Chapter Twenty-Seven
Hunter’s childhood home is a brick colonial mansion, nestled in the suburbs of Detroit. The front lawn is so green it almost glows, the stripes from the mower still visible. Two rocking chairs sit on the porch between tall white pillars, framed by sculpted hedges and rose bushes in full bloom.
Hunter pulls into the wide driveway beside a fleet of luxury SUVs and sports cars. He shuts off his car but doesn’t move, his grip lingering on the steering wheel. His gaze drifts toward me, uneasy.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this? There’s still time to turn around,” he says, his voice tense with nerves.
I roll my eyes. “I’m sure. You’re not using me as an excuse to bail. I’d rather your family not hate me, thanks.”
He searches my face, exhales in defeat, and finally climbs out of the car. I follow him up the pristine front steps, past the wooden double doors already buzzing with noise from inside.
The second we step through the entryway, the relief of air conditioning washes over me.
The house is already packed with party guests, every surface polished and dusted to perfection.
People are scattered everywhere, drinks in hand, music pulsing from speakers.
A crystal chandelier hangs over our heads, casting sparkling glimmers on the hardwood floors. It’s… a lot.
Before I can orient myself, someone barrels toward us. Same height as Hunter, same olive toned skin, same crooked grin—except this version has a buzzcut, a thicker build, and no glasses.
Knowing Hunter had an identical twin was one thing. Standing face-to-face with him is something else entirely.
“Hunter!” Landon booms, pulling his brother into an awkward half-hug. His eyes shift to me as his smile widens. “And you must be the lifeguard. Mason, right?”
Landon’s voice is deeper than Hunter’s, rougher, but the resemblance is uncanny enough to make my stomach twist. Seeing him in the flesh is like stepping into a parallel universe where Hunter plays football and drinks protein shakes.
Landon smirks at my reaction. “Weird, huh? Seeing someone with the same face as the guy you’re fucking?”
Heat rushes straight to my ears. Hunter swats his brother’s arm with a scowl. “Jesus, Landon. Can you not?”
“Relax,” Landon laughs, hands raised. “I’m just teasing! I know you’re just friends.” He knocks his fist into Hunter’s shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. “Happy birthday, bro.”
Hunter exhales through his nose, smiling tightly. “Yeah. You too.”
Landon slings Hunter’s duffle off his shoulder and grabs mine too. “You guys go socialize. I’ll drop these upstairs. It’s good to have you home, Hunt.”
Before either of us can protest, Landon disappears into the throng of guests with both our bags. I’m left standing there, still processing the bizarre twin déjà vu, while Hunter scrubs a hand down his face.
“Sorry,” he mutters with a grimace. “He thinks he’s hilarious.”
I shake my head, giving an awkward half-laugh. “Not gonna lie, seeing him was trippy as hell.”
He blows out a breath and straightens his shoulders like he’s preparing for battle. “Come on. Might as well get the parade of introductions over with.”
We weave our way through the living room, past clusters of people chatting in crisp polos and sundresses.
Hunter’s smile turns practiced, his laugh a little more contained, his posture straighter.
It’s not fake exactly, but it’s… stiff. Like he’s trying on an old jacket that doesn’t quite fit anymore.
He greets a tall dark-haired man near the fireplace with a firm handshake. “Mr. Ellison—how’s the new boat treating you?”
The man beams and wishes him a happy birthday before launching into a story about Lake St. Clair. I watch Hunter nod along like he’s genuinely invested. When Hunter introduces me, Mr. Ellison pats my arm like I’m a stray dog Hunter brought home.
I let Hunter guide me from room to room. The more people we meet, the more I notice how he smooths out his edges—more polished, more agreeable, more… preppy. It makes my stomach twist, like I’m watching him slip into a version of himself I don’t recognize.
Eventually, we push through the crowded hallway into the kitchen. Shiny stainless steel appliances line the walls, including not just one, but two refrigerators. At the marble island, a couple stands together, unmistakably his parents.
His mom is slender, her skin tone slightly darker than Hunter’s. Her black hair is styled in a glossy wave, diamond earrings catching the light. She looks like she should be on the cover of one of those lifestyle magazines.
His dad is broader, with graying blond hair and sharp features. He’s dressed in a navy blazer and a red tie, which makes him look like he belongs in a country club rather than his sons’ birthday party.
Hunter clears his throat, adjusting his glasses. “Hi.”
His mom gasps, sweeping him into a hug and kissing his cheek. “Happy birthday, darling! We’re so glad you could make it.”
His dad just nods, a curt acknowledgment. Definitely not the affectionate type.
Hunter gestures toward me. “Mom, Dad—this is my friend I told you about over the phone. Mason—these are my parents, Mayumi and Victor.”
Friend. It’s not wrong, but it still feels diminishing.
Victor shakes my hand, firm and practiced. “Nice to meet you.”
Before I can respond, Mayumi wraps me into a hug. “Welcome to our home!” she says. She holds me at arm’s length, her eyes soft and intent—the same warm brown as Hunter’s. “We’re so glad Hunter made a new friend in Claremont Shores.”
“Thanks for inviting me,” I reply, forcing a polite smile.
“Of course,” Mayumi says with a dismissive wave. “I had the maid prepare the guest room upstairs for you.”
I blink at her, caught off guard. The maid. The words land like a brick in my stomach. That’s not a real thing in my world.
My brain scrambles for the right response. “Oh. That’s—great. Thank you.”
“We’ve missed having you home, sweetheart,” Mayumi says, turning to Hunter. “We even bought supplies to make s’mores on the fire later.”
Hunter’s face breaks into a toothy grin. “My favorite!”
Victor chuckles, shaking his head. “When he was little, Hunter always insisted on s’mores instead of cake for his birthday,” he explains to me.
The warmth between them lingers for a moment before Mayumi checks her watch. “We should excuse ourselves—the caterers just arrived.”
Victor nods, already reaching for her hand. “We’ll let you boys settle in.”
“Alright,” Hunter says quietly, watching them disappear down the hallway.
The party noise seeps back in—laughter, music, the clink of glasses.
We leave the hush of the kitchen and merge into the sea of bodies.
Hunter breathes out and lets his hand drift to my waist, guiding me forward.
His touch barely lingers at the small of my back, fingers hovering above my shirt, but it’s enough to keep me afloat.
***
The patio hums with chatter, every seat filled with people laughing too loudly, drinks balanced precariously on end tables. In the center, a gas firepit flickers in the dark, painting orange shadows on surrounding faces. The cool nighttime air carries the scents of freshly cut grass.
Hunter and I have squeezed onto a teakwood loveseat, clutching half-empty champagne flutes. Landon sits in the chair next to us with his girlfriend, Kara, perched comfortably against his side.
Across from them, Derek—the childhood best friend Hunter once told me about—shares a seat with his fiancé, Oliver. Derek is a short, chubby, happy-go-lucky guy with a mop of thick red hair and a lumberjack beard. Oliver is his complete opposite—dark brown skin, slender, tall, and quiet.
Normally, I hate parties. Too many voices, too many bodies crammed into one space. But with Hunter pressed against me, I don’t mind. My arm drapes along the back of the loveseat, fingers brushing the slope of his shoulder.
“Don’t fret, ladies and gentlemen. I’ve arrived!”
The commanding voice cuts through the laughter. A blond man strides in, muscles stuffed into a shirt two sizes too small. Designer sunglasses rest on his face, even though the sun vanished from the sky hours ago. His arm hooks tight around the waist of a petite brunette girl.
Hunter tenses next to me, his breath stilling.
“Hey, Trav!” Landon exclaims, dapping him up.
“Happy birthday, bro!” he says with a wide grin.
My stomach knots. This is him—the guy who broke Hunter’s heart. The man who shattered his self-esteem and made him question his worth.
Travis’s gaze sweeps the crowd until it lands on us. His face tightens. He slides his sunglasses into his hair, and for a beat the only sounds are the firepit’s crackle and the muffled buzz of voices and music from inside.
A cocky grin curves his mouth. “Hey, Hunt. Long time, no see. Happy birthday.”
Hunter swallows hard. “Hi, Travis. Thanks.”
Travis drops into an empty chair across from us, tugging the brunette into his lap like she’s his accessory. Hunter sits rigid at my side, his body angled away from Travis. He keeps his eyes on the fire, though every so often his gaze darts toward his ex.
I notice it then—the way his thumb picks at his fingernails, scraping until chips of pink polish flake into his lap. The longer Travis talks, the more frantic the movement becomes, his cuticles raw from nerves.
Hunter tops off his glass with more champagne and downs it in one go, his throat bobbing. I think it’s his third, or maybe fourth? I’ve lost count. His cheeks are flushed, though I can’t tell if it’s from the alcohol or the warmth of the fire.
Distantly, Travis laughs at his own story, but I’m not listening to him. All my focus is on Hunter and the jitter of his bouncing leg, the restless tap of his shoe against the patio tile.
I shift closer, brushing my knuckles against his knee in a small, grounding gesture. He doesn’t look at me, but his thigh presses back against mine, hard and deliberate. His fingers keep worrying at themselves, though slower now.