Chapter 8
HUNTER
Iprobably should have gone home, but I’d just pulled up to the big house, my truck engine still rumbling like the thing inside my chest.
Maggie on that float talking to Brody burned behind my eyelids every time I blinked.
Her lips had curved into a soft smile that I loved while her fingers brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear when he leaned in closer.
That little nervous habit I’d memorized over years of wanting her now made my jaw clench so hard my teeth ached.
I cut the engine but didn’t move. The familiar white farmhouse stood there waiting, same as it had my whole life, and I wondered how the hell I was supposed to walk through those doors and pretend I hadn’t spent the entire drive from the lake irritated that Brody had been talking to her like he had any right to when I didn’t have that right myself.
Maggie was my fucking friend, and I needed to get my shit together.
I tipped my head back against the seat. The late afternoon sun stretched across the fields, and the only thing louder than the cicadas was my pulse pounding beneath my skin.
I forced myself out of the truck, and each step up the worn porch boards felt like climbing a mountain. Mama’s laughter drifted through the screen door, mixing with the rattle of pots and pans.
The scent of my mama’s fried chicken hit me the moment I stepped through the door. It filled the house with the kind of comfort I’d grown to expect on Sunday dinners, birthdays, and coming home after football games. It used to mean safety, used to mean I was exactly where I belonged.
But now my gut twisted with a homesickness for a place that still existed but wasn’t mine anymore, not really.
My dad was already settled in his recliner, his boots kicked off beside it, and Ruby curled up in his lap with a coloring book and crayons. He glanced up and nodded as I walked in, like he always did, like nothing had changed.
“Started to think you got lost.” He smiled before he started coloring with Ruby again. “Your mama’s been fussing that you were the only one not here.”
I gave him a tight nod, fingers digging into the knot at the base of my neck. “Lake cleanup took longer than expected. I made sure nobody left anything behind.”
My dad grunted, but he didn’t look up from Ruby’s coloring book. “I drove by the east pasture yesterday morning.” His eyes flicked up to mine, steady and knowing. “House is still sitting there half finished.”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “I haven’t had much time to work on it.”
“Those things don’t build themselves, son.” He shifted Ruby on his lap. “Are you and McCoy going to live together forever?”
I snorted and leaned against the doorframe with my arms crossed.
I tried not to think about how many times I’d told myself this would be the year I finished the damn house.
Every time I went out there, I’d end up standing there, staring at the work I’d done, and thinking about all the ways I could’ve built something different if I’d just been able to get out of my own damn way.
I wanted to be the kind of man who finished what he started, but that house was nothing more than a front porch and four walls.
My throat burned and that familiar ache settled beneath my ribs. “No. McCoy’s not really my type.” I tried to laugh off my tension. “I’ll get it done eventually.”
My dad gave me a look that could cut straight through bone. “Son, you can’t drag your boots forever. Either piss or get off the pot.”
His gaze moved past me to the kitchen, where Maggie’s laughter drifted through the air with my mom’s. When he looked back at me, one eyebrow lifted in that knowing way that made my stomach drop to my boots.
“Fine. I get the point,” I muttered.
“Do you?” He smoothed Ruby’s hair with his weathered hand. “We Calloway men tend to be as stubborn as a damn mule.”
“Grandpa?” Ruby tilted her head up.
“What is it, sweet pea?”
“Why did Uncle Hunter call me and Blaire busybodies? Is that bad?”
My dad’s eyes narrowed on me, and the weight of his stare transported me straight back to my teenage years, when I’d come home past curfew with beer on my breath.
“I think I heard Mama calling for help in the kitchen,” I muttered, jabbing a thumb over my shoulder and backing away.
As I retreated, my dad’s voice carried after me. “Because your uncle forgets his brain is supposed to work before his mouth does.”
I made my way to the kitchen and stopped short at the threshold. Maggie stood at the counter with flour covering her hands and dusting her forearms. She was shoulder to shoulder with my mama as they pressed a biscuit cutter into rolled dough.
Her hair was piled high on her head, exposing the tan line where her swimsuit had been, the sundress she’d thrown on not hiding anything. The sight of her there, looking so at home in the place I’d grown up, sent a hairline fracture straight through the center of me.
Maggie had been here before, dozens of times, but tonight the golden light caught in her hair differently. I watched the soft curve of her smile as she worked beside my mama and the delicate movement of her wrists as she shared the dough.
My mom caught sight of me hovering in the doorway, her smile spreading wide as she dusted flour from her palms onto her apron. “Look who finally decided to join us,” she said, abandoning her biscuits to wrap her arms around me.
She squeezed me tight, her cheek pressed against my chest, and I breathed in the familiar scent of her perfume. When she finally pulled back, her eyes scanned my face like she could still see the kid I’d been, not the man I’d become.
“You hungry?” Her palm lingered on my cheek. “Dinner will be ready soon.”
“I’m always hungry for your cooking.”
Mama just shook her head, a soft laugh catching in her throat as she gave my cheek a pat.
“You okay?” she said quietly, just for me, but her eyes drifted over her shoulder.
Maggie watched us, but the minute I met her green eyes, she looked away and went back to her biscuits.
“Colt and McCoy are setting the table on the back deck.” Blaire walked past me and bumped her hip into mine. “Don’t just stand there, Hunter. You can help me carry things out.”
My mama was already sliding a pan of biscuits into the oven, but Maggie lingered at the counter cleaning up the leftover flour.
“Where’s June?” I asked as Blaire loaded serving dishes into my arms.
“Out on the porch,” Blaire said, her smile widening. “She’s bossing the boys around.”
“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” I said under my breath, earning myself Blaire’s middle finger in response.
“By the way, Louise, Hunter’s been saying some things to Ruby.”
“What things?” Mom’s wooden spoon paused mid-stir as Maggie snorted out a laugh.
“Absolutely nothing,” I said, just as Blaire announced, “He told Ruby that she and I were nosy little busybodies.”
My mom’s eyes flashed. “Hunter Calloway!”
“I didn’t quite say it like that.” I looked among the three of them. My damn hands were full and this shit was heavy.
“Want to explain to everyone why you said that?” Blaire’s eyebrow arched in challenge.
My collar felt suddenly tight. If she mentioned Ruby’s questions about me and Maggie in front of everyone… “About as much as you’d like me telling her all about what I caught you and Colt doing in the barn last week?” I asked quietly, and Blaire’s cheeks turned pink.
Mama caught sight of it all, but there was a smile on her lips. “Hunter, you leave your brother and Blaire be.” She pointed her wooden spoon at me, but I was already backing out of the kitchen.
My gaze caught Maggie’s across the kitchen. Her lips pressed together, fighting back laughter, and something twisted in my chest.
“Blink twice if you want me to save you from this kitchen.”
“Out.” Blaire waved me out of the room like she was shooing away a dog. “We were just talking shit about you, and you interrupted us.”
“Maggie would never.”
Maggie’s lips parted like she might say something, but Blaire beat her to it with a snort. “Shows what you know.”
“Okay, fine.” I took a step back. “I’m going. I’m going.”
I turned to leave, glancing back at Maggie one last time. “Yell for me if you need me. Don’t let Blaire hold you hostage in here, Sunshine.” The word came out before thinking, so easily that I barely caught the look that flared in Maggie’s eyes before she ducked her head.
But she was sunshine, and God help me, I worried I’d burn if I got too close. Even when she tried to hide that light, tried to shrink herself down to a flicker, I could still feel her warmth lighting up the darkest corners of this place, of me, and fuck, I didn’t deserve her.
I turned away, carrying out all the dishes Blaire had loaded in my arms, but not before I heard Blaire whisper, “Did he just call you Sunshine?”
Maggie’s laugh was quiet, and I swear the sound followed me out onto the porch.
I set the food down on the old table, the wood scarred from hundreds of family dinners, and I looked up just as June narrowed her eyes at me.
“Hello, June. How are you?”
“Been better.” She leaned back in her chair and laid her hands across her stomach. “Colt was just telling me that you’ve been pussyfooting around when it comes to our girl, Maggie.”
I whipped my head toward my brother, who sat there beside her with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.
“Maggie deserves better than a boy who can’t find his balls.”
McCoy snorted as he leaned back against the porch railing, but I ignored him because June was still going.
“So, are you going to find your balls, Hunter?” June stared at me, and I swear it was like facing off with a bull.
I gripped the edge of the table as both Colt and McCoy laughed, but she tracked that movement too. “I appreciate your concern, June, but I didn’t realize my balls were going to be a family dinner topic of discussion.”