Chapter 24
Hunter
My heart was completely wrecked. There was no other way to put it.
The more time I spent with Catherine, the more impossible it became to pretend she was only a complication.
She was smart, funny, stubborn, warm, sharp when she needed to be, soft when it mattered, and somehow completely unafraid of all the parts of my life that should’ve sent her running.
The fact that my life came with homework folders, lunch orders, practice schedules, bedtime routines, and a ten-year-old girl who had once asked me if I could please find her a mommy like I was ordering one off a menu.
Catherine should have been terrified of all that.
Instead, she walked into my condo with Taylor and Isla like this was normal.
Like she had not slept in my bed the night before.
Like I had not woken up with her wrapped around me and spent the morning trying to figure out how the hell I was supposed to keep pretending this thing between us was manageable.
Now she was in my living room. With my daughter. And I was low-key freaking out.
Isla sat in the middle of the couch with a blanket over her lap, Catherine on one side and Taylor on the other. My daughter had positioned them that way herself, like she was hosting a very official meeting of the girl committee. She had already rejected three movie options.
“Tangled has better hair,” Isla said.
“But Moana has better songs,” Catherine said.
Isla turned to her. “You like Moana?”
“I love Moana,” Catherine replied. “My fifteenth birthday was a Moana watch party.”
“That’s amazing.”
“It was. My mom made cupcakes with little ocean waves on them, and my dad pretended not to cry during the grandmother part.”
From the kitchen, I looked over. “Cole cried during Moana?”
Catherine glanced at me. “He said it was allergies.”
“Allergies my ass,” Taylor said, then winced.
“Language,” Isla scolded.
“Sorry,” Taylor apologized.
Isla clutched the remote to her chest. “Okay, we’re watching Moana.”
I grabbed the popcorn bowl from the cabinet, because if I stood there much longer watching Catherine and Isla talk about Disney movies, I was going to start imagining things I had no business imagining.
Like Catherine knowing where we kept the blankets.
Catherine helping Isla pick a movie. Catherine sitting on my couch like she belonged there.
I dumped kernels into the machine and forced myself to focus on butter and salt instead of the dangerous little ache behind my ribs.
Catherine laughed at something Isla said, and the sound moved through me like a hand under my shirt.
I turned my back to the living room and stared at the popcorn machine like it had personally offended me.
Get it together. This was not a date or a family night.
It was definitely not some date thing where the woman I was falling for watched a movie with my daughter while her best friend acted as a buffer and pretended not to know everything.
Except it kind of was. And that was the problem.
By the time I brought the popcorn out, Isla had started the movie and tucked herself deeper under the blanket.
Catherine’s feet were curled under her on the couch.
Taylor had already stolen a throw pillow and looked entirely too comfortable for someone helping me hide an emotional disaster. I handed Isla the big bowl.
She looked inside. “Did you put enough butter?”
“Yes.”
Catherine tried to hide her smile. I sat in the armchair because sitting on the couch would have been too obvious.
Also, because if I sat anywhere near Catherine, I would spend the entire movie thinking about touching her hand, which would be both stupid and impossible.
The movie started. For about twenty minutes, everything felt almost normal.
Isla sang under her breath. I sat there pretending I was not memorizing the way Catherine relaxed around my daughter.
“That part always gets me,” Catherine said softly when Moana stood with her grandmother near the water.
Isla nodded. “Me too. But not in a crying way.”
“I get you. I only cry for super sad things,” Catherine said.
“Like what?” Isla asked.
“Commercials with dogs,” Catherine replied. “I always wanted a dog, but my parents were always too busy.”
“What kind of dog do you want?” Isla asked.
“A golden retriever,” Catherine replied.
That’s when Isla looked at me. “What kind of dog does Molly have?”
“I think she may be a golden,” I replied.
Isla’s eyes widened. “I love those.” My daughter seemed to be as head over heels for Catherine as I was. “Daddy does too.”
Catherine glanced my way like she was having a thought about all this dog talk. It felt like something deeper was passing between us. I was envisioning us as a couple, with Isla and a golden retriever standing between us. I wondered if she was thinking the same thing.
Then the doorbell rang. Every muscle in my body locked. Isla groaned. “No interruptions during Moana.”
“I’ll get it,” I said, standing too fast.
Catherine’s smile faded. Taylor’s eyes sharpened. I crossed to the door and checked the peephole. Then I closed my eyes. My parents stood in the hallway. Mom held a bakery box. Dad held nothing.
I opened the door halfway. “Hey.”
Mom smiled too brightly. “Hi, sweetheart.”
Dad looked past my shoulder into the condo. “We brought cookies.”
“Why?” I asked dryly.
“Because your mother wanted to check on Isla,” Dad clarified.
Mom gave Dad a look. “Subtle.”
“What? I was honest.” He shrugged.
From the living room, Isla shouted, “Grandma? Grandpa?”
The two of them walked in before I could stop them.
Which was probably for the best because there was no non-suspicious way to block my parents from entering my condo while my daughter was calling for them.
Dad stepped into the living room, saw Isla on the couch, then Taylor, then Catherine. His brows lifted.
“Well,” he said.
Mom’s eyes flicked from Catherine to me so fast I almost missed it. Dad didn’t miss it. Unfortunately, my father had spent his whole life being painfully observant and morally inconvenient.
“Hi, Catherine,” Mom said, voice careful.
Catherine sat up straighter. “Hi, Mrs. Russell.”
“Hi, Mr. Russell,” Taylor added brightly.
Dad looked at Taylor, then at Catherine, then at me. I knew that look. That was the look he gave me when I was sixteen and came home with a dent in his truck and a story that involved black ice in July.
Mom set the bakery box on the coffee table. “We’ll just put these here.”
“Kitchen,” I said quickly.
Dad’s eyes narrowed. I took the box from her. “I’ll put them in the kitchen.” Mom followed me. Dad followed Mom. We were about to have a parental conference. Exactly what this nightmare needed.
The second we hit the kitchen; Dad crossed his arms. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I replied fast. I knew Mom, and when she got nervous, she started blabbering a mile a minute. Mom made a small choking sound.
Dad turned to her. “Sloane.”
“What?” she asked with her I’m-guilty high-pitched voice.
“You know something,” Dad said with his stern parental voice. I just wanted to run away.
“I know many things,” Mom said. Then she looked at me, then at him, then back at me. “This isn’t my story to tell.”
Dad’s head slowly turned toward me.
I set the cookie box on the counter. “Can we not do this right now?”
Dad lowered his voice. “You have two young women in your condo watching a movie with Isla.”
“One of them is Taylor. She lives down the hall,” I explained.
“And the other one is Catherine Celia Davis, as in Cole’s daughter. Your coach’s daughter,” Dad continued.
“Right.” I had nothing better to say.
Mom whispered, “Oli.”
“No.” Dad pointed at me. “Why is Catherine Davis here?”
“Isla invited her,” I explained.
Dad stared at me. I stared back.
“That’s technically true,” Mom said.
From the living room, Taylor whispered loudly, “Should I leave?”
My panic spiked so hard I nearly knocked over the cookie box. Before I could move, Catherine answered. “No. You have to stay.” There was no hesitation in her voice.
I exhaled.
Taylor said, “Good, because I’m invested in the crab scene.”
Isla said, “We’re not there yet.”
Dad’s gaze sharpened. “Why would Taylor need to stay?”
“Dad.”
He went very still because I hadn’t called him Dad with this tone in many years. Mom’s expression softened immediately. He looked toward the living room, then back at me. His voice dropped even lower. “Hunter.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “I’m seeing Catherine.”
Mom closed her eyes. Dad went completely silent.
“Your coach’s daughter?” His voice squeaked, which was never a good thing.
“Yes.”
Dad dragged a hand over his jaw. “Please tell me this is new.”
“New enough that we haven’t figured everything out,” I explained.
“Have you told Cole?”
“No.”
Dad looked like he had just bitten into something sour. “Hunter.”
“I know, Dad. This was unexpected and complicated,” I muttered. “Please keep your voices down because Isla doesn’t know either.”
“This is catastrophic, Hunter,” Dad said, and I winced.
“Oli,” Mom chided.
“How long have you known, Shorty?” Dad asked, using his odd nickname for Mom.
“Not long,” Mom muttered.
Dad hissed. “You don’t understand the gravity of what you’ve done because if you did, you would’ve talked to Cole before letting this get serious.”
I looked away. Dad went quiet again. Then, softer, he said, “It is serious?”
I didn’t answer. Mom’s eyes filled with tears, which was not helpful. He blew out a breath and looked toward the living room again, where Isla laughed at something Taylor said.
His expression shifted. “We’ll talk about this later,” he said.
“Okay.”
“You need to talk to Cole,” he emphasized. He was right, but I didn’t know how to do that when Catherine was hesitating.
I nodded. “It’s not only my decision.”
Dad studied me.
“She’s scared,” I said, voice low. “She’s worried about her career. About disappointing them. About people turning her into a rumor.”
Dad’s expression changed, just a little. Mom touched his arm. He looked back at me. “That doesn’t make hiding better.”
“No. But it makes rushing worse,” I countered because it was the truth.
For once, he had no immediate answer. Mom picked up the bakery box and opened it.
“We came to bring cookies and check on Isla. We’re going to do that, and then we’re leaving.”
Dad looked at her.
She looked back. “Oli.”
He sighed. “Fine.”
We went back to the living room. Catherine’s eyes found mine immediately. Are you okay? I nodded once.
My parents stayed for exactly seven minutes, which felt like seven playoff overtimes.
Mom asked Isla about her stomach. Dad asked Taylor if she liked the building.
Taylor answered like a normal person, which was impressive considering she knew almost everything and was actively holding popcorn like a hostage negotiator.
Catherine stayed calm. Which meant she was probably panicking under the surface.
When my parents finally stood to leave, Dad pulled me toward the door.
His voice was quiet. “I’m not going to tell Cole.”
Relief hit hard enough to make me lightheaded.
“But you should. And if this blows up because you waited too long, you won’t be able to call yourself unlucky,” he said, which hit exactly where he meant it to.
I blinked.
Dad held my gaze for another second, then squeezed my shoulder.
Mom hugged Isla, kissed my cheek, and whispered, “Be careful.”
Then they were gone. For the rest of the movie, things settled.
Not completely, but enough. Isla forgot the tension because she was ten and Moana was still more important than adult weirdness.
Taylor made occasional comments about the crab being underrated.
Catherine laughed more softly now, but she did laugh.
When the credits rolled, Isla popped up. “Taylor,” she said, “come see my new lip gloss.”
Taylor blinked. “I’m sorry, your what?”
“My grandma bought it. It’s clear but sparkly.”
“I have to see this.” Taylor looked at Catherine, then at me, then back at Isla. “Lead the way.”
Catherine stood and started gathering empty cups from the coffee table.
“You don’t have to do that,” I said.
“I know.”
She picked up the popcorn bowl. “But I’m doing it anyway.”
I followed her into the kitchen because apparently, I had learned nothing. She set the bowl on the counter, then turned to face me. “Your dad knows.”
“Yeah.”
Her eyes searched mine. “Is he going to tell my dad?”
“No.”
Relief moved over her face, but it didn’t last.
“He thinks we should, though,” I said. I stepped closer. “Catherine.”
“What?” she asked, looking so stressed out.
“I don’t want you worried all the time,” I admitted.
“I don’t want that either,” she said.
I reached for her before I thought better of it. My arm slid around her waist, drawing her gently toward me. She came to me like she trusted me to catch her, and every time she did, another piece of my self-control got destroyed.
“I missed you today,” I said.
Her mouth softened. “I was right here.”
“Not close enough.”
“That’s greedy.”
She smiled, and I lost whatever argument I had been trying to have with myself.
I kissed her. It was supposed to be quick.
A stupid stolen kiss in the kitchen while Isla showed Taylor lip gloss down the hall.
Catherine’s hands slid up my chest, and mine tightened at her waist. She tasted like popcorn and something sweet from the cookies my parents had brought.
I backed her lightly against the counter, and she made that little sound in the back of her throat that had ruined me in every possible way.
“Hunter,” she whispered against my mouth.
I kissed her again. That was when Isla walked into the kitchen.
“Dad?”
Catherine tore away from me so fast her elbow hit the counter. I stepped back, but not far enough or fast enough. Isla stood in the entrance to the kitchen, holding a sparkly lip gloss in one hand. Her eyes moved from me to Catherine. Then back to me. My heart stopped. Catherine’s face went pale.
“Isla,” I said carefully.
Her forehead wrinkled. “What’s going on?”
Taylor appeared behind her a second later and froze.
“Oh,” Taylor whispered. “Bad timing.”
I gave her a look that could have melted steel. Isla looked at Catherine again. Really looked at her. Then her eyes widened with the kind of terrifying understanding only children had when adults underestimated them.
“Wait,” she said. “Is Catherine going to be my mommy?”
“Bug,” I said softly, “we need to talk.”
Isla stared at me. “But is she?”
I had no idea how to answer.