22. Hunter
Hunter
Sunlight spills across the bed, warming my chest as I lazily open my eyes.
Sutton is draped over me, hair fanned across the pillow.
The sheets are lost somewhere between us, the pale skin of her back too tempting to resist. I run my fingers down her spine, and the way she melts even more into me makes my chest tighten.
“Move over,” she murmurs, nudging me with her elbow.
“If I move over any more, I’m going to be on the floor.” I chuckle, tightening my hold on her.
She grunts and burrows further into my body, throwing her leg over my hips, effectively trapping me in place. “I’m freezing,” she whines.
“Yeah, well, if you didn’t sleep like a wild animal, maybe we’d still have covers,” I tease.
Her sleepy grin tilts into a playful smirk. “Oh please, don’t act like you don’t like my wild side.”
Images from last night hit me instantly, us wrapped in each other, her mouth on me, her body writhing beneath mine, the way it felt to . . .
“Excuse me, sir.” She pokes me in the stomach.
I grunt. “What was that for?”
She presses her thigh on my hardening length. “I require coffee first.”
I laugh, gripping her thigh. “Yeah, and after coffee?”
“After coffee,” she yawns, balancing her chin on her fist, “you can have me however you want me.”
“Forever.” Emotion thickens my voice. “I want you forever.”
Sutton’s gaze lifts to mine. A tear forms at the corner of her eye. “Did you mean it?”
Do you really love me? That’s what she’s really asking. My chest aches at the thought that she might doubt my words. We’ve bickered a lot over the years, miscommunicated, and weathered years of confusion. She’s seen me with other women. Does she think this won’t last?
“I mean every word.”
She exhales, shifting beside me, and the air between us suddenly changes. Less heat, more hesitation. Another worry is there in her eyes before she speaks. “Hunter,” she says softly, “we didn’t use anything last night.”
Her words hit hard, slicing through the haze of warmth.
“I know,” I say, my voice rough. “I’m sorry, Sut. I wasn’t thinking about anything but you.” I blink, replaying flashes of skin, the look in her eyes when we’d finally joined, the sound of her breathing, and the slight tremors as she climaxed.
“What if—” She swallows. “You know what, never mind.”
A lump forms in my throat. I’ve never gone without protection before, but I’d been so focused on her, on finally being with her, that I’d lost all sense. What was I thinking? “I’m clean,” I offer quickly as shame washes through me. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”
Her brow furrows. “That’s not what I was worried about.”
“I should have been more responsible.” I brush my fingers through her wayward curls. “I haven’t been with anyone in over a year, and I just had my yearly department physical—”
“Shut up.” She places her finger over my lips. “That’s not why I brought it up. I know you wouldn’t put me at risk like that.”
It could be the early hour or the post-coital haze, but I’m not tracking. She rolls her eyes in exasperation and flops onto her back. “What if I get pregnant?” she says. “We rushed past the ‘do you want kids someday’ talk and went straight to the—”
“Yes.” The word feels bigger than I expected.
Her eyes flick toward me. “Yes?”
“I want kids someday.” I roll to my side and rest my hand over her bare stomach. “But only if they’re ours. And I understand if that’s too much too soon and if it’s not something you want right now or ever.”
“It’s not.” She bites her lower lip, hiding a smile.
“Too much or too soon, I mean. And I do want kids someday. It wasn’t something Brandon and I actually discussed.
It just happened. But when I realized I was pregnant, I couldn’t be anything but happy, because I’d always wanted to be a mom.
When I lost the baby, it broke me.” She rolls to face me.
“Did you know that I used to avoid the baby aisles afterward?”
My palm finds the soft curve of her thigh, and I squeeze gently. “No. Aside from a little bit the night you miscarried, you’ve never really talked about it too much. I knew how much you were hurting but didn’t know what to say or do. And then you disappeared into your head and shut everyone out.”
Sutton pulls the blanket up, tucking it around us as I draw her closer. Her gaze never leaves mine. All the things unsaid float between us.
“I didn’t know one person could feel that much pain all at once.
” A tear slips down her face. “Finding out about the baby, my gosh, Hunter, I can’t even begin to tell you how excited I was.
But Brandon and I weren’t together anymore, and I was trying to wrap my mind around raising a child alone.
And Dad—” She swallows hard. “We were just waiting. That was the hardest part, knowing we were losing him but not knowing when. I didn’t even get the chance to tell him about the pregnancy before he was gone.
And then so was the baby. Sometimes I wonder if I’d handled Dad’s death better . . . maybe the baby would have made it.”
“No.” I cup her cheek, my thumb brushing away another tear. “Nothing you did or didn’t do caused that, Sutton. You’re blaming yourself for something you had no control over.”
“Maybe.” She closes her eyes and places her hand over mine.
“I was so angry after the miscarriage. When I went shopping, I’d end up bawling in the middle of the baby aisle.
I was furious that Life had taken everything from me in a matter of weeks.
I couldn’t talk to Mom or Luke about it because they were navigating life after Dad too.
I didn’t want to add to their pain. So, I buried it.
I promised myself I’d never let my life unravel like that again. ”
She sniffles and opens those emerald eyes that have always undone me. “Thank you,” she says quietly. “For being there for me. I don’t think I’ve ever told you that before. Even though you didn’t know everything that was going on with me, you never left me alone in the darkness of my mind.”
Her words settle between us. I feel them in my chest, in the quiet thud of my heart.
“I never would’ve left you to deal with it alone,” I say, my voice rougher than I intend.
“I told you when we were kids I’d always be there.
Even when you shut me out, I knew you weren’t gone for good.
I was just waiting for you to be ready to come back. ”
Her eyes glisten, and she nods slowly, like she’s finally letting herself believe it. I brush my thumb across her cheek, catching the last of her tears.
“I think I’m back now,” she whispers.
“I know.”
I press a kiss to her forehead and to her temple.
When my lips find hers, her body melts into mine.
As she tucks her head against my chest, her breathing evens out.
Her fingers trace a zig-zag over my skin.
For a while, neither of us says a word. It’s the first time in years that the silence that settles between us doesn’t ache.
She smiles and kisses my chest. “Do you have to work today?”
“Today’s Halloween, and look.” I point to the window. “It’s still raining. I think they can survive a day stuck in the station without me. I’d much rather spend a day like this wrapped up in you.”
She braces her chin on her hand. “That sounds perfect.”
“Good.” I run my fingers through her hair. “Better question is, can you take the day off?”
“I can’t remember the last time I took a day off.” She taps her finger against her lip. “Good thing I’m technically at work.”
I stand at the kitchen counter, pouring two cups of coffee as the warm, familiar scent fills the air. I can’t help but wonder if this is all a fever dream. When you pray for something for so long, it’s hard to believe it’s real when you finally get it.
Yesterday we did a little bit of everything and nothing at all.
We set up some of the new decor, sorted my belongings in the barn into keep, sell, and donate piles, and grilled burgers for dinner.
Sutton spent part of the afternoon answering emails and working at the kitchen table, though I did manage to convince her to take more than a few breaks with me since we were supposed to be taking the day off.
My house is too far out of town to get trick-or-treaters, so we spent the evening on the couch watching a haunted mansion show surrounded by our favorite junk food. Around nine, Sutton drifted off to sleep draped across my chest, but I stayed up later listening to her breathe.
I slide her mug across the counter as she leans against it, fingers curling around the ceramic.
“Do you think Greer will notice?” Sutton murmurs, her voice muffled against the mug.
I yawn, stretching my neck side to side. “Notice what?”
She grunts. “That we . . .” She waves her hand vaguely between us. Her face is already blushing a deep pink, and it’s not even nine in the morning.
“Oh,” I laugh, “she’ll notice. They all will. In fact, I’m sure Navy’s already got her questions ready.”
“Fantastic,” Sutton groans. She takes a sip from her mug. “We’re never going to hear the end of this, are we?”
“Doubtful.” I step forward and press a kiss to her forehead.
“Good thing they’ll be distracted untangling three miles of Christmas lights.” Sutton laughs softly, the sound easy and unguarded.
I could die a happy man getting to hear her laugh every day. “Three miles?”
“You’re underestimating just how much Greer loves Christmas.”
Later, we head to Greer’s. Water puddles along my dirt driveway, and the streets glisten and shine as we enter town. Sutton rolls down my truck windows. The air is crisp and sharp as it whips into the cab of my truck.
“I love it when it rains,” Sutton says wistfully. Her hair is twisted up in a more casual version of a typical sleek bun, and she’s put on some of the clothes I bought and put in her drawer.
Reaching across the bench seat, I rest my hand on top of her thigh. Her mouth tilts up at the corner.