Chapter 24 Amelia #2
The construction office is a small trailer at the edge of the site, and when I knock, Hunter's voice calls for me to come in. He's sitting at a makeshift desk covered in blueprints and paperwork, still in his work clothes with dust on his jeans and a hardhat hanging on the wall behind him.
He looks up when I enter, surprise flickering across his face. "Amelia. What are you doing here?"
"Brought you lunch." I hold up the container. "Silas said you probably haven't eaten."
Something in his expression softens, but it's gone so quickly I almost miss it. "That's thoughtful. Thank you." He takes the container but sets it aside without opening it. "You didn't have to drive all the way out here, though."
"I wanted to." I shift my weight, suddenly nervous. "And I wanted to talk to you."
His jaw tightens slightly. "About?"
"About why you've been avoiding me." The words come out more direct than I intended, but I can't take them back now. "Ever since last night with Silas and Wyatt, you've been... distant. And I need to know if I did something wrong. If you don't want this. If I'm pushing where I'm not wanted."
"You didn't do anything wrong." His voice is tight, controlled in a way that makes me think he's holding something back.
"Then what is it?" I take a step closer, frustration bleeding into my voice. "Because it feels like you're pulling away and I don't understand why. I thought you wanted this too."
He stands slowly, his chair scraping against the floor. "It's complicated."
"Then explain it to me." My hands twist together in front of me, that nervous habit I can't break. "Help me understand."
"Is it about Evie?" I force myself to ask the question I've been avoiding. "Are you feeling guilty about last night? About wanting this when she's only been gone a year?"
Hunter goes very still, his hands flattening on the blueprints in front of him. When he looks up, his hazel eyes are filled with something that looks like pain.
"Don't," he says, his voice tight. "Don't do that."
"Don't do what?" Confusion makes my voice rise slightly.
"Don't you dare hide behind my sister." The words come out harsh, almost angry, but his eyes are anguished in a way that makes my chest hurt. "Don't use Evie as an excuse for why I might not want you. Because that's not what this is about."
"Then what is it about?" I'm trembling now, fear and hurt warring in my chest.
He drags both hands through his hair, loosening his bun completely so dark strands fall around his face.
"She was everything to me." His voice cracks on the words, raw and broken.
"My baby sister. The person I was supposed to protect, supposed to keep safe.
And she's gone. She's been gone for a year and I still wake up some mornings forgetting she's dead, reaching for my phone to call her before I remember. "
Tears are streaming down my face now, my heart breaking for him, for the grief he's carrying that's so much more complicated than what Silas and Wyatt have been dealing with.
"And I feel like I'm betraying her every time I want you," he continues, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.
"Every time I imagine a future with you in it.
Every time I let myself think about having you in my bed, in my life, in my pack.
It feels like I'm replacing her, like I'm moving on too fast, like I'm being disloyal to her memory. "
His voice breaks completely on the last word and I see his eyes fill with tears he's been holding back. The sight of this strong, controlled Alpha breaking down in front of me cracks something open in my chest.
"Then maybe I should go." The words tear out of me, pain making them sharp. "Maybe I should leave before I hurt you more, before I make everything worse—"
"Don't." He's around the desk in seconds, moving faster than I've ever seen him move. "Don't you dare finish that sentence."
He crowds me back against the desk, his hands coming down on either side of me, caging me in. I should feel trapped, should feel threatened by the intensity of his presence. But I don't. I just feel safe, held, like he's creating a space where only we exist.
"You think I want to feel this way?" His breath is hot against my face, his body so close I can feel the heat of him. "You think I wanted to fall for someone barely a year after losing her? You think I planned to want you so much it physically hurts to be in the same room and not touch you?"
"Then why won't you?" My voice breaks. "Why do you keep pulling away?"
"Because I'm terrified." The admission seems to cost him something, his jaw clenching with the effort of saying it out loud.
Tears track down his cheeks that he doesn't bother to hide.
"Terrified of what it means to want you this much.
Terrified of the guilt that comes with it.
Terrified of opening myself up to losing someone else.
But watching you hold yourself back, watching you convince yourself you're not wanted, watching you hurt because I'm too much of a coward to reach for what I want, that's worse. That's so much worse."
"I'm scared too," I whisper, my hands coming up to rest on his chest. I can feel his heart pounding beneath my palms, racing as fast as mine.
"Scared that I'm not enough. Scared that I'm too broken to be what you need.
Scared that this will all fall apart and I'll be left more destroyed than Vincent left me. "
"You're not broken." His voice is fierce, absolute, even as tears continue to fall. "And I'm more scared of losing you than I am of feeling guilty about moving on."
"I'm not trying to replace her," I say, reaching up to cup his face, my thumbs wiping away his tears. "I could never replace her. She was their Omega, the kids' mother, your sister. I'm not trying to be her or fill her shoes or erase her memory."
"I know." His hands come up to cover mine, pressing them more firmly against his face. "I know that. But the guilt doesn't always listen to logic."
"She loved you," I say, my voice firm despite my own tears.
"Everything you've told me about her, everything I've seen in her photographs and in the way she raised those kids, she loved you fiercely.
And I think she'd be angry that you're denying yourself happiness because you're worried about being disloyal to her memory. "
His eyes are wet, more tears tracking down his cheeks. "Silas said something similar. That Evie would kick my ass for waiting this long."
"Then maybe you should listen to him." I let my thumbs stroke his cheekbones, feeling the dampness there.
"I'm not asking you to stop grieving her or to forget her or to move on like she never existed.
I'm just asking you to let yourself have something good again.
To let yourself want without feeling guilty about it. "
Then he's kissing me, fierce and desperate, pouring everything he feels into the press of his lips. It's not gentle or careful like his previous kisses have been. It's raw and needy, taking what he wants while still being careful not to hurt me.
I melt into him immediately, my body recognizing what it needs even if my brain is still trying to catch up.
My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer, and I feel myself submitting in a way I never have before.
Not giving up control because I'm forced to, but offering it freely because I trust him to take care of me.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. He rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closed, his chest heaving.
"We should get you home," he says after a long moment, his voice rough. "Your heat is coming soon and we need to make arrangements. Talk to Dylan about the kids. Stock up on supplies. Make sure you're comfortable and safe."
"Okay." I let him help me straighten my clothes, fix my hair, make myself presentable again.
"And Amelia?" He waits until I meet his eyes. "Tonight. My room. If you're willing. I've held back long enough."
Heat floods through me that has nothing to do with my approaching heat. "Yes. I'm willing."
"Good." He presses one more kiss to my forehead, gentle and sweet. "Now let's go home."
And when he says home, I realize he means it. Not their house. Home. Mine as much as theirs.
The thought makes my eyes sting with fresh tears, but this time they're happy ones.
I bury my face in his chest and let myself cry one more time, all the fear and uncertainty and relief pouring out in heaving sobs that shake my whole body. He just holds me through it, one hand stroking my back, murmuring reassurance against my hair.
When I finally stop crying, my face is probably a mess and my eyes are definitely swollen. Hunter produces a surprisingly clean handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to me with a small smile.
"Keep it," he says when I try to hand it back. "Consider it my first courting gift. A very practical, very unromantic handkerchief."
The absurdity of it makes me laugh, watery and broken but genuine. "It's perfect."