“And when you confronted him?”
“He acted like I was asking him about the weather.”
Brexton turns to face me and puts her hands on my shoulders so I’m forced to look at her. “The question is, what are you going to do about it, Dekker? Are you going to let him walk away a second time when you know damn well he’s the only one who’s lit your fire emotionally and sexually?”
“Christ.” My cheeks flush.
“No. I’m being serious. What are you going to do? Rob yourself of the chance of seeing what happens because you’re too chickenshit to try?”
“That’s not fair.”
“Why isn’t it? Maybe what’s not fair is how we’ve let you sneak by doing this and not really living for anything other than work and a false sense of security with people who put water on your fire like Chad.” She gives a little shake to my shoulders. “So the question is . . . what are you going to do about it?”
“There’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t ask him to be a client and want to have a relationship at the same time. I can’t—”
“Fuck that.” She waves a hand at me. “We’ll figure it out. Dad will have to deal. There are always solutions to every problem. We can handle him.”
“But that doesn’t fix the other problem.”
“Other problem?”
“Like how other clients would perceive me sleeping with a client I’m going after.”
“Then he’s not with the agency or we pass him off to one of us to represent. Done. Next excuse.” She flashes a dazzling smile my way, and I groan because the next one isn’t so easy.
“You can fix all the things in the world on the professional side, Brex, but nothing will make Hunter see me as anything other than a no-strings notch on his busy bedpost.”
“I think you’re wrong.”
“Good for you.” I move back toward my desk and the stacks of paperwork, hoping that if I ignore her, maybe this conversation will go away.
“If Hunter didn’t have feelings for you, do you think he would have gotten all butt-hurt when you left after Callum saw you that night?” She lifts her eyebrows and crosses her arms over her chest. “Do you think he would have been more of a dick and less dismissive when you confronted him in the parking lot? You made him feel like you put work before him . . . and I’d say that screams that he has feelings for you.”
I see what she’s saying but . . . “You weren’t there.”
“You’re right. I wasn’t. But if you want him to see you as more than a notch—which I already think he does—then force him to.”
“He closes off emotionally before anyone can get too attached. It’s like he doesn’t feel like he deserves to be cared for or loved.”
She coughs through a laugh and throws her hands up. “The irony.”
“Shut up.” But I laugh with her this time as my mind spins and whirls and contemplates if she could be right.
Could Hunter have feelings for me but not know how to show them? Could he be just as fearful of letting someone in as I am? If so, how do I push him past that—how do I push myself past that—to give us a chance?
“Say I buy into what you’re saying—”
“You do. And you should.”
“Then what do I do next?”
One side of her lip curls up. “Nothing. He’ll come to you.”
“That’s a solid plan. Real solid,” I say in frustrated disbelief. Just when I start to believe her, she pulls something like that? My sigh is loud.
“No. I’m serious. You’ve laid the groundwork. You were honest with him. You told him you wanted him personally and professionally and why the two can’t mix. But he’s a rule breaker, Dekker. He’s going to push boundaries just because he can. He’s going to want to be macho and masculine and prove he can have you and eat his cake too.”
“I think you’re crazy.”
“And I think I’m right.”
I stare at my sister, so similar and yet so very different from me, and wonder how she can be so sure. And I consider the many exchanges between Hunter and me. Over the laughter, his ability to be serious with me, and I wonder how I never saw it before. How angry he was when he accused me of meeting with my clients night after night. How he let his guard down ever so briefly with me on the hard-packed snow amid angel wings we had made. How his smile lit up when the ice became littered with tennis balls at the Dartmouth game.
And more so, I wonder how I’ve been harboring feelings for a man for over three years and never took charge of them, when I seem to grab everything else by the balls.
Because you’re scared, Dekker.
You’re scared because you know he’s the most real thing you’ve ever felt and it terrifies and exhilarates you.
“I don’t know,” I murmur. How and when did my little sister become so wise?
“I do.” She leans forward and drops the puck on top of the paperwork I keep staring at. “It may take him a few days—a week, or two—but with radio silence from you, he’ll realize how much he misses you. How much he’s gotten used to you being around, and how puck bunnies look boring to him now.”
“You have an active imagination.” That’s just the visual I need in my head. God, I hope he ignores the puck bunnies.
“Either that, or I’ve had a client or two go through something similar before going holy shit, I’m going to lose her.” She clucks her tongue as if she had some play in these revelations. “He came back for you this time around because he wanted to see if the feelings you both walked away from were legit. He’s pushing you away now, because they are.”
I lean back in my chair and close my eyes, letting her words settle and take root as she moves toward the door.
“Hey, Dekk?”
“Hmmm?”
“Falling for someone is never the plan. One day, you just wake up and it’s there in full-freaking, high-definition color. You realize those unanticipated butterflies you got when you saw him, those frustrated late nights overthinking and overanalyzing every interaction, those automatic, genuine smiles when you received a text from him . . . they all add up until they become love. It’s the little things that add up. It’s the unseen that touches your soul. It’s the unexpected that makes you fall in love.” She moves to the doorway. “I’ve got to jet . . . but you know I’m here for you. You know we only want the best for you.”
I look at her through eyes blurred with tears and nod. “Thank you.”
She smiles and then turns her back.
I listen to the door of the outer office click shut, to the lock engage, and to her footsteps down the hallway to the elevator.
When I put my feet up on my desk, lean my head back, and close my eyes again, I carefully examine her words.
I wonder what would have happened all those years ago had I not run from him that night. If I had just been honest instead of chickening out.
Is Brexton right?
If I wait, will he come?
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
HUNTER
NO TEXT.
It’s the first time in years that I look at my phone after my game and see nothing from my father.