7. Brooke
Seven
Brooke
T his is the most embarrassing day of my life.
First falling like that in front of Hunter at the peak, tumbling head over heels and landing in a pathetic, scuffed up heap. So clumsy and humiliating.
Then throwing myself into the arms of my brother’s best friend, the man I’ve pined after for so long, and kissing him with all my inexperienced fervor. Hunter didn’t say anything about it clearly being my first kiss, but I bet he was privately thinking it. Because that brings us to humiliation number two: throwing myself at the guy I’ve been low key saving myself for, ready to give him everything , only to be roundly rejected in favor of a fold out bed and an early ride home in the morning.
And then the lowest point of all: that outburst. Those shrill, butt-hurt words. The red face and damp eyes and oh god, I am never getting out of this shower. Gonna drown myself in here, or stuff myself down the drain.
Why did I say all that stuff?
Why did I confess about how much I’ve missed him, when Hunter clearly hasn’t spared a single thought for me in years?
Why did I melt down like that over a guy who can’t wait to be rid of me?
It’s fine , I tell myself, scrubbing my body down with a bar of soap. All the dirt and sweat and dried blood of the day sluices off me, gurgling down the drain. Good riddance. He’s allowed to not want you back. You’ll be fine without him. Just fine.
But my heart aches like crazy all the same.
It’s wrong to use up all Hunter’s hot water, but I linger in the shower and scrub every inch of my body, then shampoo my hair twice. There’s no conditioner, but his soap and shampoo both smell so good. Like herbs and citrus and sunshine. Like him.
By the time I hobble out in a cloud of scented steam, my bandages are all soaked through and ruined, and my bubble of self-righteous anger has popped. Now, I feel like a tiny, ungrateful little grub.
There’s a mirror above the sink in Hunter’s bathroom, fogged over with steam. After bundling myself up in the spare towel, I swipe a hand across the glass and scowl at my own bedraggled reflection.
“Be cool,” I whisper, giving myself the stink eye. “He’s doing you a huge favor.”
Because Hunter saved me from my fall, carried me halfway down the mountainside, bandaged me up, then offered me dinner and shelter for the night. Whether or not he wants me romantically is irrelevant. I’ve been a huge freaking brat, and now it’s time to woman-up and apologize.
The cabin is quiet when I crack the bathroom door open. It’s empty. There’s no sign of Hunter, but there’s a pile of clean clothes on the floor just outside. A pale green men’s t-shirt, the cotton soft and worn with age, and a pair of gray sweatpants.
Snatching up the clothes, I scuttle back inside and get dressed, then finger comb my hair and squeeze most of the water from it. I only bang my hip on the counter twice while I’m dressing, too.
The clothes are big on me, except for around my thighs and hips where my body presses against the sweatpants. The neckline of the cotton t-shirt smells like Hunter, so I hide from reality for a few minutes longer, nose buried in the fabric. Sucking in his scent.
Get out there, you coward.
Ugh, fine. Swallowing what’s left of my pride, I hobble back out of the bathroom.
The cabin is still empty, with golden evening light spilling through the windows. Hunter’s furniture is all carved wood, simple and sturdy, apart from a comfy-looking green sofa and armchair set. There’s a black and white woven rug on the floor and a crammed bookcase. The whole bottom two shelves are filled with cookbooks.
The air smells like nutmeg and polished wood. There are lamps; crocheted blankets; a record player with a stack of vinyl. It’s cozy. A home.
My heart gives another almighty twist.
It’s not at all how I pictured ‘living in the wilderness’ would be, but hey. I’m glad Hunter is comfortable up here, even after everything. Even if I never step foot here again.
The floorboards creak softly as I limp across the cabin, gazing around me like a tourist in a museum. Soaking up every artifact and detail. The buttery sunshine; the scent of spring blossom blowing in through an open window; a quiet thump as someone moves out on the deck.
Hunter.
Ankle throbbing, I change direction.
And I’m probably not supposed to hobble around on a sprain like this, should probably keep it lifted and iced or whatever, but when I hear that peep of Hunter on his deck, suddenly I desperately need to lay eyes on him again.
To say how sorry I am for emotionally unloading on him like that.
To thank him for everything he’s done for me today.
To assure him that it’s fine, totally fine, that he doesn’t feel the same way about me—even if that last part is a little white lie. Even if I’ll spend the rest of my days yearning for this man and his cozy cabin.
The shower has cleared my thoughts, got my head on straight again, and I’m ready to make nice. But when I poke my head out of the door and find Hunter on his deck, he spins around and looks at me with pure horror.
“Brooke!” He lunges forward. “Your ankle!”
“It’s fine,” I say, already lifting an arm as Hunter rushes to my side. We slot together so nicely as he takes most of my weight again, helping me to the wicker sofa.
“Ah,” I joke weakly, settling down with a soft sigh. Hunter spins me around and makes me prop my ankle up on the cushions. “Back to the scene of the crime.”
Hunter ignores that. “You should have called for me. I’ll help you walk around.”
I know he will. Even when I just chewed him out for no good reason, even after I’ve been the worst guest in the world, Hunter would do anything for me. Because he’s a good man. The best.
That’s why I’ve loved him for most of my life.
“I’ll need to do these bandages again.” Hunter’s got the sweatpant leg rolled up, and he’s squatting by the sofa, fussing over the bruised mess of my ankle. He always was handsome when he was clean-shaven too, like a Hollywood star got lost in our mountain town, but he’s extra delicious with that beard. It makes him look rugged. Less polished. A bit dangerous.
Yowza.
“I’m sorry I got them wet.” My nose wrinkles as Hunter unwinds them again, my bruised ankle throbbing hotly. The wicker creaks as I shift restlessly. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s alright.” Hunter is laser-focused on his work—or maybe he doesn’t want to look at me anymore. Too busy watching his hands. “I should have offered you a shower first. That would have been smarter, but it didn’t occur to me earlier that you might be here overnight.”
“…Right.”
Because the two of us together is so unthinkable. Blargh.
There’s a slight pause, then Hunter whips his head up, eyes wide. Like he just heard his own words back. “I only meant—”
My hand raises. “It’s okay.”
Sure, it makes my insides ache, but it really is okay. Hunter doesn’t owe me anything.
But his blue eyes narrow, and his knees thump down on the deck. Over his shoulder, the birds are still chattering in the canopy, like they’re gossiping together about this new show. The two humans who can’t decide whether to fight, mate or flee.
“It’s not okay,” Hunter says firmly. “And that’s not what I meant. I always want you here, Brooke, and I’d fucking love for you to stay the night with me. It just never occurred to me as an option, that’s all.”
The first stars are out already, winking in the lavender sky. Pressing my lips together, I gaze up at them, suddenly light enough that I could float up off this sofa and join them. Does he really mean that?
“So.” Hunter bends back down to his task of re-wrapping my ankle. It’s a good thing we left all the supplies scattered here earlier, too busy making out to clean up. “We’re clear.”
Yup. We’re clear.
Reaching out, I flick a button of his shirt undone, pressing my lips together against a smile. Hunter coughs out a laugh, then goes still.
Then he looks up at me, square in the eye, and my belly swoops in response.
“What if I don’t want you to go?” Hunter asks, each word confident and clear. “What if I never want you to leave, Brooke? What if I want to keep you with me here forever?”
Oh god. Aah!
“Your scent on my pillows, your laughter on the deck, your chatter in my kitchen,” he goes on. “What if I don’t want to miss another second of it?”
My heart slams against my rib cage.
My lips part, but no words come out. Only a tiny squeak of joy.
“Or I’ll come and live with you in town,” Hunter adds, waving a hand impatiently. “Hell, I’ll build you a whole new cabin on the outskirts if that would make you happy. Whatever you prefer. That’s all detail. It doesn’t matter. The point is… do you want me, Brooke? After everything, do you still want me?”
Do I want him?
More than anything.
“Jake won’t like it,” I whisper, my throat tight with nerves. Because I need Hunter to be sure, really sure. If he dangles this in front of me then snatches it away, I’ll die.
But Hunter shrugs, impatient. “Jake’s not your keeper. Now, will you take me, sweetheart? Because I’m fucking desperate for you here. I have been ever since I saw you in that parking lot three years ago.”
Parking lot? What parking lot? I squint at him, confused, and Hunter growls and crowds closer, caging me in on the wicker sofa. My breaths come quicker, shallow, every part of me winding tight with excitement.
Yes.
Every second that this man is not kissing me is a second wasted. My tongue darts out to wet my bottom lip, and Hunter zeroes in on it, his pupils blowing wide. The tapping of his pulse is visible in his throat, racing extra fast, and the air between us is electric. If my hair weren’t damp from the shower, it’d be standing on end.
“Say you want me,” Hunter grits out.
I nod eagerly. “I want you, Hunter. So much.”
He lets out a long, relieved breath, then his voice lowers. Gets more intimate. “Say you’ll be mine, Brooke. My partner. My girl.”
My nod is wobbly this time, and my words shake. “Uh-huh. I—I can do that. Yes, please.”
There’s a flash of that crooked grin, then Hunter lunges forward and claims another kiss. This one is different from the experimental, unsure kisses from earlier. There’s no hesitation. No holding back. This time, Hunter owns me, and boy, it is magnificent. I melt in his arms, my insides turning to trembly goo.
I’m his.
I’m so his.
I’ve always secretly belonged to my brother’s best friend. And now, he’s mine too.
“Come on.” Strong arms slide beneath my legs, then Hunter lifts me easily off the wicker sofa, standing in the same smooth motion. The world spins, stars streaking across the lavender sky.
Seriously, some people are so freaking coordinated. How do their limbs all behave so well? My inner grumbling cuts off as my arms loop around Hunter’s neck and find his bare skin flushed hot with need. All around us, the birds are rowdy in the treetops as the sun bleeds against the horizon, their chatter echoing across the mountainside.
Hunter takes long strides into the cabin, kicking the door shut behind us. The racket out there dies down a little, and his grip is tight on my legs. Possessive.
“I can’t wait another goddamn second, Brooke.” He carries me toward the corner of the cabin, to where that double bed waits with plain white sheets and a patchwork quilt on top. “Are you gonna let me inside you? Will you part your legs for me, sweet girl?”
My teeth clack together as I nod, so jittery and eager. “Uh-huh. Always. Yes.”
Hunter inhales sharply, then sets me down on the bed. “Thank god.”
The mattress is firm, and I scoot back to the center, trying my best to look appealing. It’s hard in bunched-up sweatpants and a baggy old t-shirt, but I sure try.
“Oh!” Plucking my glasses off my nose, I fold them carefully, then reach over to place them on a nightstand. “Okay, I’m ready.”
Hunter pauses for a moment, eyes closed, like he needs to process what he just saw. Then he turns away, kicks off his boots, and mutters to himself. So fucking cute , it sounds like.
Then he turns back, with molten heat in his eyes. They’re not icy blue anymore—more like a blue flame, searing and dangerous. Hunter flicks another button open on his shirt, watching me.
“You sure about this, Brooke? Because we can take things slower.”
My arms lift of their own accord, reaching for him. “Don’t you dare.”
Hunter grins and sets his knee on the bed. The mattress dips a little beneath his weight, and my stomach swoops too. “Thank god.”