Chapter Twenty-Two
Hunter
Istride across the bar, ignoring the twinge in my knee. The room is suddenly too small. The air too thick. The noise too loud. Everyone too close. I need out.
I’m almost at the door when someone grips my arm and stops me. I turn, not surprised to see Dylan, his fingers curling into the sleeve of my coat, his desperate gaze locked with mine. I should’ve known he’d follow.
His words still hang between us, heavy and raw. Coach Vernon’s threats and the choice Dylan made without saying a fucking word. The choice he made for me.
My chest tightens until it hurts.
“Wait,” he says. “Please, just wait.”
I yank my arm free of his grip, and a middle-aged couple sitting at a nearby table glance our way, but I barely notice. “I can’t do this.”
Dylan blinks at me. “Hunter—”
I take a breath. It doesn’t help.
“No.” My voice comes out sharper than I intend, but the anger’s already there. I can’t pull it back. “I don’t get how you could decide what’s best for me without telling me and then just... walk away.”
His shoulders tense. “I was trying to protect you.”
“By lying?” I demand.
“I didn’t lie. I just—”
“You let me believe you didn’t want me.” My hands curl into fists. “You let me think I’d done something wrong.”
The hurt that flashes across his face hits hard, but I’m too wound up to slow down.
“You’ve always done that,” I continue. “You make these huge decisions without ever actually talking to me about them.”
“That’s not fair,” Dylan says quietly.
“Isn’t it?”
The bar noise fades. All I hear is my blood pounding in my ears.
“You always need reassurance,” I say, the words tumbling out before I can soften them. “You’ve never really believed I wanted you. That you mattered to me.”
He flinches.
“You don’t trust me,” I add, quieter. “Not really.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve crossed a line.
Dylan goes very still. His eyes search my face as if he’s trying to figure out if I mean it.
“Hunter,” he says carefully, “that’s not—”
“I’ve told you,” I cut in, my voice rough. “Back then. But every time something gets hard, you just decide what I feel instead of asking me.”
“That’s not what I was doing,” he says.
“It’s exactly what you were doing. You think I’ll walk away, so you make sure you walk away first.” For a moment, neither of us moves. Then I take a step toward the door. “I need some air.”
“Hunter—”
But I’m already walking away and pushing open the door. Outside, the cold night air slams into me like a frigid wall. I suck in a sharp breath, the chill burning in my lungs.
I start walking, and my knee aches immediately, but I ignore it. I don’t think about where I’m going. I need distance. From Dylan. From everything.
Snow crunches under my boots as I head down the quiet street. Most of the businesses are closed now; their windows dark, streetlights casting long yellow pools across the pavement.
My anger burns hot.
But it doesn’t last.
How could he make a decision like that without even talking to me?
How could he just... decide what my future should be?
The memory of that night flickers in my mind—Dylan standing outside my house, shoulders tense, eyes refusing to meet mine as he told me it was over. I remember the hollow feeling in my chest. The way I stood there long after he’d walked away, trying to figure out what I’d done wrong.
Back then, I thought he’d just gotten scared, that when we saw each other at school again, we would talk and work it out. I couldn’t have guessed that I wouldn’t see him again for another decade.
Now, I know he thought he was saving me.
I kick a chunk of frozen slush off the sidewalk, frustration simmering under my skin.
The worst part is, I know exactly why he did it.
I know what my mom was juggling back then—two jobs, sometimes three. I remember what that scholarship meant. It wasn’t just football. It was a way out. A chance to help take care of my sisters. A chance to build something better.
Dylan had known too. Understood how important that scholarship had been. Hell, it was a big part of why I’d needed him to tutor me in the first place. If I didn’t bring my grades up, I would have been kicked off the team.
He decided I wasn’t worth telling, let me choose or even help.
I sigh as I start down the road that will take me to the inn.
My anger cools into something heavier. Something like regret.
I slow my pace. My knee is throbbing harder now.
Walking this far was probably a stupid idea, but the cold air has done its job.
My head is clearer than it was back at the bar.
I stop under a streetlight, breathing hard. Damn it. Storming out like that was stupid.
Dylan had finally told me the truth about something that’s haunted both of us for years, and I blew up at him in the middle of a crowded bar.
I close my eyes and scrub a hand over my face.
He was seventeen when that happened. A kid being threatened by an authority figure who held real power over my future and his. Of course he panicked. Of course he tried to fix it the only way he knew how.
Hell, if the roles had been reversed, I might have done the same thing. The thought settles heavily in my chest.
I start walking again, slower this time, still heading toward the inn. By the time the familiar shape of the building is looming over me, the guilt has fully set in. The porch light glows softly against the dark sky, snow piled along the walk that leads to the veranda steps.
I pause at the bottom. Dylan’s probably still at the bar. I left him the truck, so at least he won’t have to walk back in the cold. But the image of him standing in the middle of the bar while I walked away makes my stomach twist.
I shouldn’t have said those things. No wonder he doesn’t trust me.
Or maybe I should have said all of it, but not the way I did. Not as an accusation. The truth is, I’m not really angry about what happened back then.
I’m angry because it still matters. Because despite everything I told myself when we first got here, despite all my careful emotional distancing, I’ve fallen right back into this with him. Hard.
I slip my phone out of my pocket to send him a text, something short to let him know where I am and ask if we could talk, really talk, but it’s dead.
“Shit,” I mutter. I need to charge it.
With an irritated sigh, I push open the front door and step into the warm, quiet hallway.
The inn is silent at this hour; the faint creak of old wood and the distant hum of warm air pumping from the vents are the only sounds.
Jim was probably in his own room, or maybe out.
I didn’t see his truck in the driveway. I assumed Nancy was with their children at her parents’ by now.
For a moment, I just stand there, letting the warmth sink into my bones.
I had to charge my phone so I could call Dylan. Apologize. Explain.
We need to talk about what happened back then, and about what’s happening now. Because pretending this is just some temporary arrangement isn’t fooling either of us anymore. I want a future with him.
I start for the stairs, but freeze.
The house feels too quiet.
Someone is sitting in one of the armchairs in front of the cold fireplace in the parlor. The room is dark, and I wouldn’t have noticed him at all if not for the glow from his phone.
For a split second, I tense, remembering the intruder from the other night, but the sensation quickly eases.
The man leans back in the chair as if he owns the place, long legs stretched out in front of him, one ankle crossed over the other.
Even in the dim light of his phone, I recognize the broad shoulders, the familiar cocky posture.
“About time,” Linc says.
I stare at him, a dozen questions slamming into my brain at once. “What are you doing here?”
Lincoln Dominato, IT expert and a partner in the agency, grins lazily. He pushes to his feet, brushing imaginary dust off his jacket. “Nice to see you, too.”
“Seriously,” my pulse picks up. “Why are you here?”
“Please,” Linc gestures vaguely. “You disappear to a tiny town in the middle of nowhere, send me footage from a probably dead filmmaker to review, and you didn’t expect one of us to turn up?”
He makes a valid point. Still, I cross my arms, irritation flickering in my chest. “You’re not answering my question.”
Linc’s grin fades slightly.
“Your phone’s been off half the day,” he says. “You were vague in your last message about the film footage, and then the local police department contacts us about a tip you dropped on a guy with a drawer full of illegal bathroom photos.”
I wince. “Yeah, they were pretty gross. So you came to babysit me?”
“I came because things are escalating,” Linc replies. “Colin and I thought you might appreciate backup.”
I lean against the doorframe between the foyer and parlor, exhaustion creeping into my bones.
“So tell me about Dylan Moore. Where is he?” Linc asks casually.
“At the local bar,” I say. The last thing I want is to talk about Dylan and the complicated past we share.
Linc raises an eyebrow. “You left the client at a bar? Which begs the question—why is the client with you on an investigation at all?”
My face heats, and I mutter, “It’s a long story.”
“My aunt said you knew him, and seeing him again rattled you.”
I shouldn’t be surprised. Helene is nothing if not observant. Her talents are wasted on the reception desk. I glare at him. “We knew each other a long time ago, but I can still be objective.”
Liar! Not only had we been fucking all week, but I stormed off, leaving him alone after an argument.
Linc holds up his hands. “Hey, I’m just saying. You look like you wrestled a bear on the walk over.”
I sigh. “I wish.”
Linc studies me for a moment, the teasing edge fading from his expression. “You okay?”
I hesitate a moment before finally admitting, “No.”
It’s the truth. This case is getting more complex by the minute, and my feelings for Dylan aren’t making anything easier.
Someone out there knows I’m a PI. Someone broke into our room. Someone killed Matthew. And the one person I want at my side through all this is currently sitting alone in a bar because I couldn’t keep my temper in check.
I pull out my phone again.
I should’ve said it differently.
“First things first,” I mutter, “I need to charge my phone and make a call.”
Because whatever happens next in this investigation, one thing is painfully clear. I’m not doing it without him.