’t make it any easier to watch her keep putting herself last. “I get it. I’m just worried about you, is all.”
Her voice softened. “I have to make sure you understand. I’m with you. You know that, right? But I just can’t—” she gestured vaguely between us, “—I’m not ready for the whole town to have an opinion about my personal life. Not with Eli playing games.”
“I know. I understand.” Her repeated words landed harder than I expected, but I kept my face neutral. “I get it.”
Her eyes searched mine, like she wanted to be sure I meant it. Then she leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to my mouth. “Thank you for being here.”
She slipped into the bathroom. I found my clothes and quickly dressed.
By the time she came back out and slipped her arms into her jacket and grabbed her bag, I was on my feet, following her into the hallway. Outside, I could hear the faint rumble of a school bus a few blocks away, and I knew the house was about to get loud.
I stood there, hands in my pockets, watching her get ready to greet her girls—still exhausted, still carrying more than anyone should, and still determined to handle it all herself.
And I knew, without question, that something had to give.
The rumble of the bus grew louder, brakes squealing faintly before the sound of voices spilled into the quiet street. She moved toward the front door, tucking her hair behind her ear like she didn’t want the girls to guess she’d just woken up from a nap.
Lark was the first through the door, her backpack sliding off one shoulder. She paused, glancing between us. “Hey, Hunter.” Her voice carried that sly, sixteen-year-old knowing.
“Hey, Lark. How was school?”
She shrugged and told me it was fine. Then she kicked off her shoes and disappeared toward her room.
Briar followed, her pink knit hat slipping down over one eye. “Hi,” she said brightly to me before turning to her mom. “Can I go over to Mia’s after dinner?”
“Maybe,” Paige said. “But only if Grandpa feels like taking you and picking you up.”
Briar grinned and headed down the hall, humming to herself just like Paige often did.
Paige turned to me, a quiet relief in her eyes. “Everything is going to be okay.”
“Yeah,” I said, and I meant it. Still, the image of her earlier—sleep-mussed and warm in my arms—flashed through my mind, and I wished I could just keep her there, safe, for a little while longer.
She walked me to the door, her hand brushing mine in a soft, secret touch the girls wouldn’t see. “I’ll see you tonight?” she asked.
“Do you need me?”
Paige didn’t answer right away. Her gaze flickered to the hallway, where Briar’s laughter mingled with the muffled thud of Lark’s door.
She squeezed my hand, the gesture fierce for a second, as if she was anchoring herself to me.
“Always,” she murmured, voice so low I could barely hear.
“But I’m not closing alone anymore. I’m exhausted; I can’t keep doing it alone.
” She smiled, and I caught a glimpse of everything she couldn’t say—worry lined in the corners of her eyes, hope twisting beneath the surface.
For a moment, the hallway was a passage between worlds: the bright, ordinary life she’d built for her kids and the quiet, aching space where we existed in secret.
I wanted to reach for her, to promise I’d never let go, but the sound of Briar calling for her mom snapped us both back.
Paige released my hand, stepping away just as the kitchen light spilled across the hardwood.
I nodded, swallowing the urge to linger. “Tonight, then,” I said, trying to fill my words with steadiness instead of longing.
She smiled, small and brave. “Tonight,” she echoed, and the word seemed to mean more than just a time—it was a hope, a promise, a plea.
“Okay. Goodbye.” I stepped outside, the cool air cutting through the lingering heat of her bedroom and glanced back once before heading for my truck. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d just walked away from something I needed to hold onto tighter.
I drove away with her words echoing in my ears, the sound bittersweet as I reached the edge of her street.
The secret was starting to gnaw at me, leaving bruises no one could see. I told myself it was for her kids, for Paige, for the sake of the fragile peace she’d built. But every time I hid my feelings, it chipped away at something inside me because I craved more. I wanted it all.
I drove the long way home, letting the silence stretch, unsure if I could keep doing this—keeping my feelings a secret when I knew I wore them in every fiber of my being and anyone who saw me with her was bound to figure it out. Rumors were already flying as it was.
As I drove, the sky glowed with the last traces of sunset, painting the world in colors that felt almost too tender for how raw I felt inside.
Every mile I put between us seemed to weigh heavier.
I wanted to turn back, to say something honest and reckless, like I love you, but I kept going, letting routine remind me where I was supposed to belong.
And when I finally turned onto my own street, I still didn’t know if I should go to her or ease off until she was settled.
I texted her that I had a migraine. And I went to bed alone. She wasn’t closing by herself anymore; she’d be okay without me tonight.