Chapter 41
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
LOLA
Song- Drag Path, Twenty One Pilots
After we drop Wyatt off at school, Hunter takes me for breakfast. I can’t stop thinking about the smile on Wyatt’s face when he asked me to walk him into class, and I said yes.
He held my hand the whole way there, almost bouncing with excitement to introduce me to his teacher.
And Hunter was like a proud parent the entire time.
Just watching us, taking it in. But I could feel the happiness radiating off of him.
And when Wyatt wrapped his little arms around me to give me a hug goodbye, I nearly cried. It felt like acceptance. Which means everything to me.
I want to be with his dad, but I also want his son to want me in their family too.
It’s not just as simple as Hunter and me.
That little boy’s needs come first. I know that.
And I want that too. I know what it feels like to be a kid who doesn’t get put first by their parents.
And as much as it sucks, I kinda see why my parents struggled.
They had their empire and tried to raise me.
I might not be his biological mom. It’s a shame she never managed to see Wyatt grow up or be the mom he needed. But I want to be able to give him the love he deserves, however that might be. I’m not going to miss out on loving Hunter and Wyatt.
We walk into the diner, our fingers interlocked, and it feels like it’s stuck in time. Red booths. Neon buzzing in the window. Coffee that’s been sitting on the burner too long. The kind of place that says we have pie and any flavor we have will be the best damn pie in the world.
Hunter is stretched out across from me like he owns the booth, the diner, the entire state. Which, at this point, wouldn’t even surprise me. The waitress caught a blush while taking his order. He didn’t notice. I did.
Everyone seems to notice Hunter Sterling. And he only seems to have his eyes focused on one person… me.
Now he’s sitting opposite me, one arm slung over the backrest, just watching me. Like I’m the most interesting thing he’s seen all day. Like the rest of the diner doesn’t exist.
His chocolate milkshake sits untouched.
My strawberry one is clutched between my palms. Whipped cream piled high. A cherry perched on top.
Hunter’s gaze drops to the cherry. Then lifts back to me. And my stomach flips, because even when he’s sitting perfectly still, Hunter Sterling looks like a man about to do something irreversible.
The man is far too dangerous and sexy for his own good.
He reaches across the table, plucks the cherry off my milkshake, and slides it between his lips.
I inhale sharply. “Hunter—”
His eyes don’t leave mine. He draws the stem out between his lips, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as he works it. And I sit there in silence, watching him, my thighs pressing together under the table because I already know exactly what that tongue can do.
He sets the cherry down on the napkin and places the stem beside it.
Tied into a perfect knot.
My pulse trips over itself. “Very impressive, sir,” I tell him, biting back my grin.
“Yeah? Tell me what dirty thoughts are rattling around your head right now, firefly.” He picks up his milkshake and sucks it through the straw without breaking eye contact.
“Uh. How I assumed you’d go for the vanilla milkshake.”
His eyebrow arches. “Me? Vanilla?” He leans forward. “You want me to bend you over this table, push up that cute little red sundress of yours, and make your ass the same color? Or are you going to tell me what you’re really thinkin’?”
I rest my elbow on the table, chin in my hand, and drop my voice to a whisper. “I’m thinking about how good you are at eating my pussy, sir.”
He clears his throat and adjusts himself in his jeans. “Knew it.” He winks.
And my panties are done for. He takes off his hat and sets it on the table between us, running a hand through his dark hair.
And then his whole energy shifts. The playfulness doesn’t leave, but something deeper settles underneath it.
“Tell me all about Lola. Everything you think is important for me to know.”
I smile. Because it doesn’t feel like an intrusion.
It doesn’t feel like an interview or a test or someone mining for information they can use later.
It’s him wanting to learn me. The real me.
And I’ve never had someone ask like that before.
And it’s as if whatever I say will be enough.
I’m pretty sure I could tell this man I’m a serial killer, and he’d be cool with it.
“How about you ask questions, and I answer? Then I’ll do the same to you.”
He nods. “Alright. Deal. What was your life like in New York?”
I swallow hard. “Starting tough. Okay.” I wipe my hands on my dress and sit up straight like I’m about to give a speech at a podium. “It was busy.”
He chuckles. “I was waiting for a damn presentation there, firefly. It was busy?”
I laugh. “Hang on. I’m trying to find the words.”
I pretend to scowl at him. He grins. “It was busy because I was living my life exactly how my parents always have. They own one of the biggest fashion houses in New York. I studied business because they want me to become CEO one day. Then I became Lola Jackson, the online fashion influencer. Their social media rep. The face of a ton of other brands—hair, makeup, travel, you name it. I was the pretty face and the hot body to sell their products.”
I’m almost out of breath by the time I finish.
It comes out like a dam breaking—all of it, everything I’ve been carrying, pours across the table of a diner in the middle of nowhere.
And it’s not a horrendous life. Not by any means.
I never went without anything material. I never starved. Never struggled.
I just went without love. Without present parents who saw me as a daughter instead of a brand.
Hunter doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t judge. Doesn’t tell me I’m ungrateful or that people would kill for that life. He just listens. Like every word I’m saying matters to him. I’ve never had that before. A man who sits still and hears me.
“Can I see?” he asks, his voice rough.
“See? You could just search me. Haven’t you done that?” I’m genuinely surprised. I mean, I even tried to look him up.
“Nope. I want the real you. Not the girl online.” He pauses. “Although I bet I’d be obsessed with her too.”
I pull out my phone, open my page, and slide it across the table.
He starts scrolling. And I watch it happen, his jaw ticking, his body shifting in the booth, his eyes going wide.
“Fuck, Lola. Fuck.” He bites his lip. “You’re fucking beautiful. You know that, right?” He hands the phone back to me. “But this ain’t who you want to be?”
I look down at the screen. I'm in sunglasses, partying in Miami, in a bikini that costs more than some people’s cars.
“No.” I shake my head. “I know it sounds crazy. But that’s what I ran from. I don’t want my parents’ life. I don’t want to sell their products with my face and my name.” I find the landscape photo I posted and turn the screen back to him. “This is who I want to be.”
He looks at the photo. A real smile spreads across his face.
“I’ve always wanted to be on this side of the camera.
I don’t want people knowing me by name on the street.
I don’t want to work every hour under the sun, two minutes from a heart attack at any given moment.
” I set the phone down. “I want peace. I want to be free.” I hiccup on the last word.
And it’s like a weight lifts off my chest as I say it, something physical, something that’s been sitting on my ribs for years, finally cracking loose and floating away.
He leans across the table and rests his hand over mine. His thumb traces a slow circle on my knuckle. “Whatever version of Lola you wanna be, I’ll always want her. You hear me, firefly?”
I nod. Lost for words. Because he means it. I can see it in his eyes. “Ask me another question,” I say quietly.
“How many boyfriends you had?”
I bite my lip. “Out of choice or pretend boyfriends for my parents’ business deals? Or are we talking men I’ve slept with?”
He runs a hand over his stubble. “I don’t wanna know your past fucks. Because next I’ll be asking for a list of names and I’ll be killing them off one by one.” He doesn’t even lower his tone.
“You wouldn’t,” I giggle.
He doesn’t flinch. “Oh, I would, Lola.”
I believe him.
“Now. Real boyfriends.”
“One.” I pause. Letting it hang. “And I’m staring right at him.”
He sucks in a breath. His thumb stills on my hand. “You have no idea how happy that makes me,” he tells me, and the roughness in his voice tells me it’s the truest thing he’s said all day.
“Your turn,” I tease.
“Shoot.”
“Why did you and Wyatt’s mom break up?”
Part of me is intrigued here, but I also want to learn. More about Hunter, his past. And how he ended up arrested for her murder. Did he love her?
He runs his tongue along his teeth and then looks at the table for a beat. Then back at me. “She liked booze more than her family. And I loved my son and my ranch more than her. It was a toxic mix.” He rolls his jaw. “Then she ran off with the mayor’s son, and the rest is history.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him.
He shrugs. “Ain’t yours to apologize for. But thank you.”
“Wyatt is lucky to have you as a dad. You love that boy.”
He smiles. Big and real and unguarded. “I’d die for that kid.”
I don’t doubt it for a second.
“What is the real reason everyone in this town is so scared of you?”
He laughs and scoots around the booth until he’s beside me, his arm draped over my shoulder, his body warm against mine.
This question is deeper. I’ve seen how the circles work around my father and his business.
The men there in suits that clearly have a dangerous edge.
I chose to ignore it, but I wasn’t oblivious.
It’s the same here, except this time, they’re in cowboy boots and hats and call women ‘darlin’.
“I’m not just a cowboy, Lola. I’m the leader of an organized crime group. I head up the operations here. Each family runs a different state, all under the same empire.”
I try to hide my gasp behind my hands. Turn to face him. “D-do you… kill people?” I blurt out.
“Yes, baby. I’ve killed a lot of people in my time.” He holds my gaze and doesn’t look away. Doesn’t soften it for me. “I don’t do it unless it’s necessary, and they’re always fuckin’ scumbags. We have rules. Morals, to an extent.”
I nod. My brain is spinning, but my heart is steady.
Because the man sitting next to me, the one who makes hot chocolate from scratch and carries me up staircases and gets his son a goat-shaped birthday cake, is the same man who just told me he’s killed people.
And somehow, I’m not running. Hunter does not scare me.
“Is there mafia in New York?”
He pulls back and looks at me like I’ve asked if the sky is blue. “Yes, baby. Very powerful mafia.”
I blink. A connection fires in the back of my brain. “Frankie?”
His eyes go wide. “Excuse me?”
“My dad. His business funds some guy named Frankie. He’s always at my dad’s galas and stuff. Always scared the shit out of me, but strangely he was really nice to me.”
Hunter chuckles and rubs my shoulder. “That’ll be Frankie Falcone. Your father does business with him, hmm?”
I nod. “I don’t know what. Now I don’t want to know.”
“Frankie is a good contact to have in your pocket. He will look after you if you ever need it.”
I stir my straw, trying to connect all the pieces of my life that suddenly look very different from this side of the country. “And if my dad pisses him off? I’ll be the first hit?”
Hunter’s eyes darken. “No. Because you’re mine. And we never hurt each other’s families. We protect them with our lives.”
I blow out a breath. “Fuck. This is a lot,” I say, half laughing because the alternative is screaming.
“Too much?”
I shake my head and press myself against his side. Feeling his arm tighten around me. “I’m not running, Hunter. Not anymore. I think I’ve found the place I was always meant to be.”
No matter where I am, danger is always there. Even back home in New York. It’s no different. Except here, beside Hunter, it’s my choice.
He presses a kiss to the side of my head and lets his lips linger there. “I’ve got one more question,” he whispers.
My heart kicks up. I don’t know why. Something about the way he says it. Almost like there are nerves under the surface.
“Okay,” I say carefully. “One more…”
He doesn’t ask it.
Not yet.
Instead, he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket. And pulls out a ring.
My breath stops. I swear my heart does too.