15. Dove
This could have been an email or a phone call. Why does it have to be a home visit?
My inner voice sounds oddly like Bunny today.
I tug up my pale pink turtleneck—the only one I own because they look awful on me—until it sits just beneath my chin. The last thing I need is for Hunter to see the bruises his friend left and start asking questions.
This is the ultimate betrayal. I can hear Bunny screeching as if she’s standing right beside me.
No, a betrayal would be actually fucking around with Hunter. This is harmless. It’s Sunday, and this is a conversation I need to have in private.
I clutch a box of mini Merveilleux from Aux Merveilleux de Fred as I stroll down the street to Hunter’s West Village brownstone. A good guest always brings a gift, and since Bunny talks about Hunter more than she realizes, I happen to know these are some of his favorite treats.
His narrowed, whiskey-colored gaze greets me as he opens the door. “You know that kiss was just to force Wren to get his act together, right? I’m sorry, Dove, but I’m too obsessed with your friend to make room for you here.” He clutches his chest, sarcasm dripping from his tone.
I roll my eyes and walk past him as he moves aside to let me in, shoving the box into his stomach. “Good afternoon to you too, Detective Remington.”
“How’d you know I like these?” He wastes no time digging into the box, plucking out a coffee-flavored mini meringue. They really are good. I sampled two flavors while waiting in line and even placed an order to pick up on my way home.
Ignoring him, I take in his renovated space. It’s cleaner than I expected—white and navy walls, gray-toned furniture, and light oak flooring giving it a crisp, balanced feel. “Nice digs.”
“Thanks. So, tell me, Dove. What brings you here? You know if Bunny finds out, she’ll skin us both, right?” He pauses and frowns, then nods for me to follow him into the kitchen. “ Does she know you’re here?”
“No,” I sigh. “But I promise, I’m not here to declare my undying love for you. Dark hair and jawlines that can cut glass just aren’t my cup of tea.”
He laughs. “I think that was a compliment, so thank you? Bet you prefer blonds, huh?” He winks before shoving another meringue in his mouth—the chocolate one this time. Around a mouthful, he asks, “Do you want a drink? It’s too early for tequila… or is it?” He swallows, smirking. “I swear, sometimes I think you and Bunny run on the stuff. You guzzle it like it’s fuel.”
“Water is fine.” I climb onto a tall stool at the far end of the white granite island, staring at the gray-marbled detailing. “Look, I know it seems weird that I called. I probably could have just asked over the phone, but…” I trail off, second-guessing myself. Wren is still ignoring me, and if he has any suspicions after I went to see him as the Doll last night, Hunter will be the first person he turns to.
But still… Hunter is also the only person who might have the answers I need. “I have some questions… about Wren.”
He slides a glass of water and a small bowl of lemon wedges my way, then leans his elbows on the counter, fixing me with a wary look. “What type of questions?”
Averting my gaze, I squeeze two wedges into my water. “About Wren’s past. ”
Hunter sighs softly, rounding the island to take the stool catty-corner from mine. “What happened?”
“Nothing in particular.” I lie with a shrug. “There are just some things I’ve… noticed, and I wondered if you’d have some insight.”
“Like?” I realize Hunter won’t make this easy. If I want answers, I’ll have to ask directly.
“Did something happen to Wren when he was younger?” There. That wasn’t so bad.
Hunter’s shoulders tense.
Or maybe it is.
He grabs the lemon bowl, spinning it idly on the granite. “Something like what?”
“Jesus Christ, Hunter.” I push my water away, the liquid sloshing over the rim, dripping down the side to create a ring around the glass. “Stop avoiding my question. I’m not asking as a member of the press. I’m asking because I’m worried about him.”
“I’ll ask you again, Dove. What. Happened?” He won’t look at me, but his tone has hardened, allowing me to believe my assumptions aren’t unfounded.
“ Nothing ,” I stress. I almost say it takes one to know one. But I’m not close enough with Hunter to share my deep, dark secrets. I’m still annoyed I spilled them to Wren in an attempt to connect with him.
Silence stretches between us. When he finally speaks, it’s so quiet I barely hear him. “You look like his mother. The resemblance is uncanny.”
My heart pounds, a slow, sickening thud against my ribs. An uncomfortable sensation rolls through me, like the first thawed drops of a frozen spring. “His mother?”
“Yeah. They always had a… close relationship.” Hunter sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “His dad left when he was young. Said he wouldn’t take part in raising a ‘sissy boy’ and complained that his mother babied him. Little did he know, Wren would have given anything for his father to take him away from her.”
Tears prick my eyes, but I hold them back. If this is going where I think it is… why did Wren sit there and let me spill my past without sharing his own?
“Did… did she…”
“I don’t know for sure,” Hunter murmurs. “There were signs. It was a big accusation, and I didn’t want to say anything to my parents without proof.” He props his chin between his thumb and index finger, his leg bouncing. “When I confronted Wrenley, he denied it. I mean, vehemently denied it. I think he was embarrassed. And I tried–” He breaks off, exhaling sharply before continuing. “I tried to let him know I was there for him. That he didn’t have to suffer through it anymore. ”
I take a shaky breath. How could Wren comfort me when he was carrying something just as heavy? Is that why he’s so obsessed with the Doll?
Men aren’t the only ones who abuse children.
I remember his words at the police department. A tear escapes, then another, clinging to my lashes.
“They were gone by the end of the week,” Hunter concludes. “She packed them up and moved to California to live with her new boyfriend, according to Wren. We tried to keep in touch, but eventually stopped talking. Then we reconnected after college, and he seemed fine, so I never brought it up again.”
“You think she sexually abused him?” The words taste bitter. What I went through was horrific, but if what Hunter is saying is true… what Wren went through is unimaginable.
And if I look like her… No wonder he hated me so much when we met.
I can’t imagine kissing someone who looks like my abuser. It’s no wonder he reacted the way he did when I tried to take things further.
Hunter shakes his head. “I don’t know. Like I said, I have my suspicions. She clung to him harder than a koala to a eucalyptus branch and was overly—and I mean overly —affectionate. It was uncomfortable at times.”
“Did he ever seem like she made him uncomfortable?” But I already know the answer. I did the same thing for years with Freddy. At first, because I felt special, and when I didn’t anymore… Why would anyone believe a girl who let it happen for so long?
“He hid it well. Wren is nothing if not good at hiding his true feelings.” Hunter steals a glance at me, his sharp features softening when he sees my tears. “You can’t say anything to him, Dove.”
“I won’t.” I rub under my eyes, careful not to smear my makeup. “Thank you for telling me.”
“He likes you. He doesn’t want to, but he does. Be patient with him.”
Giving him a knowing look, I laugh. “Pot, meet kettle.”
“Hey, if there’s one thing I excel at, it’s patience.” He sighs. “Speaking of that—tell me one thing.”
Sniffing, I reach for the roll of paper towels in the middle of the island and tear one off, dabbing my eyes. “What’s that?”
“Am I wasting my time?” He fidgets nervously, rhythmically tapping his fingers to a tune only he can hear.
I don’t need him to explain what he means or what he’s talking about.
“Wasting your time? I suppose that depends. What exactly are you expecting from her?”
“Nothing,” he breathes out with a shake of his head. “I don’t expect a damn thing from her other than to just let me in.”
“She has let you in, Hunter. Believe it or not—aside from me—you’re the closest thing she has to a real friend. You’ve been there for her for years. Don’t give up on her now.”
“I’m not giving up on her. But it’s like every time I take a step forward, she takes two back. I just…” He pounds his fist on the island. Not in anger, but in frustration with his situation with Bunny. “I just want her to let me love her.”
Bunny deserves that. She deserves a man who wants to take care of her and who will accept her just as she is. Especially after her husband tried to turn her into a Stepford housewife.
I know she wants that with Hunter more than anything. But I also know she’s afraid, and I’m honestly not sure she’ll be able to give him what he wants.
“My best advice is to take your own advice. Be patient. When her husband died, Bunny found out he had a pretty hefty life insurance policy.” I nod my head along with my words, willing him to read between the lines.
He doesn’t. He stares at me with notched brows like he doesn’t know what that has to do with the conversation .
Sweet, sweet, Detective Dick—so pretty, but so simple.
“She’s set for life, Hunter. She doesn’t have to work if she doesn’t want to. But she went back for a reason .” I don’t flat-out tell him she went back because she missed him. Bunny hasn’t even admitted that to me yet. I just know it’s the truth.
Slipping from the stool, I press a hand to his shoulder and peer up at him with the most serious expression I can muster. “Bunny wants to be loved. She just doesn’t know how because everyone she’s ever loved has hurt her. Don’t hurt her, Hunter. Or I’ll have to kill you.”