Chapter 5 Hunter
CHAPTER FIVE
HUNTER
The night is so goddamn quiet, and my body’s dead tired, every muscle heavy and stretched to the edge from spending my two days off helping a buddy from the fire station move into his new house, but sleep never comes easy.
It's better than the alternative. Lying awake and thinking about the girl next door.
I’m finally drifting, deep in that halfway zone where reality and dreams start to tangle, when a noise shoves me all the way awake. Not the hiss of plumbing or the mechanical clunk of an ice maker. This is something unexpected.
A sound—high, sharp, then low and breathless—threads through the shared wall between my bedroom and Iris’s.
My heart launches into my throat, so fast it’s a wonder the force doesn’t physically jerk me upright.
For a full ten seconds, I convince myself I misheard.
A TV, maybe, or one of those YouTube yoga tapes she plays at odd hours.
But the next sound isn’t yoga. It’s a whimper, pitched just high enough to spike straight into my bloodstream. Then another, softer and drawn out, like the end of a long, desperate moan.
My brain short-circuits. There’s an ice water shock down my spine, and every cell in my body locks up, then flares hot. The first and only thing that flashes through my mind is that she’s not alone. There’s someone in there with her, making her sound like that.
My body locks down tight as I clench my jaw so hard my teeth ache. I’m paralyzed, eavesdropping on every soft, sweet gasp and wanting to rip the drywall down with my bare hands.
More sounds. A rhythmic thumping, punctuated by a quick series of yips that could only be her. My hands fist in the blanket, knuckles gone white, but I can’t move. Can’t even breathe. This is my fucking hell on earth.
Of course, she’s with someone. Why wouldn’t she be? She’s perfect—funny, loud, and bright enough to blind every dumb bastard in the building. I always knew this would happen eventually, but the reality of it is unbearable. I can’t decide whether to cover my ears or put my fist through the wall.
Instead, I throw the blanket off and swing my legs out of bed. The tile floor is freezing under my bare feet, but I don’t feel it. I stalk to the wall, pressing my palm flat against the paint, as if that’ll block out the sound or maybe just ground me in something real. It doesn’t help.
Another long moan followed by little squeaks. Fuck. Rage boils up, sour and raw, a flavor I know too well. I want to punch holes in every wall in this godforsaken building.
I turn and pace the length of my room, back and forth, a caged animal in boxers and a sweat-damp T-shirt.
Every sound from next door is a gut punch.
I try, I really fucking try, to shut it out.
To remind myself that Iris is none of my business, never was, never will be.
I barely talk to her. She’s younger, smarter, built for a different kind of life than mine.
But the thought of her with another man causes something deep in me to wake up. Something ancient and possessive and ugly.
“Get a grip,” I mutter, but the words dissolve as soon as they hit the air.
I’m about to turn back when the sound through the wall changes. It’s sharper now, almost frantic. Her voice cracks, high and pleading.
Something in my chest snaps.
I’m out the door, down the hall, and pounding my fist against her door before my brain catches up to my body.
Three times, loud and hard, like I’m trying to break it down.
My heart’s hammering so loud I barely hear her voice on the other side. The noises have stopped, replaced by a panicked shuffling and then silence.
For the first time all night, I take a breath. It feels like inhaling broken glass.
I lean in, one hand braced on the door frame, the other curled tight at my side.
I don’t know what the fuck I’m expecting, but I know I can’t stand another second of this.
The door swings open with a jolt. I brace for whatever the fuck is coming.
It’s her. But holy shit, she’s a mess. There’s no other word for it.
Hair everywhere, wild and tangled, streaked with the kind of desperation you can’t hide. Her cheeks are blotched red, wet with tears she can’t wipe away fast enough. Her face is wrecked, crumpled up and trembling, like she’s just barely holding it together.
And she’s got a beagle puppy clutched to her chest. I blink several times as my brain attempts to compute what the fuck I’m seeing here.
All the anger drains out of me so fast I nearly black out.
Relief, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, cuts through me.
Fuck. There’s no other man. And I’m not about to let there ever be.
It seems like the universe decided to show me the error of my ways.
She looks at me, lips shaking, breath coming in little hiccups. All I can think is, it’s her. And she’s falling apart right in front of me, holding on for dear life.
“Hunter,” she gasps, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to wake anybody—”
Her words dissolve in a hiccup. The puppy lets out a high-pitched wail, the same one that torched my nerves through the wall. It burrows deeper into her arms, trembling so hard I can see it from two feet away.
I’m still standing there, shirtless and wild-eyed, adrenaline on overdrive with nowhere to go. Iris shuffles her weight, tries to soothe the little furball, but it just whimpers louder, writhing against her like she’s hurting him.
“When did you get a dog?” I blurt, and my voice sounds like I chewed up gravel and spit it out.
“It was an impulsive decision—” She swallows, sets her jaw, and steps aside. “Can you help me?” She says it so quietly I almost miss it.
My feet move before my brain does. Inside, her apartment is…
a shock to the system. The air smells like lavender and wet dog, and there are colors everywhere—pillows, throws, a rainbow army of potted succulents lined up along the windowsill and across every flat surface.
The coffee table is stacked with books and a battered deck of Uno cards.
There’s a Polaroid collage on the fridge, all images of her with other women, grinning and sticky with summer sweat, or just Iris herself with her hair in a messy bun, mouth smeared with frosting.
I stare too long, then blink hard and look down at the puppy.
It’s actually an adorable little shit.
Iris bites her lip. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I read online that if you crate them at night, they’ll adapt, but—”
She’s about to cry again. I can’t handle it.
“Hey.” I hold out my arms like a complete idiot, but she hands me the puppy anyway. The beagle melts into my arms, claws digging in, whimpering in confusion. It’s warm and weightless, all bones and fear. I peek under the animal to confirm it’s a boy before clutching him tight against my chest.
“It’s not your fault,” I say. “He’s just a baby. What’s his name?”
“Buster,” she breathes, knuckling away a stray tear. “I suck at this. I’ve only had him for two days, and he already hates me.”
“He doesn’t hate you,” I say. “You know, when I was a kid, we had a shepherd mix. The little shit chewed the legs off every table in the house and pissed on my pillow every morning for a month, and we still became the best of friends.”
She snorts, then blushes, embarrassed to be laughing in the middle of her meltdown. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I say, and let the puppy slobber all over my neck.
He noses into the crook of my arm, hiccups, then goes limp.
The whimpering dies down, then finally, miraculously, he falls completely quiet.
“It’s just the transition. He’ll get used to it.
” I say it because it’s true, but also because I want to fix things for her. Fix anything. Just to see her smile.
She lets out a shaky breath, nods, and then—very softly—reaches out and strokes the puppy’s head. Her fingers graze mine, and the heat between us makes the hair on my arms stand up.
“Thank you,” she says, voice small but clear. “You didn’t have to—”
I shake my head. “It’s nothing.”
She looks at me, really looks, and for the first time since I moved in, I feel like she’s seeing me for who I am. Not the grumpy bastard from 2H, but a person. Maybe even a friend. Maybe even more. Fuck. I’m losing my mind.
I look away, embarrassed, and take in the rest of her place.
There’s a lava lamp on the side table, slow globs floating up and down. There’s a pink velvet blanket draped over the couch, and a row of tiny ceramic foxes lined up on a shelf above the TV. Everything about the place is Iris—messy and bright, but somehow warm as hell.
The puppy snuffles and sighs, dead asleep in my arms. Iris hovers uncertainly, twisting a lock of hair around her finger.
“Should I… put him back in the crate?” she asks.
I nod, but gently, like I’m dealing with a bomb that could go off at any second. “Let’s try it.”
We tiptoe to the bedroom. Iris is nervous, radiating stress like a Wi-Fi signal.
Her hands tremble as she opens the crate, but I’ve got the puppy tucked against my chest like a world-class football.
I lower him in, bracing for a meltdown, but Buster just snuffles, turns a circle, and face plants on the blanket.
He’s out cold. No drama. No beagle banshee wail.
We both just stand there. Staring. Like we’ve witnessed a legit miracle.
I turn to Iris, keeping my voice low. “Get some sleep. I’ll sit with him a while, just in case.”
She blinks, blue eyes wide and stunned. “You’d do that?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Somebody’s gotta have puppy duty.
” I nod like it’s nothing, but the truth is, I want to.
I want to watch over her. I want her to be able to rest while I attempt to figure out what the fuck is going on with me.
Because the second I thought she was with another guy, something in me went berserk.
Not just jealous. Like, full-blown, Hulk-smash, rip-the-hinges-off-the-door crazy.
The idea of any man making her cry out like that?
No fucking way. It short-circuited every rational brain cell I had and left nothing but raw, primitive need.
Mine. She’s mine. Even if I’m too much of a disaster to admit it out loud.
I’m done pretending. No other man will ever touch her except me.
Even if it kills me, I’ll get over my shit. Because there’s no way in hell I’m letting her slip away.
“Okay,” she whispers, and crawls into bed. I snag a chair from the corner and plant myself near the crate, close enough to hear the puppy’s every breath.
For a while, it’s silent. I sit there, hyperaware of the fact that she’s just a few feet away, curled up in her sheets, trusting me to keep things safe.
Fuck. Things have really turned sideways, but I couldn’t be happier.
Because for the first time since I moved in, the gnawing, edge-of-a-knife tension in my chest is just…
gone. Poof. Like somebody cracked open a window and let out years of stale, recycled air.
The second I decided, really decided, that Iris is mine, every muscle in my body unclenched, tension bleeding out until all that’s left is this wild, bone-deep relief.
I watch the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her shoulders as she drifts off.
Her breathing slows, lips part, one hand tucked under her cheek like a little kid.
She’s softer now, stripped of all the frantic energy she wears like armor during the day.
In the yellowish glow of the lamp, she looks almost too delicate for this world.
There’s no more fighting it. No more pretending I don’t want her, or that I don’t care who she brings home or whether she’s safe. My only job now is to take care of her. Keep her, protect her.
And damn, that feels right.
Buster lets out a wheeze, then a snore, then curls into a tight, contented ball. I relax a little, letting my head tip back against the high-back chair. The air in here is warmer, denser, scented with soap and a note of sweetness I can’t place.
I sit like that for hours, the minutes ticking by in quiet increments, until the darkest part of the night starts to yield to a thin blue dawn. The room lightens gradually, her curtains leaking in the softest, most forgiving light I’ve ever seen.
I glance at Iris. She’s rolled onto her side, hair tangled across her face, arm flung out as if reaching for something just out of sight. For a split second, I let myself imagine what it would be like to slip into bed beside her, to curl around her warmth and forget the outside world exists.
I want her. I want this. Now, I just have to find a way to convince her to give me a chance.