Chapter 27 #2
Once everything is so clean our customers could eat off the floor, I open the duffel bag Lou brought me.
Thankfully, she didn’t pack me some sort of slinky dress or sky-high heels.
Instead, there is a flowy blouse, my favorite “going out” jeans, and some strappy sandals that are nice but not impossible to walk in, as well as a makeup bag with some of the essentials in it and a straightener for my hair.
I head into the bathroom to change, touch up my makeup, and, after finger combing and trying to remove any stray bits of dough or flour from my hair, restraighten it.
Finally, at five fifteen, I can’t think of anything else to do, and I let myself out of the bakery and head to my car. I’ll be a few minutes early, but she promised it wasn’t a big party, and it isn’t a surprise, so I can’t imagine it will be that big of a deal.
A wolf whistle across the parking lot startles me.
I whirl to see Hunter leaning against the driver’s door of his car a dozen stalls down by the loan office, feet crossed at the ankles.
He looks like a BMW ad, with his sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, his thick brown hair falling in waves back from his beautiful face, and his tie loosened. He’s ridiculously sexy.
I put one hand on my hip and cock my head. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to catcall a woman?”
“I didn’t catcall anyone. I merely whistled at a gorgeous girl.”
“I think that’s the definition of catcalling.” I’m unable to keep from grinning.
“My bad.”
We watch each other, neither of us moving, and slowly, my smile fades. I admit, “I missed seeing you today.”
I can’t read his expression from this far away, but he seems a little forlorn. “Sorry. You know I would have loved to come over, but it’s been kind of a bad day, and I was totally swamped at work.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” I don’t know why we’re having this conversation across the parking lot, practically having to yell to be heard. I want to go to him, but he hasn’t made a move, so I don’t dare.
“You heading home now?” he asks.
I nod. “It’s party time, I guess.”
“Oh, right. Lou told me I better be there by five thirty, or she’ll dump food coloring in my next load of laundry. We better head over if you care about the original color of my clothing at all.”
That surprises a laugh out of me. “She can be so dramatic. It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Well, I’d hate to find out if she’s serious or not. I’ll see you there?”
We both get in our cars, and he ends up right behind me as we drive home.
I keep looking in my rearview mirror to steal glances at him.
His jaw is set, sunglasses shielding his eyes from sight.
When we pull into the neighborhood, there are already a bunch of cars in our usual spots: my mom’s, Cameron’s, Talia’s, and one I don’t recognize. We have to park a block away.
Hunter jogs to catch up to me on the sidewalk, and we head toward the duplex.
I almost sigh in relief when he reaches out and takes my hand in his.
He’s seemed off -today—not coming into the bakery and keeping his distance in the parking lot.
Having his fingers intertwined with mine is the reassurance I need that we’re still okay.
“Sorry you had a bad day,” I say, hesitant, because tension still hovers around him. Is it possible Colette called him again?
Hunter lifts one shoulder and gives me a tight-lipped smile. “Like I said, I hate April Fool’s Day. But not all my coworkers felt the same. I had a ton of work to do, and it didn’t help to have a bunch of the staff pulling stupid pranks all day.”
“I’m sorry.” I grimace, but I’m relieved it’s merely pranks that have him acting like this. After a moment, I ask, “I don’t love it either, but why do you hate it so much?”
Hunter’s fingers flex around mine. “We’re about to go to a party, and I don’t really want to talk about it right now. I’ll tell you later if you truly want to know.”
My curiosity burns—someone must have really pranked him hardcore as a kid—but I nod. “Okay.”
We turn and start walking up the sidewalk to the condo.
“What is this party like, anyway? Is Lou going to serve us jellybeans that taste like grass or make us do anything weird?” he asks.
I glance over as he reaches for the door and opens it for me. “No. I thought you knew what it’s for?”
We walk into the foyer, and I can hear the voices of my family and closest friends in the living room and kitchen. It smells like chicken, tomatoes, and garlic, and there is music playing somewhere; I recognize one of my favorite songs from high school.
“It’s not an April Fool’s Day party?” he asks.
“No, it’s my—”
“Happy New Life Day!” Talia shouts, rushing over to me and grabbing me into a hug.
Hunter’s eyebrows furrow. If he thought it was an April Fool’s Day party, he’s probably so confused.
I want to explain, but Talia takes me by the arm and drags me into the living room.
There are balloons tied to the banister of the staircase, and I can see my mom in the kitchen with Lou.
My brothers sit on the couch, their legs stretched out in front of them.
When I try to walk by, they both jump up and sandwich me, wrapping their arms around me from both sides.
A Karlsson squeeze, like we did after Dad died.
I made it up to help them when they were crying or sad because they missed him.
After I got sick, they did it to comfort me.
“Happy New Life Day, Livarooni,” they chorus as they practically crush me.
I laugh, even as I gasp to try to get enough air. “Can’t . . . breathe . . .”
“The food is almost ready!” Mom calls from the kitchen. Based on the mouth-watering aroma, I’m guessing she and Lou made chicken Parmesan, one of my favorite meals. “Could someone help me carry out the salad?”
Cory and Cameron let me go and rush to resume their spots on the couch.
Hunter hovers near the stairs, unsmiling, his face a mask.
I want to go to him, but then Lou squeals from behind me. “Liv! Come meet Chris. He’s in the kitchen. Your mom put him right to work.”
I give my brothers a look—a why-are-you-slugs-sitting-on-the-couch-when-a-guest-is-working look—and they both shrug.
“I’m exhausted from studying for finals,” Cory offers.
I roll my eyes and head into the kitchen. A man stands by the stove, holding a serving platter as Mom dishes the chicken Parmesan onto it. He’s medium height, probably close to six feet, with close-cropped dark hair, warm brown eyes, and a wide smile.
“You must be Liv,” he says. “It’s great to finally meet. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Likewise.” I smile back. “Thanks for coming . . . and for letting my family immediately put you to work.”
I lift my eyebrows at Mom, but she merely smiles serenely back at me. “We have to make sure he’s worthy of our Lou. And a man who will help in the kitchen is worth his weight in gold. Any boy who refuses to help should be a big red flag.”
“I heard that!” Cameron calls from the family room.
“Then get off your heinie, get in here, and switch your flag back to green!” Mom shoots right back.
Even though I didn’t really want them to do a party for me, now that I’m here, inhaling the tantalizing scent of dinner, surrounded by my closest loved ones (and Chris), I can’t help but smile. A wave of warmth washes over me. I’m overcome by gratitude for my life—for the fact that I am alive.
I go to Lou and hug her. “Thank you for doing all this.”
She squeezes me back. “You like it?”
“It’s perfect,” I assure her.
“Who’s hungry?” my mom calls and is immediately answered with whoops of excitement from my brothers. “Who’s hungry besides you two lazy bums?”
“It smells divine, Mrs. Karlsson,” Talia says as she goes up to my mom to take the bowl full of steaming noodles.
“Why aren’t we allowed to be hungry?” Cory stands, his hands fisted on his hips.
“Because you refused to help, so you can wait to eat until everyone else has been served first.”
“That’s just cruel,” Cameron grouses.
I’m still grinning at their antics when I catch sight of Hunter by the staircase, his posture rigid, his face shuttered. He’s no longer the teasing, thoughtful man I’ve come to know but the closed-off stranger I first met. The shift is jarring, and my smile fades.
“Liv gets the chair of honor!” Lou announces, gesturing to the one with balloons tied so they hover above it, and in the center of the table is a cake with Happy New Life Day, Liv! written in beautiful script on the buttercream frosting.
“Just a sec,” I say. “You guys go ahead and sit down.”
My mom and Lou exchange glances, but I ignore them and walk over to Hunter. “Hey, you going to come eat with us?”
He stiffens as I approach. His arms are folded across his chest, like he’s holding himself together. When he looks down at me, the overwhelming gratitude and warmth I felt mere moments ago dampens into a chill that trails down my back. His eyes are shadowed, jaw tight.
“Olivia, what is this party for?” His voice is low and hoarse. The use of my full name feels significant somehow. Wrong. He’s called me only Liv for a while now.
I reach for his arm, but he flinches away before I can touch him.
My stomach clenches with fear. My hand falls back to my side, and I swallow, trying to summon a smile. “It’s um . . . it’s this silly tradition . . . It was Talia’s idea, and my mom loved it, so they’ve made me do it every year—”
“What is this party for?” Hunter repeats, cutting me off. A muscle in his jaw ticks.
I stare at it like it’s a timer counting down to a detonation when I didn’t have a clue there was even a possible grenade in our hands that could be set off.
Dread settles in my chest, heavy and cold, making it hard to draw breath.
“It’s . . . it’s the anniversary of my transplant.
The day I got my heart. My miracle. My ‘New Life Day.’”
Hunter sways under the weight of my words.
The blood drains from his face, any affection his eyes ever held vanishing beneath a rising horror.
“No,” he whispers, staggering back—away from me.
“Those letters from this morning . . . the angel wings on the paper . . . Oh, please, God, no . . . no . . .” He spins to the wall, his entire body folding inward.
“Hunter—I don’t—” I reach out to touch his shoulder, but the second my fingertips brush his back, he jerks and whirls to face me, gaze wild, eyes darting and his chest rising and falling so fast it makes my lungs feel tight. The dread I felt moments ago expands, nearly suffocating me.
“How long has it been?” he forces out, strangled. “How many years ago did you get your new heart?”
I stare at him, confused and hurt and—
Then my borrowed heart convulses in my chest as though he’s reached a fist through my flesh and bones and is clenching the donated organ that gave me life when mine was slipping away. My mouth drops open because now I truly can’t breathe. I can’t get air. I can barely stay standing. Because I know.
I know what’s been wrong with him all day.
I know why he hates April Fool’s Day.
I know why he’s looking at me like that. My eyes fill with tears, and I can’t breathe—
“Liv, what’s going on?” My mom is there, but all I can do is shake my head, tears spilling out onto my cheeks.
“Seven years.” Hunter’s voice cracks. “It’s been seven years.”
It’s not a question. And I can’t answer anyway because I’m in the icy grasp of a full panic attack. My heart races so fast, so hard I might pass out. My legs tremble. My arms are numb. I can’t talk. I can’t grab his hands and make him stay with me. I can’t stop him from backing away.
His powerful shoulders shake. His beautiful, broken eyes fill with tears.
“What’s going on?” I hear my mom’s question as if she’s speaking to me through a tunnel; her voice is muffled.
I can’t do anything as Hunter turns on his heel and rushes out of the condo. When the front door slams shut, my legs give out, and I crumple to the floor, gasping and clutching at my chest.
“Liv, what is it? Is it your heart? What did he do to you?” My mom drops to her knees beside me, grabbing my face and forcing me to look at her. “Do I need to call 911? Someone bring me my phone!” she screams over her shoulder.
I clutch my chest, where every beat of my heart—every beat of Hunter’s sister’s heart—feels like I’m being stabbed.
“It’s . . . hers . . .” I gasp out. “My . . . heart . . . It’s hers . . .”
A blinding pain rips through me, tearing into my chest, straight into the heart I got seven years ago today—the heart I stole from Lyla Barrett, when she died in a car accident because Hunter drove them while he was drunk.