18. HUNTER
18
S he looks adorable.
I walk up Charlotte’s porch steps, catching her sitting on the swinging bench with a thick blanket to keep her warm. Her dirty blonde strands sit on top of her head in a messy bun, pink fluffy slipper boots peeking out from under the wool. It makes me want to pull her into my arms and cuddle her with my nose buried in her neck. She has her head stuck in her book, even though I know she heard me park my truck in her driveway.
“Babe, it’s freezing. Why are you out here?”
Green eyes look up, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she casually lifts her shoulders.
“I like the cold. Why are you not at the winter formal?” The look on her face is both amused and confused, and I can detect the hint of victory in her beaming blue-green eyes.
“I didn’t want to go without you,” I say, slowly sauntering to the bench with my hands in the pockets of my jeans until I’m right in front of her, towering above her.
“You had a date,” she states.
“Yeah, turns out, the only date I want right now is the girl with her nose in a book.”
“She probably wasn’t happy.”
She’s right. Molly Kent was not happy when I told her I couldn’t go and shoved her onto Jason’s dateless little brother. But ever since I went to the hospital with Charls and her mom the other day, I don’t really care for school shit any more.
Walking the hallways of that hospital reminds me of death. The last time I was there, the doctors had just told my mom that my brother and father didn’t make it. I know how fragile Liz is. I see it every single day when I walk over that threshold to help out wherever I can.
But seeing Liz in that armchair get a bunch of chemicals pumped into her veins made me realize how close to death she might be. It makes things like winter formal stupid and a waste of time if I can’t share it with my girl. I asked her if she wanted to tag along with us, but I wasn’t even a little surprised when she told me she’d rather read, keeping an eye on her mom.
Because that’s Charlotte; loving and caring to a fault.
“My job of making girls happy is limited to the Roux family. Her last name wasn’t Roux.”
“Who says I’m not happy?”
“I was talking about your mama. Where is she anyway?”
“Asshole.” She flips me off, and I smile in return.
I wave my hand in the air. “Scoot over.”
“Nah, you can sit on the floor.” When she turns her focus back to her book, I grunt, then push her forward.
“Shut up and make some room.”
She lets out a dramatic sigh, faking annoyance, before she moves a bit forward so I can sit in the corner. She settles her back against my side, my arm draped over her stomach.
I like having her close, feeling her body against mine, knowing she’s not going anywhere. But at the same time, I’m aware of every move I make, stopping myself from brushing the soft skin on her belly underneath her shirt.
Resisting her becomes harder every day. Every time she flashes me her bright smile, I want to take her face in my hands and kiss her .
“What are you reading?”
“Do you really care?” She twists her head with a dull look, giving me a full glance of her plump lips.
“No, not really.” I chuckle, lowering my mouth to her hair. “How is your mom?”
She lets out another sigh, but this one definitely isn’t fake. It’s filled with worry, and I clench my jaw, hating how troubled she sounds.
“Sleeping. She’s been throwing up all morning.”
“How much longer?” I ask.
“Two weeks.”
“Is there anything we can do?”
A discouraged hum drums all the way from her body to mine as she shakes her head. I can feel the unspoken emotion along with the unshed tears. My hand on her stomach moves up to cup her cheek, and I softly turn her vision back at me.
“You should’ve called me.”
She pulls my hand away, avoiding eye contact, and I rest my hand back on her belly. “Didn’t want my mother throwing up on your only tux, Hunt.”
I laugh at her attempt to lighten the mood again. Even though it breaks my heart that I can’t make life better for her. Easier. Wishing I could, somehow.
“I never put it on,” I admit, staring into the cracks of wood on the porch.
It was hanging on my door when I got home this afternoon, freshly picked up from the dry cleaner. It was my father’s tux, and I was excited to wear it, but when I got it off the hanger to change into, something felt wrong. I didn’t want to wear a tux that meant so much to me, when there would be a girl on my arm that meant so little.
It’s when I realized I’d rather spend my night with Charlotte. Making sure she’s okay, knowing a seventeen-year-old girl shouldn’t have to take care of her mother all by herself. When I do wear my father’s tux someday, I want Charlotte on my arm. Even if that means I’m never going to wear it.
“Really?”
“Nah.”
“That’s a shame. I would’ve loved seeing you in a tux,” she muses, to my surprise.
“Yeah?”
“Mmhmm.” Her head falls against my arm.
“Well, maybe I’ll put it on one day. Just for you.”
“I’m holding you to that one. Don’t tell the flavor of the month, though. It’ll be awkward.” I know her well enough to know she’s rolling her eyes, and a scoff leaves my lips before I softly press them against her hair once more. The intoxicating hint of her flowery shampoo makes me want to stay there for the rest of the night.
“Any flavor of the month will have to deal with my favorite flavor, anyway.”
“Yeah, don’t tell them that either,” she says, a smile audible in her voice.
“Shut up. Will your mom notice if we get out of here?”
“I wish. We could put up a Fourth of July fireworks show, and she will still be sleeping.”
I brush my hand through her hair, knowing I made the right choice by coming here. Cheering up my girl is way more important than some stupid high school dance.
“You hungry, babe?”
“Always.”
“Alright, let’s grab something to eat.”