46. My Cross To Bear
Chapter 46
My Cross To Bear
HUNTER
T oday has been a shit show.
On top of the fact that I may have a mild, completely manageable, not-at-all-concerning case of wedding jitters ( who the hell even am I? ), everyone in my life is being difficult and getting on my last damn nerve.
Starting with Vaughn.
“So let me get this straight,” Vaughn says, crossing his arms as he leans against my desk. “We’re not putting Fabre in the dirt now?”
“No.”
“Because your fiancée asked you nicely not to?”
“That is correct.”
Vaughn lets out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. He turns to Christian, shaking his head. “Are you listening to this crap? Back me up here, man.”
Christian, who has been noticeably quiet since our little come-to-Jesus conversation, only shrugs.
“It’s Hunter’s decision,” he says coolly.
Vaughn lets out another incredulous snort and stares at him like he doesn’t know who Christian is.
“So Big Daddy over here gives you a punch in the chest, and now you’re just rolling over like a good little boy?”
In less than two seconds, Christian is in Vaughn’s face, jaw tight, voice low and sharp.
“Watch yourself, motherfucker.”
I slam my palm against my desk, the sharp crack vibrating through the room.
“Both of you need to shut the fuck up.” My voice is deadly calm, but they both know me well enough to hear the warning beneath it. “Don’t make me regret bringing you both into my business.”
Vaughn scoffs. “While it’s true that your name is the legendary one in the streets, let’s be clear, Hunt—both Christian and I have helped you build this empire. You didn’t do us any favors by bringing us into the fold.” He leans in, his tone dropping. “You need us.”
I rub a hand over my jaw. I get it. He’s pissed. But he needs to calm his emotional ass down.
Fabre is my cross to bear, not his.
“I never said you two weren’t valuable to my success,” I say, voice even. “That’s why I gave you both a piece of ownership, not a salary. But let me be clear Vaughn—you two are partners in my legitimate holdings, not the work I do as a consultant. Fabre is my business, not yours.”
“Wow,” Vaughn scoffs, shaking his head. “You hear this shit, Christian?”
Christian doesn’t answer. Just watches me, his face unreadable.
Which, honestly? Is worse.
A quiet Christian is a problem I’m going to have to deal with later.
But after the wedding.
After Megan is officially mine.
“We were just with you on one of those consultant calls last week,” Vaughn continues. “We’re with you on a lot of those damn consults. We know where the bodies are buried, or have you forgotten that?”
“No,” I say, leveling him with a look, “but the whole point of our new arrangement was to free you both of that.”
Vaughn’s eyes darken. “If you’re not free, we’re not free.”
“Exactly,” Christian mutters.
I let out a long, slow exhale. “I don’t want to discuss this anymore.”
But Vaughn won’t let this go. “So we just wait for Fabre to take another shot at you?”
“He won’t do that.”
Vaughn laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “And how the fuck do you know that, you arrogant bastard? You are not safe.”
I lean back, expression cool. “Last time I checked, I put you in charge of a whole-ass security company that’s going to make sure I stay safe.”
Vaughn’s jaw flexes. “Or you could simply tell the lovely Miss Taylor that you can’t oblige her this one thing.”
“I will not,” I smirk. “And maybe if you learned the fine art of couples negotiation, you’d still be married.”
The moment the words are out, the temperature in the room drops.
Vaughn goes completely still.
Christian winces.
And I know.
I fucked up.
Vaughn’s ex was a pure bitch, but he loved her, and I just hit a nerve.
Before I can say anything—before I can do the rare thing and apologize—Vaughn shakes his head, pushing off the desk.
“I’ll see you at the altar, fucker.”
His voice is flat, detached.
And then he’s gone.
I rub my temples, letting out another slow breath.
The door swings open five minutes later, and I don’t even bother looking up.
“If you’re here to bitch at me too, Lena, I swear to?—”
“Relax, big brother,” she says, flopping into the now-empty chair leather sofa. “I come in peace.”
I finally look at her, noticing the way she’s studying me.
“You look like shit.”
“Gee, thanks.”
She shrugs. “Just an observation.”
I sigh, rubbing my face. “You here for a reason?”
Lena leans forward, propping her chin in her palm. “Yeah. To remind you that you’re about to marry the love of your life and the mother of your child in, oh, I don’t know—two days?”
I grunt.
She smirks. “Wow. You sound so excited.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s not that.”
“No?” She tilts her head. “Then what? Because it sounds like you’re letting your partners and whatever other stress is going on in your business get in the way of what actually matters––Megan and Deuce.”
I don’t answer.
Lena sighs. “Hunter, I know you have one million things going on, but can you just—take a second?”
I drag a hand over my face.
Lena waits.
Finally, I exhale sharply. “I don’t get nervous.”
She raises a brow. “But?”
I look at her. “But I don’t want to fuck this up.”
Something in her face softens.
“You won’t.”
I scoff. “You don’t know that. If you had asked me eighteen months ago if I’d be getting married, I would have looked at you like you were crazy.”
“Maybe, but if you’d have told me that I had an older brother out in the world eighteen months ago, I wouldn’t have believed it either.” She leans in, voice softer now. “You won’t fuck this up, Hunter, because I see the way she looks at you. And the way you look at her. You adore each other in a way that is beautiful to watch.”
I let out a breath, staring at my desk.
Lena smirks again. “Besides, you already made her manager of the Blue Whiskey, threatened her college bullies, flew her to Paris in a private jet, helped with her art career, and put a baby in her. I think you’re set.”
I chuckle under my breath. “I see she’s briefed you on our entire courtship.”
“Go home to your fiancée.” She nudges my arm. “Stop overthinking things. And maybe—just maybe—try to enjoy getting married. It’s the one time you’ll do it.”
I shake my head.
But as I watch my little sister walk out, I can’t help but feel like she’s right.
Because at the end of the day?
It’s not about Fabre. Or Vaughn. Or Christian. Or whatever new crisis pops up in my world.
It’s about Megan.
The woman I’m marrying in two days.
The woman who loves me and all of my shit.
At the end of the day, it’s going to be a beautiful life.