Chapter 20 Hunter
Hunter
My brother’s hands are on my chest before I can say anything more.
He shoves me up against the wall, anger snapping out of him in a way I’ve never seen before in my life.
I’ve always been a better fighter than him, and he’s always known it.
Which is why it takes me by complete surprise when he slams me into the hard bookshelf, my arm hitting the edge of a hardbound book as my spine connects with the wood.
“Weston,” I say, but it’s too late. “Let me talk.”
“Fuck no.” There’s a blind, bitter desperation in his eyes.
This is about more than just the notes.
It’s about the text our father sent us earlier today, yes.
But it’s also about years and years of built-up frustration that Weston’s never been able to channel anywhere except the football field.
“Wes, please,” Rayne says from beside him, jumping in immediately and trying to pull my brother back.
“Rayne, I love you, but don’t fucking touch me right now,” Wes says through clenched teeth, still staring right at me. “This is between me and him.”
“Hunter isn’t trying to kill you, Wes. Let him talk—”
“He’s been the one who’s always talked, for our entire fucking life,” Wes says.
“When is it my turn? Why am I always the afterthought? Why don’t you ever have consequences for a goddamned thing you do, Hunter, even when it’s a sick prank on me like putting a note in a box that makes me think I’m going to die? ”
I reach up and calmly try to put my hands around Weston’s wrists, attempting to pry him off of me.
But he just doubles down, slamming me back into the shelves again.
Another few guys have heard the commotion. They’re in the hall, looking into the reading room.
“That’s not what happened, Wes.”
“Please, Weston, just let him speak,” Rayne is begging.
I pull in a slow breath, and I realize that my brother isn’t going to let me go until I talk.
So I talk.
“I found the notes. When I came home from class today, they were on the table in the entryway, with another little piece of paper that said for the secret box, sorry I’m late.
I thought it must have been one of the guys who was really worried about his secrets being read, because the notes had those big wax seals on them.
So I went upstairs and slid them into the box, along with my actual secret.
Ask Noah. He was in his bedroom when I went there, and he watched me put them in. ”
“Go get Noah,” Weston says as he turns to one of the guys in the hall.
A minute later he’s there, and he sighs as he sees us like this.
“Wes, let him go,” Noah says with a sadness in his voice.
“Did you see him put those notes into that box?”
“I saw him put his own in.”
I bite down on the inside of my cheek. “And right behind it, I had the other ones. They just weren’t visible behind mine. I swear it, on Lune.”
Weston’s eyes widen for a moment.
And he knows it’s the truth, now that I’ve said the one thing I fucking hate saying.
Weston finally lets me go, and I smooth out my shirt.
“You found the notes on the table just inside our front doors?” Rayne asks me.
“Yep. Sometime this afternoon, someone must have left them there. I don’t know if they walked in, or if it was someone in here. But that’s where they were.”
The guys all splinter off into their own groups again, and Weston makes sure to pull Rayne away from me as fast as he can.
That’s how it’s always been, but it feels markedly different now.
Weston always wanted Rayne close to him.
I’m only noticing it more now because now I’m addicted to everything about Rayne, too.
His touch, his presence, even the sound of his goddamn voice.
The secret that he clearly wrote about me.
After everything that happened, I’d forgotten about it.
But his words float through my mind again now, and work their way into my heart in a terrifying way.
He wrote that he wants to tell the one person he shouldn’t tell. There was no way Rayne would ever be willing to tell Weston our secret, right? There would be no world where that would be worth it to him.
I would never be important enough to risk ruining everything with Weston.
One thing that's clear is that I’ve failed to do the one thing I always try to do.
I’ve failed to keep Rayne outside my walls. And now, inevitably, he’s going to be hurt because of it.
You cannot fall for me, Rayne Colson.
There’s nothing good here.
You’ll lose your best friendship, and you’ll eventually realize the truth: that I’m damaged goods anyway.
I’m beginning to have a splitting headache.
I don’t want to be down here anymore.
I glance around, feeling more out of control than I have in a long time.
Roman’s cousin arrives soon and begins making the same checks we’ve all already made around the house. I notice the outline of a knife in his pocket, and I recognize it well. I know nothing about Roman’s family, but I get a sense they’re not all that different from the people I knew in London.
That isn’t my world anymore.
And right now, I need to clear my fucking head more than I need to look all around the house for more information that just doesn’t exist.
I head up the stairs, trying to remain unseen by the rest of the guys.
But when I get up into the dark hallway, I realize that for the first time, Rayne had escaped my notice before I could escape his.
He’s there.
Crossing the hall, going from our room into the bathroom.
And finally being alone with him up here feels like finding a pure, clear drink of water after being stranded in a desert.
“I hate that you go anywhere without me,” I let slip, wishing I could put the words back in my mouth.
“Came up to put my cape away. Now I just need to take a piss. I’m fine, Hunter.”
“Well, I’m coming with you.”
Rayne lets out a long sigh, and I see the slightest hint of a smile on his face, even after a horrible evening.
“You’re coming with me to take a piss?” he says softly. “Very kind of you, Hunter, but I think I’ll be okay.”
“Don’t care. I’ll hold your dick and aim for you. Just… fuck, don’t leave me alone right now, Rayne, please?”
At first I was trying to make a joke of it, then it all broke down into something too real.
Don’t leave me alone?
That isn’t something I’ve ever heard come out of my own mouth.
I thrive when I’m alone.
I don’t beg people to stay with me.
Rayne’s expression softens, and I feel more vulnerable now than I ever do when I’m naked.
What the fuck am I saying to him?
And why is he still smiling at me rather than running away, far and fast, like he should do?
“Attached to me much?” he says, and the way his dimples come out makes my heart do something weird.
He’s joking, even after an evening like this.
Rayne is so capable of being kind, happy, and sweet, even when he’s faced with a semester that would freak most people out.
And even when he’s around me.
Just act fucking normal, Knox.
I shrug a shoulder. “You still need my protection, even if Wes and I are being targeted, now, too. If I get to have fun holding your cock while you piss, that’s just a side benefit.”
He lets out a breath, shaking his head a little as he looks me up and down. “Why do I love how crazy you are? Am I crazy?”
“Because for some reason you’re just as fucked in the head as me, you just don’t show it. Go ahead, king. Promise I’ll hold it another time.”
He puffs out a little laugh and swings open the bathroom door. “Can’t wait.”
Just as he’s about to walk in, I reach out and grab his hand.
“What’s up?” he asks. He stops and turns around, looking back at me.
And that sweet look on his face completely fucking breaks me.
“You are… you’re perfect,” I say. “Never doubt that about yourself, okay?”
I say it before I can stuff the words back in.
Knowing it’s not something I should say.
Knowing I mean it more than I should.
But all I can picture is the intensely personal secret he wrote for the Confessional.
He keeps my hand in his and tugs me a little closer in the hallway. There’s only an inch between us, and even though we’ve already fucked before, right now it feels like I’m in front of him for the first time.
That secret you wrote for me.
That thing I just said to you.
“Nice of you to feed my ego,” he murmurs, bringing a hand up to cup the side of my face.
“Being too nice to me again,” I say, my words barely audible.
“Seems like you were the one being nice to me.”
“You talk to me. You listen to me. You won me that little fucking cat that looks like Pearl. Why aren’t you running away from me, Rayne?”
“Because I like you,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing. “You still drive me insane, but I like you, too.”
When I put my lips against his, it feels more like a need than it ever has before.
I’m so tired of not knowing who is after us.
So tired of feeling like I’m failing at the one thing I should be good at, which is knowing how a deranged person thinks, and getting one step ahead of them.
And I need Rayne’s kiss in a way that scares me.
Because I’m starting to feel like I’m not going to know how to live without him.
He doesn’t kiss me like I’m some fucked-up secret, or like I’m a hate-fuck he plans on forgetting.
And if the world is going to crumble all around us, I need to have him right now.
I push in even closer.
I wish I could merge with him.
That clean laundry scent, and the faint hint of the sunscreen he puts on every morning.
When he moves down, kissing my neck, I breathe out softly, melting into his touch.
“God, I fucking want you so bad. All of the goddamn time, Rayne—”
“You have me,” he murmurs against my skin, then presses a trail of kisses up my neck and onto the side of my head. “I’m right here.”
I’m too lost in him to think about the fact that we’re in the hallway.
Too focused on the sound of his breath to think much about the stairs, just behind us.
And I forget how good Weston is at keeping quiet around a house.
Wes and I always used to sneak around at night, avoiding our father’s wrath if we ever made a sound that woke him up.
I suppose that’s how Weston ends up at the top of the stairs.
In the hall.
Behind us, without us knowing.
Rayne is holding me like I’m something precious to him. Like I’m his boyfriend, not some dark secret.
And I’m resting my head in the nook of his shoulder, kissing the lines of ink along his collarbone.
“Oh.”
That’s all Weston says to announce his presence.
And as Rayne and I look over, I keep one hand around Rayne’s waist. Not because I should, but because I feel like I’ll dissolve into a million pieces if I stop touching him.
And because part of me feels like I may never get to touch him like this again.
“Wes,” Rayne says.
But Weston just holds a hand up, shaking his head.
His expression is unreadable. He isn’t freaking out, isn’t pissed. And somehow, that feels even worse than the alternative.
For the first time in years, I purely feel sadness when I see my brother.
No rage.
No rivalry.
Just a dull ache in my heart, and a useless wish that everything was different.
“You don’t have to explain,” Wes tells Rayne softly, with no malice in his words. “Of course you pick him. Hunter is always everyone’s first choice.”