“She’s fucking hot,” he breathes out in awe.
I punch him in the arm to break Harloe’s freaky enthrall she has on him. I wish someone would do the same for me, because a bastard is caught in her villainous web, and I’m not quite sure if I want to get out.
Yes, you do. Remember what she did to you, asshole. I grit my teeth, battling against the memories trying to resurface. It will do me no good to look into the past and relive that shit. Making her life a living hell is already flirting with danger.
When her eyes connect with mine, my heart stutters, and the voice in my head gets pushed into the background. Everything around me blurs to the point where all I can focus on is Harloe. Watch the way her chest rises and falls beneath her minuscule shirt. See the way her long, toned legs end with heeled converse sneakers.
She looks gorgeous.
She looks like mine.
Goddammit.
I hate the emotions Harloe’s presence brings out in me, even after all this time. It doesn’t matter that she’s the person I loathe most in this world—well, second to most. My body still hasn’t received the memo yet because the mere sight of her sends it into fits.
And as horrendous as this is, Harloe—the girl who chewed me up and spat me out—still feels like home to me.
“Fuck. I need a drink.” I grab the nearest whiskey bottle and start chugging. This is definitely a terrible idea. But right now, I need something to help the pain go away.
I hate the way butterflies’ flap around inside my stomach at the sight of Hunter in all his brooding glory. Their wings touch and caress my insides, causing all those turbulent emotions to wreak havoc on my sanity.
“Jenna, do you think this is a good idea?” I ask from the side of my mouth, unable to take my eyes off the one man who’s ever been able to steal my attention.
“Don’t worry so much, girl,” she says. “Get you a drink, and then go get those answers.”
Easier said than done, I’m afraid. Talking to Hunter is akin to talking to Maverick while he’s on a sugar high—it just isn’t done. He and I can’t stand to be in the same room for longer than a few minutes at a time, and there’s definitely no talking while it happens.
“I’m a worrywart. It’s in my DNA.” All because I’m a mom, but she doesn’t need to know that just yet. Maybe after tonight, I’ll tell her.
I peer over at her, seeing the way her head bobs to the beat as she loses herself in the music. So young and carefree, living in the moment. A complete contrast to what I am. Just seeing her like this, knowing this is who she is—I can’t do that to her. I can’t take away her happiness with the knowledge a child will be joining us come January.
It makes me feel like a mega-bitch, knowing I’ll be the sole reason for ruining her college experience. No childless young woman wants a child hindering her college experience. While I love Maverick and wouldn’t trade him for anything in the world, I can’t expose Jenna to him and expect her to be okay with it.
She looks back at me and smiles big. “Why the long face?”
No. I can’t tell her. Jenna is the only reason I’ve even made it this long here. I can come back to the apartment after classes, and if it’s a particularly rough day, I know she’s there to listen to my woes. If I tell her about Maverick and she ditches me? Lord, I won’t know what to do.
Forcing a smile, I reply, “Nothing.”
“Having fun?”
I don’t want to lie, but I feel like I have to. “Yeah!” I point toward the kitchen, unfortunately where Hunter and Easton are. “I’m going to go get a drink, okay?”
She nods, then easily disappears between the gyrating bodies on the dancefloor. Smiling to myself, I weave my way through the crowd as “Elastic Heart” by Sia plays over the surround system. People get lost to the beat, but I’m a prisoner to its words. They resonate within me so deeply, almost painfully so.
Hunter didn’t break me. He may have bent and mangled my appearance, but in doing so, I grew a thick skin and rose above what he tried to accomplish. I had to—someone needed to be there for our son.
He has no idea the things I’ve had to give up over the years. This party? It’s the first party I’ve been to since before I found out I was pregnant. I’d say Hunter goes to these things all the time.
Then again, I can’t really blame him for his absence in Maverick's life. Not really, anyway. He may be a bastard, but if I had left my anger out of the equation, I have no doubt that Hunter would have been there.
My life, on the other hand? Yes. The absence is his fault, and his entirely. So, based on his treatment of me, that’s what made my decision. I could have told Hunter we were having a baby, but why? Why would I do something for Hunter when he’s the reason for all my pain? If he could toss me to the side so thoughtlessly, then he could do that to our son. I’d rather die a thousand deaths than for Maverick to be subjected to the same cruelty as I was.
The need for a drink continues to rise, forcing me to quicken my pace through the drunken bastards dancing on the floor. A nice shot or even just a few wine coolers, and I’ll be good. Not too much liquid courage, but enough to numb my senses.
Thanks to all my efforts of keeping Maverick safe and protected, I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol since Halloween sophomore year. So, my tolerance is shamefully inadequate when paired to the others partying in this house.
Pushing through the last wave of people, someone stumbles into me from behind. I trip over some guy’s shoes and nearly fall to the floor. The only thing that stops my descent is a strong hand landing on my elbow, gripping it tightly and pulling me to a stop.
My other hand lands on their forearm as I right myself, hurriedly saying, “Thanks.”
His deep, raspy voice hits me full blast. “Still a klutz, I see.”
Horror encompasses me as I hurriedly jerk my arm out of his. My eyes land on a remarkably familiar chest, causing my traitorous heart to skip a beat. Blood rushes to the surface of my skin in embarrassment, and it takes every bit of strength I have within my body to peer up into the mismatched eyes that claimed my heart a long time ago.
Ice blue and chestnut brown. Eyes that still haunt my nightmares and star in my wet dreams.
His words finally register to me, though. And like an ice bath, it cools my insides. “Still a dick?”
He smirks. “Only the best.” And then he winks for good measure.
My gaze lands on the whiskey bottle in his hand, half drained of its contents. Meeting his eyes once more, I cock a brow in question. His gaze sweeps from me to the bottle, and then back to me once more. Without a word, he brings the tip of the bottle to his lips and gulps it like its water.
“Trying to bury your sorrows?”
Intensity burns through his eyes as he watches me over the rim, never saying a word. Gulping back my nerves, I push away from him and walk over toward the coolers. Searching through one, I find nothing but Budweiser—Hunter’s favorite. I smile at the thought that maybe some things don’t change.
Opening the next, I find what I’m looking for. Seagram Wild Berry wine coolers. My favorite. I straighten to my full height, then hesitantly peer in Hunter’s direction, finding him wiping his mouth with the back of the hand that’s holding the whiskey bottle. Still, he doesn’t say a word.