Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
Travis leans forward, eyes narrowing in on Hunter like he’s just remembered he exists. “So, Hunt, what’s new with you? Still playing with plants all day, or did you finally grow up and get a real job?”
The fire pops loudly in the silence that follows. Hunter’s jaw ticks, but no words come out.
“Hunter’s research is actually really impressive,” I say, surprising myself with how steady my voice sounds. “He got a grant from the DNR.”
That gets Travis’s attention. He swivels toward me, sharp and assessing, his eyes locking with mine for the first time all evening. “My apologies,” he says tightly. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced. You are…?”
“Mason,” I answer firmly.
His eyebrow lifts. “And you’re Hunter’s… friend?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “Yeah, something like that.”
Travis’s gaze flickers between us. “Uh-huh,” he says, grinning around the rim of his glass as he takes a sip.
Before the tension can thicken any further, Landon claps his hands loudly. “Alright. Who’s ready for s’mores?”
Hunter blinks at the distraction, his jaw loosening slightly. Landon strides over to the pile of supplies their parents had thoughtfully brought for the bonfire—graham crackers, chocolate bars, and marshmallows stacked neatly in a wicker basket.
Hunter reaches for the basket, but his face falls almost immediately. He pulls out a bag of marshmallows, glancing at me with a mix of disappointment and frustration. “They… didn’t get vegetarian marshmallows,” he mutters under his breath, voice tight.
I frown. “Wait, marshmallows have meat in them?”
“Gelatin,” he explains.
“Oh.”
Travis snorts beside us, skewering a marshmallow on a metal roasting stick. “Still vegetarian, Hunt? Makes everything so difficult,” he grumbles. “But I guess you always were high-maintenance, huh?”
Hunter stares at the ground, teeth clenched. He doesn’t say anything. I glance at Landon, expecting him to step in and defend his brother, but he’s busy making out with Kara, utterly oblivious.
I roll back my shoulders, sitting up straight. “Dude, what’s your problem? Why are you being such an asshole?”
Travis’s lips morph into a snarl. “Relax, man. I’m joking.”
“Well, it’s not funny.”
He chuckles, pulling the roasted marshmallow off the end of his stick. He leans a little closer as he pops it into his mouth, lips smacking obnoxiously. “You’re awfully protective of Hunter for someone who’s just a friend.”
Anger boils inside me, threatening to spill over. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Maybe you should learn to keep your opinions to yourself.”
Before our exchange can escalate further, Hunter’s hand clamps gently but firmly around my wrist. His grip is light, but there’s urgency in it. “Mase… I don’t feel good,” he mutters, voice unsteady. “I… I want to go to bed.”
I glance down at him, and all my anger drains out in an instant. The tension in my body shifts, replaced by a protective instinct. “Okay,” I murmur, letting him guide me back toward the house.
Travis watches us go, his smirk faltering slightly. Inside, the crowd has thinned to a few lingering guests chatting in the dining room with Hunter’s parents.
Hunter leans heavily against me, his steps uneven. At the staircase, his foot catches the edge of a rug, and he stumbles hard. I grab him under the arms before he falls to the floor. He straightens slowly, rubbing his forehead.
“Think you had too much to drink,” I mutter.
He shakes his head firmly, trying to recompose himself. “ ’m fine,” he garbles.
He’s clearly not fine. His eyes are hazy, his head lolling as if it’s too heavy for his neck.
Without another word, I scoop him up, bridal style.
He lets out a startled yelp before burying his burning face against my throat.
I hold him tighter, focusing on his solid warmth, the steady thump of his heart against my chest, as I carry him upstairs.
His childhood bedroom waits at the end of the hall, door cracked open. I nudge it wider with my shoulder and carry Hunter inside, shutting out the ruckus of the party.
Our bags sit at the foot of his bed, which looks like it belongs in a hotel—dark purple comforter smoothed perfectly over crisp white sheets, everything tucked and wrinkle-free. I set him on the mattress, and he immediately rolls onto his stomach, burying his face in a pillow.
“Remind me to never drink again,” he mutters, voice muffled.
I shake my head, letting my gaze drift around his room.
It’s large—even bigger than the one he rents back in Claremont Shores.
The walls are painted a deep moss green that makes the space feel grounded.
The decor leans toward dark academia with framed botanical diagrams, black-and-white photographs, and a few shelves crowded with old books.
I step toward a corkboard on the far wall. It’s cluttered with pinned pieces of his past. There’s a photo booth strip of him and Derek as teenagers, pulling a series of silly faces and holding up peace signs. The gap between Hunter’s two front teeth was even wider back then.
Another photo shows him and Landon as little kids, maybe five or six years old, dressed in matching outfits with identical smiles, their arms slung around each other like they were inseparable. It’s hard to reconcile those two boys with the distant and tense brothers I saw tonight.
“Why are you so far away?” Hunter squeaks from the bed.
“Sorry. I’m just snooping,” I mumble, shifting awkwardly on my feet. “Should I—uh, should I go into the guest room?”
He pouts, stretching his arms out toward me in a clumsy grab. “Don’t be silly. You’re staying here. Cuddle with me.”
Relief loosens my chest. Thank God. I’d been hoping he’d say that, but I didn’t want to push my luck.
Smiling sheepishly, I cross the room and slide in beside him. He tucks his forehead against my chest, breathing deep.
“Are you okay?” I ask quietly. “Travis was—”
“I don’t wanna talk about him right now,” he says, wincing.
I nod, silently conceding as my hand rubs slow circles between his shoulder blades. I grab the water bottle from his backpack, but it’s empty. “I’ll go refill this. You need to hydrate.”
He grumbles in protest, fingers catching my T-shirt, but I ease out of his grip and head downstairs. In the kitchen, I fill the bottle at the sink, listening to the softened bass of rap music spilling from the patio outside.
“Hunter’s a lightweight.”
I turn at the sound of a graceful, confident voice. Derek leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his barrel-shaped chest. His presence fills the space—broad shoulders, calm stare, quietly imposing.
“Yeah,” I say after a beat, forcing a smile. “He’s pretty wasted.”
Derek’s mouth quirks. “You should’ve seen him back in high school. He used to get shitfaced off a single wine cooler.” He pushes off the wall and steps into the kitchen, nodding at the bottle in my hand. “Taking care of him?”
“Trying to,” I say. “He’s upstairs, lying down.”
Derek hums, the sound low and noncommittal. “You’re a good guy, Mason.”
I shift on my feet, unsure how to respond. “Uh… thanks.”
He studies me for a moment, then sighs. “Just don’t break his heart, okay?”
I blink, caught off guard. “What?”
“Hunter,” he says simply. “He’s my best friend, and I can tell he’s falling for you.”
A nervous laugh escapes me. “We’re just friends.”
Derek raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Come on, man. I know what’s going on between you two. Hunter tells me everything. I even know about your big dick—”
“Jesus,” I cut in, eyes wide and face burning. “It’s just a summer fling, alright? It’s… casual.”
He shakes his head, looking almost sad. “That’s what I was afraid of. I thought he could handle something casual, but…” He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s getting attached. The way he looks at you—Hunter’s never looked at anyone like that before. Not even Travis.”
I swallow hard, my throat constricting like a snake coiled around my neck.
Somewhere upstairs, the floor creaks—Hunter shifting in bed, restless. And suddenly, the bottle in my hand feels too heavy, my chest too tight.
“I—uh, I should get back to him,” I mutter, brushing past Derek on my way out. “Nice meeting you.”
“Right,” he says, voice clipped. “You too.”
I climb the stairs, nearly tripping over my own feet on the way to Hunter’s room. He’s still sprawled across the bed, head in his hands, groaning softly. Despite being a drunken mess, he manages to look breathtakingly beautiful.
Sitting beside him, I tip the bottle toward his lips. “Drink.”
He pouts. “But–”
“Drink, Hunter. I’m not asking.”
A lazy smirk curls on his face. “You’re sexy when you’re bossy,” he giggles.
I roll my eyes, ignoring the way my stomach is fluttering. “Shut up.”
He drinks the water obediently, slow swallows working down his throat. When he’s finished, I cap the bottle and set it on the nightstand. He leans into me, burrowing against my neck, his breath warm and sweet with champagne.
After a long stretch of silence, I murmur, “Hey… you wanna open your birthday present?”
He tilts his chin up, brows furrowing. “You didn’t have to get me anything. Coming here with me and dealing with my ex and my family was more than enough.”
I roll my eyes. “Too bad. I’m stubborn.”
Before he can argue, I reach over to my duffle bag and dig around until my hand catches the small box. I’ve never been a skilled gift wrapper, so the paper is wrinkled and taped sloppily. I place it in his lap, my pulse thudding faster than I want to admit.
“Go on,” I say, forcing casualness into my voice.
He peels off the paper and opens the lid. Inside, nestled against black velvet, lies a simple necklace: a pendant of blue beach glass, smoothed by years of waves, set in a delicate gold frame. It’s a piece of Claremont Shores for him to take with him when he leaves—a token to remember me.
Hunter blinks at it, frozen.
“I, uh…” I swallow. “I found the glass at work one day. Thought it’d be nice, ‘cause we met on the beach. Aliyah’s cousin makes jewelry, so I asked her to turn it into something.
I was super impressed with how quickly she was able to finish it because you’re an asshole and didn’t tell me it was your birthday until a week ago. Anyway, I dunno, maybe it’s stupid—”
“You’re such a dick,” Hunter blurts, voice wobbling. He presses his palms to his eyes. “I’m a crybaby when I’m drunk!”
My chest sinks. “You don’t like it?”
He shakes his head furiously, tears slipping free as he lets out a broken laugh. “No, I love it. God, Mason—I love it so much. You just—” his voice hitches “—you know me better than my own family does, and we’ve only known each other for less than two months.”
Relief rushes through me so hard it makes me dizzy.
“Put it on me?” he asks, raw and quiet.
“Of course.”
I unclasp the chain and loop it carefully around his neck. The blue glass catches the dim light of the room as it settles against his collarbone. My fingers linger there, brushing the warm skin just above his heart.
Hunter looks down at it, then back up at me, his caramel eyes shining.
I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him look more beautiful.
“Thank you for being here with me today,” he says gently. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
I swallow past the tightness in my throat. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
He curls into me then, pressing his face into my chest, his breath warm against my shirt.
My arm slides around him, holding him close, as if I could shield him from everything waiting beyond these four walls.
The necklace glimmers faintly against his skin, a fragile shard of the beach, of us.
Proof that what we have now is real, even if it’s temporary.