Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Stephen leans against the brick wall of the repair shop, a grease-stained rag hanging from his back pocket.
A cigarette smolders between his fingers, smoke curling in the chilly air.
He takes a drag as he stares toward the parking lot of damaged cars.
His black eye has faded to a sickly yellow, the edges melted away.
I hesitate before stepping closer and clearing my throat.
When he sees me, his hand jerks, nearly dropping the cigarette. Panic flashes through his eyes. He stiffens, like he’s preparing for another one of my fists to smash his face.
“I’m not here to fight,” I say, raising both hands.
His eyes dart over me cautiously. I stop a few feet away, careful not to crowd him.
“I just… want to talk,” I insist.
Stephen studies me for a moment, then exhales smoke through his nose and nods. “Alright.”
The silence stretches between us, broken only by the muffled mechanical whirling and grinding of metal from inside the shop. My throat feels tight.
“I shouldn’t have punched you,” I say finally. “That was out of line. I was pissed, and I—” I shake my head. “I lost it. I’m sorry.”
He flicks ash onto the ground, then lets out a humorless chuckle. “Like I said, I deserved it.” His hand brushes the fading bruise. “But… thanks.”
I shift my weight, the nerves restless in my chest. “I’ve talked to Maddie.”
That makes him straighten, eyebrows lifted in anticipation.
“She wants to live with you,” I continue.
The words are heavy, but I push through them.
“And I’m trying to get on board with that.
I know you can give her the kind of life I can’t.
A steady job. A nice house.” I rub the back of my neck.
“I’ve been making this all about me—my pride, my grudge against you. That’s not fair to her.”
Stephen takes another drag, his hand shaking slightly. He doesn’t look at me right away, just stares at the ground littered with cigarette butts. Finally, he says, “I get why you were hesitant. I screwed up. I don’t blame you for not trusting me.”
I glance down at the concrete, kicking a loose pebble. “I think I’m just scared of losing her.”
He drops his cigarette and grinds it under his boot. “I don’t think that’s possible. She basically worships the ground you walk on. You should hear the way she talks about you.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
He grins. “She told me about how you took on a second job to buy her that concert ticket. And the time you woke up at three in the morning to pick her up from summer camp because she was homesick. Or when you spent all night helping her build that volcano for the seventh-grade science fair. She really looks up to you.”
My throat stings, but I choke it down.
He continues, “You’re a good man, Mason. And for what it’s worth, I don’t just want to fix things with Maddie. I want to make things right with you, too.”
I nod slowly. “If you get full custody after Mom… after she’s gone, I still want to visit Maddie sometimes. You’d have to be okay with that.”
Stephen doesn’t hesitate. “I’d be more than okay with that. In fact, I’d like for us to schedule regular dinners. You, me, Maddie… and if you want, you can bring your boyfriend along.”
My shoulders stiffen. Heat creeps into my face before I can stop it. “We’re… not together anymore.”
His expression softens. “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. Maddie really liked him. She lit up when she talked about the two of you.”
I swallow hard, forcing the words out. “I made a mistake with Hunter, but I’m gonna try to fix it.”
He studies me for a beat, then nods. “Then I hope you do. Good luck, Mason.”
We stand in the fading afternoon light, shifting awkwardly until I finally extend a hand. He hesitates, then shakes it, his gray eyes locking with mine.
“I promise I won’t screw this up again,” Stephen says. “I know I have a long way to go to regain your trust, but I’ll work toward it every day.”
I nod, my chest tight. Doubt courses through me, but for Maddie’s sake, I hope he proves me wrong.
“Take care, Stephen. I’ll be in touch.”
I climb into my truck and start the engine. The sky hangs low with clouds, the road ahead slick with rain. As I pull out of the lot, my direction is set on Shelby Harbor.
***
A few hours later, I find myself sitting in a lecture hall at Lakeview University, clutching a bouquet of red roses I picked up from a gas station. The place is packed, students spilling into every row, professors crowded along the perimeter.
It feels strange being back on campus. Two years ago, these buildings were home. Now, I feel like an intruder, a ghost haunting a life that used to be mine.
Hunter doesn’t know I’m here. He blocked my number, which doesn’t surprise me. I know I deserve it. Still, my chest stung when I tried calling him and got sent straight to his voicemail.
I keep my head down and find a seat in the very back. The last thing I want is for him to see me and throw him off right before his presentation. This is his moment. He’s worked all summer for it.
From where I’m sitting, I can spot him at the front of the room, setting up his laptop on the podium. His dark hair catches the overhead lights, his posture straight but tense.
He’s cleaned up nicely—a stark contrast to the thrifted clothes I saw him in all summer. He’s wearing a floral print button-up shirt and a pair of black pants, wrinkle-free, snug on his body like they’re painted on his skin. He looks captivatingly beautiful.
God, I’ve missed him.
The sound of shuffling papers and quiet chatter fills the air. My palms are slick, and my leg bounces restlessly. I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous. Maybe back when I was waiting on my college acceptance letter when I was seventeen. Or when Mom first told me she was sick.
I sink lower in my seat, praying Hunter doesn’t look up and see me—not yet.
He speaks quietly to a tall, gray-haired woman at the podium. I recognize her from a photo on his Pixstagram—his graduate advisor, Dr. Susan Maxwell, a professor of botany.
She raises a microphone to her lips and clears her throat. The chatter in the room quiets down.
“Good evening, students and faculty,” she begins. “I’m Dr. Maxwell. It’s my pleasure to introduce one of my students, Hunter Davis. He’s here to share the results of his summer research. Please join me in giving him a warm round of applause.”
The room erupts in cheers as Hunter moves behind the podium with a small microphone clipped to his shirt collar. Behind him, the projector flickers to life with his title slide.
“Um, hi,” Hunter says, giving a small, awkward wave. “Thank you for the introduction, Dr. Maxwell. And thank you all for being here tonight. This summer, I had the opportunity to research one of my favorite plants—the Pitcher’s Thistle—and I’m excited to share what I’ve learned.”
He clicks a button on the tiny remote, and the screen switches to a pair of labeled photos. “My two focus species are the endemic Pitcher’s Thistle, Cirsium pitcheri, and the invasive Spotted Knapweed, Centaurea stoebe.”
I remember him agonizing over these exact pictures weeks ago, asking me which ones looked best. I’d told him he was overthinking it. They were all good.
He paces the front of the hall, speaking enthusiastically with his hands, voice steady.
“I wanted to investigate how Spotted Knapweed affects pollination rates of the Pitcher’s Thistle.
Because the thistle only grows on the shores of the Great Lakes, it’s incredibly sensitive to disturbances.
Competition for space, resources, and pollinators from invasive species can threaten its survival. ”
He sounds so poised and confident, even with hundreds of eyes glued to him. It makes my chest bloom with warmth.
Slide after slide, he explains his methods, graphs, and data. When a photo of the research plots comes up, my breath catches. I remember driving stakes into the sand with him that day, both of us sweaty and laughing, his hand brushing mine.
In a way, this whole presentation is a record of our summer together. His research was what brought us together to the same place at the same time, like planets aligning.
The professors lean forward, nodding along. The students scribble notes. Hunter has their attention hooked. And me? I couldn’t be prouder.
Finally, the last slide appears: Acknowledgements.
Hunter clears his throat. “I want to thank the Claremont Shores DNR staff for their support this summer, and Dr. Maxwell, who guided me through this project.”
He pauses. My stomach twists when I see the last name on the list.
Mason Burke.
Hunter’s voice softens. “And, um… I’d like to thank Mason Burke for everything he helped me with this summer.”
Heat floods my face. I clutch the bouquet in my lap tightly, the thorns digging into my palms. My heart pounds so hard it feels like the entire lecture hall must hear it.
The room roars with applause, the sound swallowing me whole.
Then the moderator announces time for questions, and half the room’s hands shoot into the air. Hunter fields them with ease, answering each one with that same confidence, his voice smooth and animated.
I listen to him talk about invasive species, pollination rates, and the subtle distinctions between two types of bees. His eyes shimmer with passion.
And that’s when it hits me with irrevocable certainty. Hunter’s a complete nerd—and I’m completely in love with him.