Chapter 27 Adaline
Adaline
I stand above Hunter with my palms pressed flat against the rough bark, my breath coming a little too fast.
The world feels suspended. The sky is heavy, bruised with storm clouds. The air smells sharp and alive, like rain waiting for permission to fall.
Hunter stands below me, feet planted solidly in the dirt, arms held up, and his eyes locked on mine.
And suddenly, I’m not here anymore.
I’m back on the side of a highway at night—my car dead, my phone useless, rain streaking the windshield. I remember the way I stood there with shaking hands and nowhere to go.
I remember the way he stopped to help me, steady, assessing, serious in a way that felt like a decision.
I had no choice that night but to trust him. This time, I do.
That’s the difference.
This moment feels like one of those trust falls people joke about in team-building exercises. Close your eyes. Fall backward. Except here, there’s no joking. There’s only the risk. The vulnerability, and a quite terrifying choice.
I look down at Hunter.
His jaw is set, his expression intent, but there’s something else there too, something open, almost reverent. Like he understands exactly what I’m being asked to give him.
“I’ve got you,” he says, low and certain.
My fingers curl into the bark. It’s rough under my palms, grounding me in the present. My pulse skids, fear and anticipation tangling together so tightly I can’t tell them apart anymore.
“I trust you.”
Something flickers across his face, surprise, maybe. Or relief. Or something deeper that makes my chest ache.
Then I jump.
For one terrifying half-second, there is nothing but air.
And then—
Hunter catches me.
His arms lock around me, solid and sure. My feet hit the ground, but his grip doesn’t loosen; his body braced like he absorbed the impact for both of us. Thunder cracks overhead, loud and immediate, shaking the world like punctuation.
I gasp, fingers clutching at his jacket without thinking. He holds me, hands firm at my waist, his chest rising hard beneath my palms.
“You okay?” he asks, voice rough.
I nod, breathless. “Yeah.”
He doesn’t let go right away.
Neither do I.
Rain starts pouring, sudden and heavy, soaking us in seconds. Drops streak down my face, through my hair, down my neck. The storm feels alive now, loud and relentless, but I barely notice.
All I can feel is him.
His arms around me. His warmth cutting through the cold.
Then he exhales a laugh, sharp and incredulous. “We need to move.”
As if on instinct, he grabs my hand and pulls me with him, breaking the spell but not the connection.
We run.
Rain pelts my face, soaking through my clothes until they cling to my skin. I laugh, half-hysterical, half-thrilled, and scream when the downpour intensifies like the sky just lost its patience.
Hunter laughs too, a real laugh, breathless and unguarded, and it sends a jolt straight through me.
We sprint toward the truck, boots slipping in the mud, fingers locked tight. He doesn’t slow down until we reach it, and even then, he only lets go long enough to wrench open the doors.
We scramble inside, soaked, panting, hearts racing.
The door slams shut, and the sound of the rain changes instantly, muted now, drumming against the roof and windows like applause.
For one suspended moment, it feels like the rest of the world has stepped back.
We just sit there.
Breathing.
The cab feels impossibly small. The air thick. Charged.
Water drips from my hair onto my collarbone, my cheek. A wet strand sticks stubbornly to my face.
Hunter’s gaze catches on it. Then on my eyes. Then… my mouth.
The space between us tightens, like the air itself is holding its breath.
He lifts his hand slowly, giving me time to pull away. His fingers brush my cheek, gentle, careful, pushing the wet strand of hair back. But instead of retreating, his touch lingers.
His thumb rests against my skin. Warm with intent.
My pulse stutters, and my breath catches. The world narrows down to the inches between us.
His eyes darken, flicking back to my lips. He leans in.
I can feel his breath now, warm, mingling with the scent of rain and leather.
I lean in too. Just a little. Enough that my lips part on instinct.
And then—
His phone rings.
The sound is absurdly loud in the small space, shattering the moment like glass.
I flinch back, heat rushing to my face. Hunter groans under his breath and reaches for the phone, swiping to speaker without looking.
Aunt Jane’s voice fills the truck, bright and teasing.
“Are you kids having fun?”
I make a mortified sound somewhere between a squeak and a gasp.
“Oh my God,” I mutter, covering my face with both hands.
Hunter, traitor that he is, is smiling.
Not a smirk. Not his usual controlled expression. A soft, genuine smile that makes my chest ache all over again.
“Hi, Aunt Jane,” he says calmly, like we weren’t seconds away from kissing in a thunderstorm.
She laughs. “I figured I’d check. The weather looks dramatic.”
“We’re heading home,” he replies. “Soon.”
“Good,” she says warmly. “Dinner’s waiting.”
The call ends.
Silence rushes back in, heavier now, layered with everything that almost happened. I peek through my fingers, cheeks burning.
Hunter looks at me, amusement still flickering in his eyes, but there’s something else there too, something quieter. Unresolved.
He starts the engine.
As the truck pulls away from the ridge, rain stops pounding, my heart slowly settles.
Home.
The word echoes in my mind, uninvited and dangerous.
I watch the road blur past through the windshield and wonder, softly, foolishly…
What if home isn’t a place?
What if it’s the way his arms closed around me when I jumped?
What if home is sitting beside him, soaked, shaken, alive, and wanting something I’m finally brave enough to feel?