Chapter 32 Hunter
Hunter
I shouldn’t feel relief. I know that.
Relief is a luxury. It assumes the ground won’t disappear the moment you relax your stance.
And yet… it’s there.
It settles in my chest slowly, cautiously, like something that doesn’t quite trust the space it’s occupying yet, like it might bolt if I breathe too hard.
I replay the final conversation again, the glow of my phone long gone, the words burned into memory instead.
Wind.
Adaline.
She chose not to meet North. She chose to end it. And that choice matters more than anything else she could have said.
It hurt, letting that version of myself go. North wasn’t a mask. Not really. He wasn’t some invented persona or harmless escape. He was the parts of me that spoke without any armor, without history, or consequence.
Losing him feels like losing proof that I’m capable of being more than what Rose Hills decided I was.
But her refusal wasn’t rejection. That’s the thing that keeps circling back, quiet and insistent.
It was clarity.
She didn’t cling to the fantasy. She didn’t chase the voice in the dark just because it felt familiar. She didn’t ask to meet a man who only existed in fragments and carefully chosen words.
She chose honesty, even without knowing the whole truth.
And she walked away from North.
That doesn’t mean she chose me.
But it gives me hope, that maybe, just maybe she feels something for me.
That hope follows me to bed like a quiet companion. I lie awake longer than usual, staring at the ceiling, listening to the mansion settle around me. The floors of the house creak softly, familiar sounds that usually register as emptiness.
Tonight, they don’t.
Hope is dangerous. I know that better than most.
Hope is how you forget to brace. How you let your guard drop just enough for something to get through.
But as sleep finally drags me under, it’s hope—not fear—that I take with me.
And that alone should terrify me.
The next evening in the library, the lamps cast a warm, amber glow across the shelves, softening the sharp edges of the room. It’s quieter than the rest of the house, always has been. I realize I no longer come here to be alone, and for the first time, I’m aware of how much I’m waiting for her.
Aunt Jane sits in her favorite chair, a knitted blanket draped neatly over her legs, glasses perched low on her nose as she flips through a gardening magazine she’s already read twice.
I’m seated at the desk, on a call with Mark, all while my eyes are on the door. I barely remember agreeing with Mark about what he mentions when the door opens.
Adaline steps inside.
She’s carrying a small tray with three mugs of herbal tea, steam curling gently into the air. She doesn’t announce herself. She doesn’t hesitate.
She just walks in like this room belongs to her too.
Her eyes lift to mine, and she smiles. It’s subtle.
Not performative. Not careful. Just… real.
I clear my throat and end the call, murmuring a polite goodbye to Mark as I set my phone aside. The contract can wait. Everything can wait.
She places the tray on the table between us. “Chamomile,” she says softly, nudging one mug toward Aunt Jane. “For you.”
Aunt Jane beams. “You’re an angel, darling.”
Adaline laughs, light and easy, then glances at me. “And yours too. Before you forget to hydrate again.”
“I don’t forget,” I say.
She smiles. I don’t argue.
“You ready for your nursing exam?” I ask quietly—careful not to make it sound like pressure, even though it matters more than I want to admit.
She blinks, surprised. Then her mouth curves into a small, confident smile that settles something in my chest. “Yeah,” she says. “I’m confident. I’m looking at the next available dates.”
I nod immediately, without hesitation. “Good,” I say.
“Whatever you decide, I’m with you,” I add.
I mean more than the exam. I mean, whatever path she chooses next, whatever doors she decides to open or close, she won’t be walking into it alone.
And if she decides to leave—If her future pulls her somewhere far from this house, from Rose Hills—even from me—I’ll still stand behind her. I would never keep her here for my own heart. I want her choosing freely, knowing she’s supported
I promised myself I’ll protect her wherever she is.
Always.
The quiet that follows isn’t awkward; it’s comfortable. Adaline settles into the chair across from me, fingers curling around her mug, shoulders relaxed in a way they weren’t when she first arrived here.
I mention Mark’s call, how Nina is planning her annual holiday dinner, how she’s already complaining about seating arrangements and dessert selections.
“Everyone’s invited,” I add casually, like it’s no big thing.
My eyes flick to Adaline before I can stop myself. She meets my gaze. And nods, just once.
Silent approval without hesitation.
I realize then how effortless this has become. A few weeks ago, we couldn’t be in the same room without bristling. Every word felt like a test. Every look like a challenge.
Now?
Now we communicate through glances. Through pauses. Through understanding that doesn’t need defending.
I tell them about the other reason Mark called, the town meeting scheduled for tomorrow, mid-afternoon. The proposal to approve the technical trade school.
My project.
The one I’ve spent years designing, funding, refining. The one meant to give kids like me another way forward—skills, options, dignity when the traditional paths slam shut.
“I told Mark the other sponsors should handle the presentation,” I say, already steeling myself.
Aunt Jane’s magazine lowers an inch. Adaline’s expression stills, not angry, not disappointed. Focused.
“I don’t need to be there,” I add quickly. “My presence complicates things.”
Adaline tilts her head. “Why?”
The word is simple. Direct.
I exhale slowly. “Because my name carries noise.”
Aunt Jane scoffs. “Nonsense.”
Adaline doesn’t argue right away. She studies me instead, eyes searching my face like she’s reading the spaces between my words. “What are you actually afraid of?”
The question lands clean. There is no accusation, no judgment. Just truth.
I look down at my hands. “I don’t want my reputation to overshadow something that matters,” I admit.
Aunt Jane looks at me gently. “You don’t get to hide behind that anymore, Hunter.”
Adaline nods. “This project exists because of who you are… not despite it.”
Aunt Jane straightens, decision settling into her bones. “That’s final. We’re attending together.”
She rises and leaves the library without waiting for dissent.
Adaline lingers. She steps closer, voice soft but steady. “You won’t be standing alone.”
I believe her, that’s what scares me.
She turns to follow Aunt Jane, and before I can think better of it, I standup quickly and I reach out.
My hand closes around hers.
“Adaline—”
My voice catches. “There’s something you should know.”
She stops and turns. And looks at me calmly.
“I know,” she says gently. “Everything I need to.”
I shake my head. “You don’t—”
She squeezes my hand once, grounding, reassuring.
“Your past doesn’t scare me. And tomorrow isn’t about that. It’s about what you’re building.”
“Adaline dear, can you please help me ?” Aunt Jane calls her name from the hall.
Adaline smiles at me, warm and steady. “Get some rest.”
And then she’s gone. The door closes softly behind her.
I remain where I am, the echo of her presence still wrapped around my hand, the truth lodged in my chest, unspoken and heavy.
Tomorrow will demand everything I have.
I’ll have to choose.
Protect the truth that could cost me everything, or finally claim the woman who already has my heart.
And for the first time, I don’t know whether I’m more afraid of losing her, or of finally being seen.