Chapter 20
Emma
“Look, if you aren’t comfortable with this, you can stay here,” Kennedy insists as I finish packing my clothes into a duffel bag she let me borrow. “It’s totally okay. I don’t care what Dylan’s reasoning is, I’m not scared of this Slater guy.”
“I’m okay.” It’s not entirely the truth—but not a lie, either.
The idea of being so close to Dylan is actually the first bit of true joy I’ve felt since this entire nightmare started.
It’ll be the one bright side. Except there is a part of me that is also afraid I’ll do or say something that will push him further away and undo all of the progress we’ve made.
Then again, maybe being in close proximity to each other will push us past the rest of the walls he’s placed between us.
Maybe, at the very least, I can get my friend back. Even if it can’t go any further than that.
“Are you though?” Kennedy asks. “I love Dylan, but sometimes he’s not the most comfortable person to be around.”
“He used to be,” I tell her sadly.
She winces. “I shouldn’t have said it like that. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
I pause what I’m doing so I can focus fully on her. “I know what you meant, and it’s okay. Dylan was the love of my life. Even before we were in a relationship, he was my best friend. I believe that part of him still exists.”
“I believe it does too,” she replies. “I just want to make sure you’re both okay.”
“I know,” I reply, smiling at her. “We’ll be fine.”
The door pushes open the rest of the way, and Bradyn steps inside. “You about ready? I can drive you and Ash over. Dylan just texted and said things are good to go over there.”
I zip up the bag, then turn to face him. “Your charge is ready to go.”
He laughs and, in true Hunt brother fashion, reaches out and takes my bag from me. These guys have always had legendary manners. Their parents wouldn’t settle for less. “Let’s get going then.”
Bradyn sets my bag into the backseat of his truck, then opens the front passenger side door so I can climb in with Ash in hand. The litter box and all of Ash’s food is already in the backseat since he’d loaded it for me earlier.
After kissing Kennedy goodbye, he climbs behind the wheel and starts down the road that leads to Dylan’s house. My stomach is a pit of nerves that grows deeper with every inch we travel closer.
“If you decide this isn’t what you want to do, you can call, okay? I love my brother, but you know he didn’t come back the same man. The last thing I want is for this to hurt either one of you.”
“I know. But we’ll be fine. It’s not like we’re strangers. And I’m not nearly as fragile as you guys seem to think.”
“I know you’re not. But you’re kind of like our second little sister,” he says as he turns down Dylan’s drive.
“So we’re all a bit protective of you.” He grins at me, and I smile right back.
Since I never had siblings, I always felt like the Hunts were mine too.
With them, I had four brothers and a sister.
Dylan was never a sibling connection for me though. With him—even before I knew what it meant—there was always something more. A jolt of electricity that shoots through me anytime we’re together.
Almost as though part of my soul recognizes his.
We come to a stop in front of Dylan’s expansive wildflower garden. Bright, beautiful blooms that make me smile just looking at them. I’d barely been able to see them the last time I was here since it was dark.
All the shades of yellow, gold, red, orange, green—it’s stunning. A rainbow of color right in front of his house.
“I want a house surrounded by wildflowers.”
The memory hits me square in the chest. Is it possible? Did he plant those for me? Before I can fully process the thought, Dylan steps out onto the porch alongside Delta. His hands are in his pockets, his hair still wet from his shower.
Why must I love him so much? My heart rate quickens as he comes down the porch steps and opens the door for me.
“Thanks,” I say as I climb out of the truck with Ash in my arms. The cat is completely unbothered by the travel, likely because he was so sick when he was a kitten that I took him everywhere. He’s just used to it by now.
He offers me a nod and closes the door behind me before opening the back passenger door and retrieving Ash’s litter box and food. After closing that, he heads up onto the porch, still completely silent.
Which, of course, only makes me more nervous.
“Harlow get settled in?” Bradyn asks as he carries my duffel into the house.
“She did,” he replies. “Acted like she wasn’t happy about the house arrest rules, but she honestly looked a bit relieved.”
“I trust your judgment over what she says,” Bradyn replies.
Dylan sets the litter box down onto the floor near the kitchen—right beside a bag of fresh litter and a stack of wet cat food cans. I smile, unable to fight the joy I feel that he thought about my cat. I know it’s silly, but it’s the little things.
Dylan was always good at the little things.
Like flowers every year on my birthday.
Guilt spreads through me all over again when I remember that day in the church parking lot. It was less than a week ago, but it feels like forever, given everything we’ve faced over the past few days. How I wish I had handled that differently.
Delta trots over to me and sniffs at Ash, who wiggles in my grasp. Since I know they got along when Ash was here before, I don’t stress as I let him free. He and Delta sniff each other for a moment before Ash trots over toward the water bowl and takes a drink like he owns the place.
It makes me smile.
He’s comfortable here, and that’s good. Now I just need to find comfort in it too.
“Any word from Tucker on Slater’s movements?” Bradyn asks.
Dylan shakes his head. “I’ll check in with him later, but so far, it doesn’t look like he’s doing anything.”
“Sounds good. Keep me updated if you hear anything before I do. I’ll do the same.” Bradyn turns toward me. “If you forgot anything, just let me know. I’m around if you need me.”
“Thanks so much, Bradyn. For everything.”
“Anytime.” As he steps out onto the porch, Dylan goes with him and closes the door behind them.
Since I’m not really sure what else to do, or which room Dylan will have me staying in, I don’t attempt to move my stuff. Instead, I take a closer look at his space. Aside from that brief time a few days ago, I’ve never been in his house.
It’s sparsely decorated, with no pictures on the walls. Curtain rods hang over each window, holding long, slate-colored curtains that nearly brush the hardwood floor. The kitchen has quartz countertops, dark veins weaving through the bright white stone.
The kitchen opens into the living room where there’s a TV hanging on the wall across from a leather three-seater couch.
That’s it.
No photos. Throw pillows. Nothing.
Which is so unlike the Dylan I always knew. He had such a personality. Growing up, his room was always decorated with bright colors. A neon green comforter, bright blue curtains—he loved color.
And now everything seems to be shades of gray. Is that how he sees his life? Lacking all color? Or does it remind him of who he used to be?
The door opens, so I turn to face him as he steps inside. Lingering near the door, he shoves both hands into his pockets. “Sorry about this. I know it’s probably not what you wanted, but I think it’s what’s safest for everyone.”
“I’m okay. I don’t mind. If you show me where I’m supposed to be, I can put my stuff away and get Ash’s litter box set up.”
“I’ll handle the litter box. When he was here before, I just had it in the laundry room. Is that okay?”
“Yeah. Of course.” It warms my heart that he doesn’t want to lock it in a bedroom. Instead, he wants Ash to feel like part of the family too.
“Great.” Dylan gestures toward the hallway. “This way.” He starts walking, pausing near a door closest to the kitchen. “This is the bathroom.” After turning on the light, he pushes the door open to reveal a bathroom decorated in similar colors to the living room.
Lots of gray. No color.
“There are fresh towels under the sink.” He turns off the light, then moves down the hall a bit more, opening a door on the opposite side of the bathroom. “Here’s the guest room where you’ll be staying.”
I step around him and move inside, smiling when I see a patchwork quilt on the bed. This one has plenty of color. Blue, green, yellow, red—it’s an explosion of personality, and I know just who made it. “Your mom?”
He smiles. “Yeah. My dad brought it over from their house right before you got here. He said your room could use some color. Apparently—in his words—my guest bedding was far too boring.”
My own smile spreads. That is so Tommy Hunt. “That’s so sweet.”
“That’s Dad.” He runs a hand over the back of his head.
“There’s room in the drawers for your stuff and empty hangers in the closet.
There’s a lock on the back of the door.” He partially closes it and gestures toward the handle then the slide lock toward the top of the door.
That one looks freshly installed, the wood still bare around where he drilled into the frame.
“I’m not worried, Dylan. I trust you not to come bursting in here unannounced.”
“Don’t.” His tone turns serious, his expression darkening. “At night, you lock both of these, okay? And you don’t come out—no matter what you hear.”
“Dylan—” My stomach twists. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“You should be,” he says. “I told you, I nearly killed Riley. Would have if given the opportunity. I don’t trust myself around anyone because, in those moments, it’s not me in the driver’s seat, Emma. I become the monster they created, and I cannot be trusted.”
My chest aches, a vise around my heart squeezing until I can barely breathe. How can he see himself as a monster? All I see is a beautiful, broken man who desperately needs to forgive himself.
“Please, Emma. Promise me. This doesn’t work unless you promise me that you’ll lock these and stay inside.”
“I promise,” I whisper. “I’ll keep the door locked at night.”
“And you won’t come out.”
“I won’t,” I agree. I don’t tell him that I still don’t fear him. That even when he was in that hospital bed with a death grip on my arm, it wasn’t anger I saw in his gaze. Or even confusion. It was brokenness.
I don’t believe for a second that he would’ve hurt me. And maybe that’s me being na?ve, but I’ll choose to live that truth until the very end of my life.
“Thank you.”
Tears burning in the corners of my eyes, I nod.
“I’m making burgers for dinner. I hope that’s okay.”
I clear my throat. “That sounds amazing.”
“Good.” He smiles just a bit, a slight lift in the corners of his lips. “They should be ready to go in about thirty minutes or so. We’re far enough from the edge of the property that you can come outside if you’d like. Once you’re settled. I have fresh sweet tea and lemonade.”
“Arnold Palmer. My favorite.”
He smiles now, a full, heart-stopping grin that momentarily erases the darkness in his gaze. “I remember.”