Before I can get away, I feel his hand on my arm. Shaking him off, I keep walking. But Hunter isn’t the type to be put off. Grabbing me again, he twists me around to face him. Defiant eyes meet confused ones.
“Would you stop for a fucking minute? Christ’s sake.”
I give him a menacing look, and my entire body shakes with rage as I grit between clenched teeth. “Get your hands off me.”
“Lo, you have to see how fucked this is. Wait a minute.”
“The only thing messed up about this is the fact my then-boyfriend, the only person I was closest to in this entire world, thought I betrayed him.” I throw my hands up in the air, exasperated. “Me! Betrayed him! All for a guy I can’t stand! You know how much Owen and I hate each other, Hunter! How in the world could you possibly think I’d ever sleep with him?!”
Hunter looks frantic, almost desperate. I can tell he wants to get to the bottom of whatever is going on, but I’m absolutely through with this. I’m tired of being dragged through the mud. And to find I should never have been in the first place? Yeah, it’s like a kick to the gut.
He looks into my burning depths, and realization finally shimmers in his gaze. “You’re telling the truth. You never slept with him.”
“No!” I scream with everything I have in me, shoving him as the anger takes me over. He falls back a step, but that isn’t enough for me. I want him to hurt, bleed, and feel what I’ve been feeling for the last three years.
“No! No! No! I’d never betray you like that! You were my entire world! You were the reason for my very goddamn existence! It was always Hunter and Harloe! It was always supposed to be us, forever, for always! You ruined everything!”
My anger swiftly makes room for the pain, causing the tears to streak across my cheeks. In front of my enemy, I completely break down—more than I ever did when Cassandra and Hunter had it in for me. More than I did the night he chose her over me, all because of a lie. A lie that rips me to shreds, knowing he believed every syllable of it.
Hunter’s big hands pull me into his chest, and I break even more. His arms wrap around my body, consoling me just like he used to all those years ago. He’s taking in my pain and making it his.
“You ruined me,” I sob against his chest.
“Shh, shh,” he coos into my ear. It takes him several tries to swallow his emotions, but right now, I couldn’t care less what he’s going through. What he’s feeling is the remnant of his previous actions. “God, Lo—I’m … Fuck, I’m so sorry.”
My entire body shakes, and fresh tears escape my swollen eyes when I feel his manly, plump lips press against the crown of my head. Even with the present pain he’s caused, I can’t help but take his comfort. It may not be right of me, but I deserve it. For the past three years, I’ve barely been able to breathe. And now, for the first time since that night, it feels like I’m taking my first lungful of air.
And this is the last I ever will. After this, I can’t break, I can’t falter in front of him or anyone. Sorry may be all well and good, but it doesn’t repair what’s broken, only tries to mask the problem.
Stepping away, I wipe my eyes—his glisten with unshed tears. “Hunt, there’s something I need to tell you, but … I don’t know how to even begin.”
“At the beginning,” he says, but I can’t even bring myself to smile at his joke.
After telling me about what Owen said, I have the insane need to tell him about his son. He may have thrown me out that night, under false pretenses, but I can’t keep allowing my hatred and anger to get the best of me. If I’m going to be free, then I need to relieve myself of all things that tie me down. And my knowledge of Maverick is going exactly that.
“That night,” I say, trying to regulate my breathing because this shit is fucking terrifying. I have no idea how he’s going to react. “I came over that night to tell you that I—”
“Mr. Prince! Ms. Rose!” Mr. Erikson cuts me off mid-sentence. My widened eyes trail over to him, seeing a disapproving look on his face. I seriously have the worst fucking luck, man. “Assignment sheets should be complete. Time to return to class. Come on.”
My entire body deflates, and my groan can be heard over the early afternoon air. This was my one chance to be strong and tell him that he has a son—because we are actually talking, not screaming at each other—and it’s like fate is intervening.
Damnation. I can’t get ahead for being kicked backward.
Our conversation ends then and there as we make our way back to class. I stop by our spot, grabbing the long-forgotten paper, and nearly blush full force when I spy Hunter actually waited for me. Honestly, I don’t know how I should feel about this. I mean, I’m having trouble switching from him not bullying me to the fact he’s being cordial.
Hunter’s voice is low when he replies, “What were you going to say?”
I sigh, already knowing the moment is gone. I’m too chicken to say it now. I just hope it doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass. Karma likes to be a bitch like that.
“Forget about it.” I give him a tight smile. You’ll find out soon enough. And that’s a fight I’ll definitely need to prepare myself for.
“Man, did you see the new girl? She’s hot at fuck,” Leo declares, groaning.
Zeke grunts, lifting the beer to his lips. My eyes flick between them, lost. “What new girl?”
“She’s not really my taste, man,” Easton says, grinning roguishly as he stares at Zeke from the corner of his eye. “Too Barbie meets Emo, with no chest and an apple ass. I like my girls fake and loud—sorry, bro.”
Zeke glares through thick onyx lashes. “You all are dicks.”
Okay, now I know I’m missing something. Because ever since Zeke moved here the summer before senior year in high school, he’s never once taken an interest in any girl Golden Oak’s had to offer. He marches more to the beat of his own drum, and that drum doesn’t include any women.
I sense a story there, just as I always have, but I’m not going to interfere with it. I did once and ended up with a bloodied nose. Rather not go there again if I can help it. We’ve been fairly good and solid since then; we just know not to ask questions and go along with whatever the other says.
“Shit. Leave the poor guy alone already. So what if he has a type?” I point at each in order, starting with Easton. “You like bimbos that can’t think for themselves, so they don’t cause you any trouble.” I then point at Leo, smirking, “And you! You like chasing older pussy. Preferably pussy that’s seasoned a good half-decade before the doctor smacked your ass when you fell out of your mom’s puss.”
Leo’s face screws up in revulsion, probably from the image of his mother giving birth to him. Serves the asshat right. Neither one should be picking on Zeke for having a type. Hell, I have a type, too. Just so happens my type has long blonde hair I’d like to wrap around my fist, a curvy, plump little ass great for grabbing a handful of, and a foul mouth when she’s angry.
“Fuck you,” Leo and Easton say simultaneously, taking the offensive to my correct description of their preferences.