Chapter 12 Hunter
Hunter
I’m furious. Not at her. At myself for losing control when control is the only thing that’s ever kept me intact.
One second, I’m standing in my office, ready to lecture her about boundaries, professionalism, and house rules. The next second, I’m inches from her mouth, holding her wrist like I’ve completely forgotten who I am and why she’s here.
She smelled like my favorite childhood memory: sugar, apples, and a touch of cinnamon. She’d been in the kitchen with Aunt Jane, elbow-deep in pie dough and sugar, laughing like she belonged there, like she’d always belonged there.
And when she walked into my office with flour on her cheek and that spark in her eyes, poking her finger into my chest like she wasn’t even slightly intimidated—something snapped.
Anger stopped being enough.
All I know is I was mad at her for poking into my personal life, for asking questions about my business like she had any right… and then suddenly I wasn’t thinking about NDAs or contracts or rules.
I was thinking about kissing her. I drag a hand over my face, jaw clenched tight, replaying that moment in an endless loop. Her lips parted. Her hazel eyes wide and fierce. The way her body leaned in, just a fraction, but enough.
Enough to make me forget myself.
“Idiot,” I mutter under my breath, shoving open the gym door.
The gym is dark except for the low strip lights along the floor.
I don’t bother turning on anything else.
I head straight for the weight rack, grab a pair of dumbbells heavier than I should, and start a set, punishing my muscles into obedience.
Breathe. Don’t think.
It doesn’t work. With every rep, images crowd in—her voice drifting down the hall, Adaline in the kitchen giggling while Aunt Jane scolds her for eating apple slices.
Adaline, on the floor sweeping up spilled sugar, cheeks pink as Aunt Jane tells her stories about me, I’d rather stay buried. Her standing in my office, chin tilted up, telling me she’d break my rules if that’s what it took to take care of her patient.
My patient. She said it like Aunt Jane was hers now. I slam the weights down a little too hard. Metal rattles across the rack. She’s pushing every button I have. Moving things and asking questions.
Changing the rhythm of this house like she doesn't realize she’s doing it. And Aunt Jane… she’s getting attached. She walks more now. Laughs more. Actually wants to bake again. It’s like Adaline showed up and turned the clock back ten years on her energy.
I should be grateful. But all I can think about is what happens when she leaves. Because she will. And when that happens, Aunt Jane is going to shatter. I set the weights aside and move to the pull-up bar, gripping it until my fingers ache.
The frustration doesn’t burn out. It mutates into something sharper. More dangerous.
I drop from the bar, landing hard. Fine, if the gym can’t quiet my head, I know the one place I don’t have to perform.
I wipe my hands on a towel and head back to my office, heart pounding harder than the workout accounts for. I sit, open my laptop, and click into HeartLines before I can talk myself out of it.
Wind is online.
She always seems to show up when my brain is a mess. I open our chat.
North: What would you do if you ever feel like someone at work is taking advantage of your family’s kindness?
I stare at the message for a second before sending it. It’s vague, but she knows I have my own business. She doesn’t know who I am, or where, or what I’m worth. Just that I’m… me.
Dots appear. Wind is typing.
Wind: That depends. Are they actually taking advantage? Or are they just… being liked?
I huff under my breath.
North: They’re getting close. Faster than I can control. My family member is treating them like they’ve always belonged. It feels… dangerous.
Wind: Dangerous how?
North: When they leave, it’s going to disrupt everything.
The admission sits there, staring back at me. I swallow. Her reply pops up.
Wind: Maybe they won’t leave.
North: Everyone leaves. It’s a job.
There’s a longer pause this time.
Wind: Or maybe this isn’t really about them. Maybe you’re jealous your family member is spending quality time with this other person?
Jealous. The word hits like a punch. I lean back in my chair, staring at it. Am I?
I think of Aunt Jane, beaming at Adaline. Mrs. Lane, laughing with her like they’ve known each other for years. The way the house feels warmer, louder, more alive when she’s in the room. Then I think of almost kissing her.
Yeah. It might be jealousy. I don’t admit that.
North: Someone I thought was harmless might be more complicated than I realized.
Wind: Welcome to people. Complicated is kind of the default setting.
Despite myself, my mouth curves.
Wind: Can I ask you something?
North: Always.
A pause stretches between us before her next message appears.
Wind: Are you afraid it will hurt your family member when they quit… or you?
I stare at the screen, my fingers hovering uselessly over the keys. The truth is, I tell myself it’s about Aunt Jane. About protecting her and not letting someone else become another loss, she has to survive.
But beneath that, there’s something colder. More personal.
The fear that if Adaline leaves. Will it fracture me?
I swallow and type the only honest answer I have.
North: The truth is… I don’t know the answer to that.
The admission sits there, exposed.
Wind: Will you help me face the truths in my life?
North: Always.
Wind: You say that a lot.
North: Only to you.
That felt intimate.
Wind: I get it, though. Once, I trusted someone who used me. Everyone around me warned me. I ignored them. I only saw what he wanted me to see.
I know that has to be what she’s talking about, the “special person” from before. The one who manipulated her.
North: Same person you mentioned last time? The one that made you doubt your judgment?
Wind: Yeah. That one. But it’s over now.
My fingers hover over the keys, hesitation gnawing at me. I shouldn’t, but I type anyway.
North: Did he break your heart?
The second I hit send, my stomach drops. Too personal. Too direct. I scrub a hand over my face.
North: Sorry. That’s none of my business.
No response. The little “online” dot is still there, but she isn’t typing.
I picture her on the other side of the screen, curled up in a quiet corner of a room, phone in hand, deciding whether or not to trust me with one more piece of herself.
Why does it matter so much what she says? Because I’m attached. Because somehow, this stranger, this username, brings out a part of me before everything went to hell. Or the way I wished I could talk to her, without having to be the problem or the disappointment.
I watch the chat window, waiting. Waiting too long.
Wind doesn’t reply. No typing bubble. Just absence.
Ice slides down my spine. I offended her. I asked something too personal, pushed where I had no right to push, and now the silence feels like punishment.
I close my eyes and lean back in my chair, muttering a curse under my breath. I hate this. I hate that I care this much. I shouldn’t. I’ve never even seen her face.
And yet, Wind is the only person I can talk to without feeling like I’m being watched, evaluated, or judged through the lens of my past. She listens. She challenges me. She doesn’t treat me like I’m broken or dangerous.
Which is more than I can say for pretty much anyone else.
I exhale slowly and rub at the tension building behind my eyes. My laptop screen washes my office in cold light, illuminating the list of things I know about her.
Lives in the northeast region, age twenty-four to twenty-seven. Single, maybe freshly single. Smart and honest when it counts.
And somehow, the most important person in my day.
I catch myself wondering, again, if she feels the same pull. If she waits for my messages. Does she smile when she sees my username pop up? If she ever thinks about what it would be like to meet.
Would she even want to meet me? After hearing the truth? The rumors? The reputation? After learning who I am?
Every part of me doubts it. She’s never flirted with me. Not once. Maybe she only sees me as a friend, someone safe, behind a screen.
But the thought of losing her physically hurts.
Two hours ago, I almost kissed Adaline. Now I’m panicking over losing Wind.
I’m losing my mind.
My jaw clenches as I snap the laptop shut and push to my feet. I need to move. Need to get out of my head.
The shower is steaming hot, but it doesn’t do a damn thing to calm me. I scrub a hand through my wet hair and pull on a T-shirt, pacing the length of the gym.
The air is cool near the window. I step toward it, ready to focus on anything except my spiraling thoughts.
Then instinct snaps me still. Something moves in the rose garden.
A shadow. Low to the ground. Hiding. My muscles lock, instincts flaring. “Shit.”
In three long strides, I’m out of the gym and sprinting across the yard. The night air is cold, sharp in my lungs. Gravel crunches under my feet as I approach the dark figure crouched by the roses.
“Don’t move!” I bark. “You are trespassing.”
The figure flinches and turns.
And my heart drops.
“Adaline?”
She’s wearing a hoodie, hunched awkwardly on the ground. Her face tightens, not in anger, but in pain.
I stop short, and everything in me shifts. I drop to one knee beside her. “What happened?”
“I’m fine,” she says through gritted teeth. “Just… give me a second.” She’s holding her ankle, wincing hard. She’s definitely not fine.
I sigh, frustrated and worried at how stubborn she is.
“You’re terrible at lying.”
She shoots me a glare, but it lacks its usual fire. Pain softens everything. I stand and hold out my hand.
“Come on.” She stares at it like it personally insulted her.
“I won’t bite,” I mutter.
She mutters something back, probably an insult, but she finally slips her hand into mine. The moment she stands, her ankle buckles. She gasps. I catch her before she hits the ground. My hands land on her waist, warm, tense, and I register the contact a second too late.
She’s close. Too close.
She looks like she’d rather fall into the damn rose bushes than let me hold her.
“Just… give me a second,” she whispers, eyes squeezed shut. I loosen my hold but don’t let go. She can barely stand.
When she opens her eyes, she’s breathing through the pain, lashes damp, jaw clenched. And I stare. Even like this, even annoyed and hurting, she’s beautiful.
“Can you walk?” I ask quietly. She nods, pain tightening her expression.
“No, you can’t.” I slip my arm around her shoulders before she can argue. She instinctively grabs my forearm, her weight leaning into me despite her resistance.
We walk slowly, her limp worsening with each step. The house lights cast a warm glow over us, the night air cool around our bodies. Once inside, she freezes at the stairs.
Right. No chance she’s climbing those. “Elevator,” I say. She doesn’t argue.
Inside, the elevator is painfully small. Our bodies fit too closely. Her breath warms my neck. I stare straight ahead. One wrong move and I’ll do something reckless.
When we reach upstairs, I guide her down the hall, ignoring her muttered, “I can do it myself.”
She can’t. At her door, she fumbles with the handle. I take it gently from her hand and push it open. She limps inside. “Sit,” I tell her.
Shockingly, she listens. She sinks onto the bed with a soft wince.
I kneel, lift her foot carefully onto my thigh, and untie her shoe with slow, deliberate movements.
She goes still. Watching me.
Her breath hitches when I gently slide the shoes off. I grab both her feet and lift them to her bed as I stand up. Then bend close to her to grab a pillow from behind her. Her eyes lock onto mine. Then down, briefly, unmistakably, to my mouth.
I swallow. Hard. My fingers brush the bare skin of her ankle, warm, smooth, delicate as I place the pillow under her swollen ankle.
A shiver ripples up her leg. I step back quickly before I lose control. “I’ll get you an ice pack,” I say, voice rough.
“I… can call Mrs. Lane,” she whispers.
“She’s asleep,” I remind her.
“Oh.”
I step back fast. Because if I stay one more second, I’ll forget every rule I’ve ever made.
I leave her room. I close the door. And I stand there in the hallway, holding on to the door handle, furious at myself for one reason. I care.
And that’s the one thing I never survive.