Chapter 21 Hunter
HUNTER
Zoey wanted to cancel her holiday party, but I wouldn’t let her. She said my shooting put a damper on the holiday, but I look at it another way. I survived, and that is a hell of a thing to celebrate this Christmas.
I couldn’t help with setting up, but I could plant my ass in a chair and talk to people while the rest of them drink themselves into a holiday stupor.
“How are you feeling, baby?” Delilah, Zoey’s mom, asks as she places her hand on my cheek. It’s something my own mother did when she was concerned about me.
“I’m good,” I tell her, studying her features and the similarities between her and her daughters, especially Zoey. “Better than good.”
“Has Zoey been taking good care of you?”
My face heats as I remember the make-out session last night. “She’s been doing a hell of a job.”
“Good. Good.” She pulls her hand back as her husband slides his arm around her middle and draws her close.
“Hunter,” Mr. Gallo says with a curt nod. The man is nice, but he’s a guy, and I’m the enemy because I’m dating his daughter, even if I took a bullet for her.
When Amira starts dating, I won’t be friendly with her suitors either. At least, not at first. It’s a tough line to walk as a father. You don’t want to be a complete asshole, but you also want the guy to know that you know what’s running through his mind too.
The very thought of Amira as a grown-ass woman being pursued by most of the slimeballs out there makes me irrationally angry.
“Stitches good?” he asks me.
I nod. “I go to the surgeon in a few days, but they feel good.”
“You’re young. You’ll heal quick,” he replies.
“I’m almost back to my old self.”
And I mean that literally. I wish I healed at the same speed I did in my twenties, but now that I have a few toes into my thirties, everything has slowed down, my body’s ability to heal itself in a timely manner included.
“I brought you some Italian Wedding Soup. It’s in Zoey’s fridge for you to eat tomorrow,” Delilah says, ignoring our conversation.
“It’s one of my favorites,” Mr. Gallo adds.
“I saved some for you, sweetie.”
He beams at his wife. I can see the love in his eyes. I want that. The long-lasting love that only deepens over time. Zoey has great role models in her parents. Sure, mine loved each other, but looking back on things, they were more comfortable than in true, deep love.
Lizzy strolls over carrying a plate nearly overflowing with food. “Grandma Betty says you need to eat every last morsel.”
I like the sound of that coming from my sister. Grandma Betty.
The warmth of the Gallos is unmatched.
I take the plate from my sister’s hands and nearly choke. “Who can eat all this?”
Mr. Gallo touches my shoulder and laughs. “You’ll find a way, and you have a few hours. I’m sure you can fit it in there somewhere.”
“This is a lot,” I tell them.
“She said you need the calories to heal,” Lizzy explains. “I’m just the delivery person. Take it up with her if you have a problem.”
“Ma thinks food fixes all problems,” Mr. Gallo tells me. “You’ll get used to it.”
I hope I’m around long enough for that to be true. I’ve never felt as welcomed into a group of practical strangers as I have with them. I could see myself sliding into this life without an issue and never looking back.
It doesn’t hurt that Zoey’s an amazing woman who has my full attention. We’ve both been through enough shit to last a lifetime, and we could use a little peace and quiet, along with a huge dose of happiness.
“Speaking of food, I’m starving,” Mr. Gallo says before ushering his wife away.
“Their parents are cool,” Lizzy says as she takes the seat next to me. “I can see why Lulu and Zoey are good people.”
“Who’s not good people in this family?” I ask her, picking up a square piece of pizza that’s hanging off the side of my plate. It doesn’t have sauce, but it’s got some caramelized onions, sprinkled cheese, and not much else from the looks of it.
“The grandpa is debatable.”
I nearly choke on my first bite when she says that. I chew quickly, trying to enjoy the flavors, which are way more complex than I expected. The pizza is well seasoned with salt, pepper, and something else I can’t place.
“Stop, Liz. He’s good too.”
“Two bullets would say otherwise. And not at the same time either.” She purses her lips as she stares at him across the room. “It’s so wild.”
“We’re all young once.”
She lifts a glass of champagne to her lips, still watching him. “You think he’s out of the life?”
“Who knows,” I say before tearing off another chunk of the pizza with my teeth. “Not my problem or my business.”
“I’ve watched way too much TV.”
“You have. You had a period when you couldn’t get enough of those damn mafia shows.”
“They’re top tier, but now I’m wondering how true they were.”
“Ask him.”
Her eyes widen as she turns her head to look at me. “I can’t just ask him about his criminal past.”
“Why not? He seems open about it.”
She holds up her half-empty glass. “If I have a few more of these, I just may.”
Mason spots us from across the room, grabs a bottle off the counter, and makes a beeline toward us.
My sister got home late last night, well after two in the morning, but I knew she was physically safe with him.
By the way she was beaming this morning, I imagine the night went well, but in no way do I want any details.
“Refill?” Mason asks, holding out the champagne bottle toward my sister’s glass.
“Yes, please.” She smiles up at him like the man is a walking dream.
He glances at me. “Want one?”
I shake my head. “Can’t.”
“Right,” he says with a dip of his head. “Bullet.”
“Bullet,” I repeat and find the fork Lizzy set next to me after she gave me the plate of food.
“You going to eat all that?” he asks me with a look of concern.
“Grandma Betty said he has to.”
Mason laughs as he moves to stand beside my sister, placing the champagne bottle on the bookshelf behind our seats.
I stare out across Zoey’s place, taking in all the work she did this week, preparing for the party. On top of helping me, she pulled it off. She said her family helped this year because she needed backup. I feel slightly guilty that I took up her time and couldn’t help myself.
Christmas lights are everywhere, and the tree that I helped Mason carry in is filled with ornaments, looking like something straight out of a catalogue. The woman outdid herself with very little free time.
“You want to go out again later?” Mason asks Lizzy.
I don’t turn my head, and I pretend I didn’t hear him ask her. She’s grown, and it’s none of my business as long as he doesn’t break her heart or use her and then throw her out like a piece of trash.
“Yeah. Same place as last night?” she asks.
“You got it,” he says.
I have no idea where they went. I didn’t ask, and she wasn’t forthcoming with information.
If and when she wants to share, I’ll listen, but until then, I hear nothing and I see nothing either.
Every adult is entitled to privacy, but if I had to bet, there’s a Gallo in this room who already knows all the details.
“We can ditch the party early,” Mason tells her as he kneels in front of my sister since there isn’t an extra chair.
I busy myself with my food, focusing on Zoey as she works the room, making sure everyone has food and drinks.
Soft Christmas music is playing throughout the entire place, but not loud enough to drown out the conversation. Everyone’s talking in small groups with lots of touches and laughs.
Zoey’s surrounded herself by a large group of people, both friends and family, who seem to thoroughly love being around one another. I don’t know if I’ve ever experienced something like this before, but I love every single bit of it.
My mom could host a great party, but nothing quite as big as this.
She did the same as Zoey, throwing something lavish for her closest friends around the holidays.
But instead of fifty people, there would be ten.
I have fond memories of that period from my childhood, when I would crack open my door and watch the adults as they celebrated.
My eyes catch on Tate across the room, and I give her a quick chin lift as she talks to Timber. She touches his arm, saying something to him before they turn as one to look at me. A moment later, they’re moving through the crowd, heading toward me.
“Yo,” Timber says with a chin dip.
“Merry Christmas, Hunter,” Tate says and bends down to kiss my cheek.
“Shop’s been boring without you,” Timber says, pursing his lips. “It’s all girl things all the time. I need your testosterone back, bud.”
“I’ll be there this week.”
As she straightens, Tate turns her head with what I can only assume is a glare. “It’s not girl things all the time. What the hell does that even mean?”
Timber shrugs and takes a pull from his beer.
“He’s right about one thing. We need you back there, but I don’t want to rush your recovery,” she says and takes the extra beer Timber had been holding in his other hand. “Thank you.” She tips the beer toward him before she puts it against her lips and drains half the bottle.
Timber grumbles but doesn’t argue. If I didn’t know better, I’d think Tate and Timber were brother and sister. They bicker like siblings most of the time at work and even out of it too.
“Baby, you’re going hard,” Wylder says, coming up behind Tate. He wraps his arm around her middle and hauls her against him. “You may want to slow down.”
“It’s so hot in here,” she says and takes a hand to jerk the neck of her sweater back and forth to get more airflow. “Why am I so hot while you all look comfortable?”
“Um,” Wylder mumbles as he flattens a hand on Tate’s stomach. “I remember the last time you were always hot.”
The bottle is against her lips, and she freezes. “Oh God,” she breathes against the glass as her eyes widen. “No.”
The look on Tate’s face would be laughable if it weren’t filled with absolute and complete panic.
“I can’t be,” she whispers, moving the beer away from her lips. “I can’t.”