Chapter Eight
Hunter Black
The gravel crunches under our tires as we pull into the lot. Three cars, one flickering porch light, and a crooked sign that says ‘urgent care.’ This isn’t a hospital. It’s a converted house in the middle of nowhere, though I’m not sure what I expected from these mountain towns.
“Should I stay in the truck?” I glance toward her as I shift into park.
“I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “I mean, I don’t know what’s happening here.
One second, you’re telling me how awful you are at relationships.
The next, I’m with another man, it’s driving you crazy, and then you’re fingering me in the alley.
” Her blue eyes widen. “I’m okay with all that.
It makes some twisted bit of sense, but soft forehead kisses and coming with me to the hospital to see my mom? ” She shrugs. “What is this?”
Lana looks at me like I’m supposed to have the answer, like I planned all this. I didn’t. I didn’t plan a damn thing. I have no fucking clue what I’m doing.
I thought I’d come into this town and blow out like I have all the others, but that didn’t happen. It didn’t happen and now I’m sitting here lost.
Lost, despite the fact that I’ve written sixty-two books with heroes who know the right thing to say and when to say it. Lost, even though I know what I want. Lost and sitting here like a fucking idiot, completely unsure of what to say next.
The paradox is painfully poetic. I write stories for a living but can’t even speak in my own.
“You should go.” Lana nods and slides from the truck as though the opportunity to make sense of things has passed.
Maybe it has.
She’s halfway to the door before I can even blink, her shoulders leveled like she’s bracing for impact. Every instinct tells me to let her go, to stay in the truck, to keep some distance from whatever feelings are brewing.
She’s here to see her mom, not manage whatever this is.
I grip the steering wheel, knuckles pale, breath shallow. I could drive away. I’ve done it before. I’ve left towns, left people, left stories half-finished because it was easier than staying… but I can’t this time.
I can’t walk away from Lana.
I push open the truck door and step out into the cold snow, hopping over a few icy patches and up toward the old house that provides medical attention.
I’m expecting a cold, sterile environment but I’m met with a warm glowing fireplace, a brightly decorated Christmas tree, and a smiling receptionist with a tray of sugar cookies on the counter.
“Good morning, sweetheart. How can I help you?”
I smile and step forward, the warmth of the room catching me off guard. It smells like cinnamon and pine, like someone tried to make this place feel less like a clinic and more like a home.
“I'm with Lana,” I say, voice low. “Her mom was brought in this morning.”
The receptionist nods, her eyes kind. “Oh yes. She’s in room two.
You can go on back whenever you’d like.” I don’t get the feeling the woman knows who I am, which is nice considering the bookstore incident this morning.
I’ll never get used to mobs of women clawing at me, though I’m sure someone else in my shoes would probably enjoy it.
Nodding toward the kind brunette, I head down the hallway, boots thudding softly against the worn tile.
The place feels like someone’s grandmother decorated it.
Knitted stockings on the doorknobs, a bowl of peppermints on a side table, and framed photos of snow-covered cabins lining the walls.
It’s by far the most endearing doctor’s office I’ve ever been in.
Room two is halfway down, the door cracked just enough to let the light spill out. I pause outside, hand hovering near the frame before I finally push open the door and step inside.
Lana’s face lights with something that looks like a cross between happiness and confusion. “Hunter? I thought you were heading out.”
“This is Hunter Black!” Her mother grins wide. “Oh, honey, he’s just as handsome as the picture in his books.”
I’ve never thought of myself as good-looking, but I get that compliment a lot.
I lean in toward her mother who’s hooked to an oxygen tank. “I’m sorry to hear your not feeling well. Lana has told me she loves you very much.”
Her mother blushes and pushes her silver hair back with a smile.
“Oh, I’m not that sick. My legs just act up some mornings.
My sister wasn’t used to it. I think she panicked,” she glances toward Lana as she tucks the soft blanket up around her face, “but I’m glad you came.
I haven’t seen Lana this alive in years.
She’s always a bit guarded, but last night she came home bright and shining, like someone had lit a match inside of her. ”
Lana shifts in her chair, cheeks flushing. “Mom.”
Her mother waves her off with a smile.
I glance at Lana, who’s now staring at the floor like it might swallow her whole.
“My Lana always wanted to be a writer,” her mom continues. “She had all these dreams when she was little—”
“Mom!”
“Unfortunately, she let them all go when she started taking care of me. I know she loves the bookstore, and I know how hard she’s trying to save the building and her mother all at once, but whatever happened between you two last night… I think that needs to be her focus.”
I glance toward Lana, softness in my voice as I say, “I thought you didn’t want to be a writer.”
“I don’t. It was a very old dream. I was a kid. Now, I have real life things happening. Things that don’t leave a lot of time for nonsense.”
Her mom sighs, her eyes soft. “She used to write these sweet love stories. I used to find pages tucked into her dresser drawers.”
Lana groans. “Mom, please.”
“I’m just saying… maybe it’s time you start living, sweetheart, and do the things you love.”
The room goes quiet, the hum of the oxygen tank and the crackle of the fireplace down the hall occasionally breaking the silence.
I glance at Lana again. Her eyes are glassy, her jaw tight. She’s fighting something. I suppose it’s the terrifying possibility that she still wants more than what she’s settled for, though I could be projecting, because I’m fighting it too.
Lana finally looks up, eyes meeting mine, conveying a bit of vulnerability and a touch of annoyance. “Okay, well, this has been a fun little ambush,” she mutters before standing. “Anyone want a cookie?”
“No. I’m kicking you two out.” Her mother grins wide as though this was her plan all along, though there’s no way it could’ve been.
“I was talking to Aunt Beth, and she’s been lonely lately.
She wouldn’t mind some company. I think it’s best if she stays with me for the time being and you two get out of here and do whatever two writers do when they’re looking for inspiration for a story. ”
Lana sighs, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips. “You’re impossible.”
Her mom shrugs, eyes twinkling. “I’m old. I’ve earned it.”
I glance at Lana, waiting for her to protest again, but she doesn’t. She stands, grabs her coat, and nods toward the door like maybe she’s over the reality check her mother so lovingly provided this morning.
After saying goodbye and thanking her mom for the push, I follow Lana into the hallway, the scent of pine and sugar trailing behind us as the door clicks shut.
Lana doesn’t speak again until we’re outside and the cold air is fogging her breath. “That was a train wreck. Sorry.”
“No way.” I reach for her small hand, holding it in mine. “Your mom has the right idea. You should run off with me to do what writers do.”
She glances at me, eyes soft but guarded. “And what… you’re going to be my muse?”
I smirk. “I wouldn’t hate that idea.”
Her eyes roll to the side and back again before she tugs her hand from mine.
“I can’t do this, Hunter. Believe me… I want to.
You’re everything, but none of that’s going to matter when you go back to the tropics in a week and I’m left here making up stories about you for eternity, comparing you to every other guy, and wishing I wouldn’t have been dumb enough to trust you. ”
“I get it,” I say, rubbing my thumb against the back of her hand, “but that’s the thing. The only place I want to go back to is the cabin… with you. I want to bury the place in snow, and I never want to leave. I want a family with you, Lana. You’re my plot twist, remember?”
She exhales, her voice shaky as she says, “God, you’re infuriating.”
“And yet,” I murmur, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, “you’re still here.”
Her eyes flick to mine, then down to my mouth. “I need to know this isn’t another chapter you’re writing. I want to be the happily-ever-after, the ride into the sunset, the couple under the Christmas tree.”
I shake my head slowly. “No chapters and no endings, but I get to write the next scene.”
She studies me for a beat longer, then something shifts. Her jaw softens, her shoulders drop, and that guarded look in her eyes gives way to something raw and electric. “Oh yeah? How’s that?”
I step closer, fingers sliding up under the hem of her peppermint swirl skirt. “First, I take you back to my cabin,” I drag my hand over her thigh, “then I tell you exactly what to do, and you listen.”
She bites back a grin. “Bossy.”
“Creative,” I correct, guiding her back toward the truck.
She climbs in without a word, but the look she gives me says everything. Tonight isn’t about finishing my book. We’re writing each other’s story, and the next chapter starts with my teeth on her skin.