Chapter 21
Hunter
“Dad?” Isla called from the front hall, sounding small and tired.
That snapped me out of whatever temporary death state my body had entered. I set the glasses down on the counter before I dropped them. “Hey, Bug.”
She stood beside my mother in leggings, sneakers, and a zoo sweatshirt, one hand pressed to her stomach.
Her face was pale, her hair pulled into a messy ponytail, and that alone should have had my full attention.
My mother, however, was staring at me like she had just found out I’d robbed a bank.
Her eyes moved from my bare chest to my boxers.
Then toward the hallway. Then back to me.
Her mouth opened. I shook my head once. Hard. Do not.
Isla made a face. “My stomach hurts.”
The guilt hit immediately.
I crossed the kitchen fast and crouched in front of her. “How bad?”
“Not throwing-up bad. Just weird bad.”
“Grandma let me have ice cream, a pretzel, and lemonade,” Isla said.
Mom lifted a hand. “She was home from camp. We were celebrating.”
Isla leaned into me. “I need my bathroom.”
“Go ahead,” I said, brushing her hair back. “I’ll come check on you in a minute.”
She nodded and shuffled down the hall toward her room, which was right next to my bedroom. Where Catherine was gloriously naked in my bed. My heart stopped.
“Isla,” I said too loudly.
She froze and looked back. “What?”
“Use your bathroom.”
She frowned. “That’s what I said.”
“Right. Good.”
Her frown deepened because I sounded like an idiot. Then she went into her room and shut the door. The second the latch clicked, my mother crossed the kitchen like a woman heading into battle.
“Hunter Russell,” she whispered.
I closed my eyes. “Mom, keep your voice down.”
Her eyes widened. “There’s a woman in your room.”
“I’m aware.”
“You’re aware?” Her voice hit one octave too high.
“Yes, I’m very aware.” I was half a second away from panicking, but I couldn’t lose my shit. I needed to get back to Catherine, not explain myself to my mother.
“Your daughter is home,” Mom said.
“I did not know she was coming home early,” I whispered.
“She had a stomach ache.”
“I know that now. You could’ve called me when you left the zoo,” I said. Not that it would help now.
Mom stared at me like she wasn’t sure whether to scold me or check me for a head injury. “Who is she?”
I didn’t answer fast enough. Her eyes narrowed.
“Hunter,” she said in the tone that made my skin crawl. The tone she used when she wouldn’t back down until she got what she wanted. In this case, it was a name.
“I need you to go into Isla’s room,” I said instead.
“What?”
“Go into Isla’s room, close the door, and keep her busy for two minutes. Please. I’m begging you.”
She crossed her arms. “You want me to help you sneak a woman out of your condo?”
“Yes. I’m a grown man, and I don’t have to explain myself to my mother, but I do have to explain myself to my daughter. I’m not ready to do that yet. So please, just help me.”
She blinked. “Maybe it’s time Isla meets someone.”
“This is not how I introduce her to someone I’m seeing. She isn’t feeling well.”
“So you’re seeing her.” It wasn’t a question. I took a breath to gather my patience. “You brought her into your home when Isla could come back at any point.”
“I thought she was with you until dinner.”
Mom’s eyebrows lifted. “You’re getting snippy because you got caught.”
“I’m getting snippy because the woman in my bedroom is probably having a full-body panic attack, my daughter is fifteen feet away, and you’re choosing this moment to become a detective.”
“I have always been a detective. You simply used to be better at hiding things.”
Before I could respond, Isla called from her room.
“Grandma?”
My mother pointed a finger at me. “We’re not done.”
“Good. Great. Wonderful. Please go to Isla and keep her bedroom door closed.”
She walked toward Isla’s room, muttering under her breath. “My son. Thirty-three years old. Acting like a teenager with abs.”
She disappeared into Isla’s room and shut the door. I grabbed the two waters and moved down the hall as quietly as a six-foot-three professional hockey player in crisis could move. When I pushed open my bedroom door, Catherine was dressed pacing my room with messy hair and wide eyes.
“Your mother?” she whispered.
“And Isla.”
Her face lost all color. “Isla is here?”
“She had a stomach ache. My mom brought her home early.”
“Shit.” Catherine paced some more. “Shit. Shit.”
“I know. I’m so sorry.”
She looked at me like a deer in headlights.
I set the waters on the nightstand. “Water?”
She stared at me.
“Wrong time?”
“Very wrong time,” she said, clearly panicking.
“Right.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said quietly.
“It’s no one’s fault. She had a stomach ache.”
“My mother knows I have a lady in my room.”
Catherine froze. Slowly, she looked at me. Then her eyes closed. “I’m going to die.”
“No, you’re not.”
“My father is going to kill you, and then I’m going to die from embarrassment.”
“My mother is in Isla’s room. I told her to keep Isla busy while I get you out.”
“You asked your mother to help sneak me out?” Her voice went high-pitched.
“Yes.” I wasn’t making the situation better but I didn’t see a better option. “I didn’t say who you were.”
“She probably thinks I’m some random hookup,” Catherine said.
“There’s nothing random about you,” I replied. “And my mom asked for a name.”
“Did you give her one?” she asked.
“No, of course not.”
Some of the panic softened, but only a little. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. She’s Sloane Russell. She’s going to figure it out eventually.”
Catherine pulled on her shoes, hands shaking. That got me. The panic, embarrassment, and guilt. All of it moved aside for one sharp second, and all I saw was her trying not to fall apart in my bedroom because of the life I’d pulled her into.
I stepped closer. “I’ll make it up to you.”
Despite everything, her mouth twitched. Then a soft thump came from the direction of Isla’s room.
Catherine’s eyes went huge again. “I need to leave.”
“Yeah.” I pulled on sweatpants and a T-shirt as fast as I could, then opened the bedroom door and checked the hallway.
“Clear,” I whispered.
Catherine followed me, moving silently, her purse clutched to her chest. We made it halfway to the front door before Isla’s bedroom door cracked open.
My mother’s head appeared. Only her head.
Like a suburban spy. Her eyes landed on Catherine.
For half a second, nothing happened. Then her eyes bugged out so far I was afraid she’d injure herself.
Catherine froze. My mother’s mouth opened.
I lifted one finger to my lips and gave my own mother the most desperate look of my life. For once, Sloane Russell stayed quiet.
Catherine’s face went bright red. “Hi, Mrs. Russell.”
Mom blinked.
Then whispered, “Catherine?”
Catherine looked like she wanted the floor to open and take her gently.
“Hi.”
I pointed toward Isla’s room with the authority of a man who had none. “Mom. Door.”
She disappeared back into Isla’s room, but not before giving me a look that promised a trial, sentencing, and possible execution. I opened the condo door. Catherine stepped into the hallway, then turned back to me. For a second, neither of us knew what to say.
“I’ll call you later, and I’ll make this up to you,” I promised.
“Don’t call me until you survive your mother.”
“That might be never.” I rolled my eyes.
I wanted to kiss her, but I didn’t. Not with my mother thirty feet away and my daughter in the next room. So I touched her hand once, just the brush of my fingers against hers.
“I’ll make this right,” I said.
She nodded and walked down the hall. I watched until she turned the corner, then closed the door and leaned my forehead against it. For three seconds, I let myself be a dead man.
Then my mother said from behind me, “Hunter.”
I turned. She stood in the hallway now, arms crossed, eyes blazing. Her voice was low, but somehow worse than if she’d yelled. “What are you thinking?”
I glanced toward Isla’s room. “Keep your voice down.”
“I am keeping my voice down. You should be grateful,” she whisper-shouted. “Catherine Davis?”
I exhaled slowly. “Yes.”
“Cole and Holland’s Catherine? Your coach’s daughter? The girl who used to babysit Isla?”
“Mom, I know.”
“Do you? Because from where I’m standing, you had Catherine Davis in your bed while your daughter could have walked in.”
My stomach turned. “She wasn’t supposed to be home.”
“No, the point is that if Isla had opened that door instead of going to her bathroom, what then?”
“I don’t know.” I didn’t have a good enough answer because that would have been bad.
Mom’s face softened for half a second. Then it hardened again. “And Cole? What happens when Cole finds out?”
“It’s not something I’m ready to face yet,” I replied, knowing it wouldn’t be enough.
“Do you care about her?”
The question landed differently. I looked away. That told her enough.
“Oh, Hunter,” she whispered.
“Don’t.”
“I need to call your father.”
“No.”
“I do. Because I cannot process this alone, and your father needs to know before I say something unhelpful.”
“Mom, please.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Please?”
“This is a lot, Hunter.”
“Just give me some time to figure it out,” I practically begged.
“You should’ve figured it out before you slept with her,” Mom said.
I flinched.
“I’m falling in love with her.” The words left my mouth before I could soften them. The truth was out now. Mom went completely still. All the anger drained out of her face so fast it almost made me feel worse.
“Oh,” she said.
I swallowed. “Yeah.”
“Oh, honey.”
“Don’t do that.”
Her eyes filled.
“Don’t cry,” I pleaded. I hated to see tears in her eyes. That didn’t happen often.
“I’m not crying. My son just told me he’s falling in love for the first time since his heart was obliterated. Excuse me if my eyes react.”
I looked toward the ceiling. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to say anything.”
She stepped closer. “Does Catherine know?”
“No.”
“Hunter.”
“I’m not dumping that on her while she’s already scared and guilty.”
“She looked scared.”
“She’s worried about disappointing Cole and Holland. She thinks this will ruin how they see her.”
“And you?”
“I’m worried it will ruin her life,” I admitted.
Mom’s face softened again. “That’s a big thing to carry.”
“Tell me about it.”
“But hiding won’t make it smaller,” she said with her soft mom voice.
“I know that too.”
She studied me for a long moment. Isla’s bedroom door opened wider.
“Dad?” Isla appeared in the doorway, one hand on her stomach. “Can I lie on the couch?”
The entire conversation vanished because my kid needed me.
“Yeah, Bug.” I moved toward her immediately. “Come here.”
She shuffled into the hall, and I scooped her up even though she was getting too big for it. Tonight, she just rested her head on my shoulder. Mom wiped under one eye fast enough that Isla didn’t notice.
“Want to watch a movie?” I asked.
“Moana.”
“Original or second one?”
“Original.”
I carried her to the couch and settled her in with a blanket. Mom made chamomile tea while I turned on Moana. The music started, familiar and soft, and some of the tension left Isla’s face.
“Small sips,” Mom told Isla.
“Okay.”
Then Mom looked at me. With the full force of thirty-three years of maternal disappointment, fear, and love.
I sat on the other end of the couch, close enough that Isla’s feet rested against my thigh.
She was home. Moana sang about the ocean, my daughter sipped tea, and my mother watched me like she was trying to decide whether to hug me or hit me with a throw pillow.
I looked down at Isla’s little socked feet pressed against my leg and thought about Catherine walking down the hall alone, embarrassed and scared because of me. Then I thought about what I’d told my mother.
I’m falling in love with her. The words didn’t scare me as much as they should have, and that scared me more.