26. Hunter

TWENTY-SIX

Hunter

City Walk BHAM

4:59 pm

I slam the ball over the net, aiming for the corner of the kitchen. Shep lunges, his paddle outstretched, but the ball whizzes past him. Game point.

"Damn it!" Shep curses, wiping sweat from his brow. "That was a killer dink shot."

I can't help but grin. "Thanks. Your third shot drop almost had me earlier."

We shake hands at the net, both of us breathing hard. The late afternoon sun beats down on the court, gluing my shirt to my back.

"Good game, man," Shep says, clapping me on the shoulder. "But I demand a rematch next week."

"You're on," I laugh. "Maybe by then you'll learn how to handle my backhand drive."

We grab our water bottles and head to the bench. As we cool down, Shep asks, "How's that pacemaker trial going? Heard you got some big-shot sponsor on board."

"Yeah, it's moving along. Still a lot of red tape to cut through, but we're making progress."

"And how's working with Dr. Renna? I've heard she's brilliant."

I nod, trying to keep my face neutral. "She is. We make a good team."

As I reach for my phone to check the time, I notice a missed text from Frankie. My stomach drops when I read it.

Hunter, can you call me when you get a chance? It's important.

Something about this message, now, when she knows I'm playing pickleball, sets off alarm bells. I quickly start packing up my gear.

"Everything okay?" Shep asks, noticing my sudden change in demeanor.

"Not sure," I reply. "I've gotta run. I'll catch you later, alright?"

He nods, concern evident on his face. "Sure thing. Let me know if you need anything."

I hurry to my car, my mind racing. What could be wrong? Is it about the trial? Or something more personal? I need to call Frankie and find out.

The cryptic nature of the message leaves too much to the imagination. Did she find out something from the IRB? Surely it's too soon to know already.

I hit the call button, my heart pounding as hard as it was during my run. She answers on the second ring, and I can hear the tension in her voice immediately.

"Hunter…"

"Frankie, what's going on? Are you okay?"

There's a pause, and then she exhales softly. "I just… I really need to see you. If you're not busy."

"I just finished my game," I tell her, already in the parking lot. "I can be there in ten."

"Okay. Thank you."

Her voice is quiet, fragile, and it tugs at something deep inside me. I don't waste any time and jog the rest of the way to my car. My mind is racing with possibilities. I know she's been dealing with a lot, between her father and the pressure of the trial, and now I'm worried it's all catching up with her.

If it had been something with the trial, she would have told me, right?

As I drive, a sense of urgency quickly replaced the adrenaline from our game. Whatever's going on, she reached out to me, and that means she trusts me enough to let me in. I won't let her down.

That's not something I take lightly.

Frankie's House

5:22 pm

When I pull up to her place, I see her standing in the doorway, waiting for me. Her face is pale, her eyes red-rimmed, and it's clear she's been crying. I'm out of the car and up the steps in seconds, not even bothering to shut the door behind me.

"Frankie, what happened?" I ask, my voice low, trying to keep the panic out of it.

She steps aside, letting me in, and then closes the door behind us. "It's my dad… he… he passed away last night."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I immediately pull her into my arms, holding her tight. She trembles against me, her tears soaking into my shirt. I don't say anything right away. What can I say? I let her cry, let her release the pain that's clearly been building up inside her.

When she finally pulls back, I keep my hands on her shoulders, searching her face. "I'm so sorry, Frankie. This is unbelievable."

She shakes her head, wiping at her eyes. "He didn't tell me how sick he was. He didn't want me to worry. And now he's gone."

The helplessness in her voice cuts through me, and I have an overwhelming desire to take her pain away, to make it better somehow, even though I know I can't. "I'm here, okay? Whatever you need, I'm here."

She nods, and for a moment, we just stand there, taking comfort in each other's presence.

Finally, she speaks again, her voice steadier this time. "Thank you for coming. I didn't want to call anyone else. I'm kind of blown away that we both lost a parent to the same disease on the same day."

"I can't even wrap my head around it. All I know right now is you're not alone. I'm here and I"m not going anywhere."

I gently guide her to the couch, sitting beside her, close enough that our knees touch. She leans into me, resting her head on my shoulder, and I wrap an arm around her, holding her close. We don't need to say anything else. Just being here, together, is enough for now.

Frankie shifts slightly, pulling back just enough to look up at me. Her eyes are still wet, but there's something else in them too—something that makes my heart skip a beat. I can't quite place it, but it's there, and it's powerful.

"Thank you for being here," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "I feel better already."

I nod, my throat tight. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

For a moment, we hold each other's gaze, the air between us heavy with unspoken things. Her hand is still resting on my chest, and without thinking, I cover it with mine. Her skin is soft and warm, even with the slight tremble in her fingers.

"I don't know what I'd do in this moment without you," she says, her voice trembling slightly.

Something in me shifts at her words, a deep, primal need to protect her, to be there for her in every way I can. Without really thinking about it, I lean down, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, my fingers lingering on her cheek.

Her eyes flutter closed at my touch, and when she opens them again, there's no mistaking what's there. It's a look I've seen before, but never like this. It's a look that says she needs me, not just for comfort, but for something more.

I lean in slowly, giving her a chance to pull away if she wants to. But she doesn't. Instead, she closes the gap between us, her lips meeting mine in a kiss that's soft and tentative at first, but quickly deepens. It's a kiss that's full of emotion, of need, of everything we've both been holding back.

And in that kiss, I lose myself. I completely surrender to her lips against mine as she melts into me. It's like nothing else matters in this moment, just the two of us, finding solace in each other.

When we finally pull away from each other, both of us are breathing hard, our foreheads resting against each other. There's a moment of silence, where everything hangs in the balance, and then I pull her closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead, her temple, her cheek.

"Frankie…" I start, but she shakes her head, silencing me with another kiss, this one softer, more tender.

"It's okay," she whispers against my lips. "I want this. I want you."

I respond by kissing her again, this time with more intent, more purpose. I let my hands roam, tracing the curves of her body, the warmth of her skin. She responds in kind, her hands sliding up my chest, around my neck, pulling me closer.

And then, as if by unspoken agreement, we both stand, our hands never leaving each other. We move together, towards her bedroom, the air between us charged with anticipation, with need. But it's not just about the physical—it's about everything we've both been through, everything we've shared.

When we reach her bed, I stop, taking a moment to look at her, to really see her. She's beautiful, inside and out, and I can't believe how lucky I am to have her in my life, whatever that means for the future.

I glance down at Frankie, her eyes a vivid, shimmering green in the soft light of her bedroom. There's a vulnerability in her gaze that tugs at something deep within me.

"Are you sure about this?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. I need to hear her say it, to affirm that this is what she wants, what we both need.

She nods, her fingers tracing the contours of my face. "I've never been more sure," she replies, her voice steady and sure.

I lean in, capturing her lips in a kiss that's tender and full of promise. Our clothes seem to melt away, each piece discarded with a reverence that speaks to the sacredness of the moment. I take a moment to drink in the sight of her, the soft swell of her breasts, the gentle curve of her hips—she's a masterpiece, and I'm humbled by the trust she's placing in me.

As we lower ourselves onto the bed, our limbs entwine, fitting together as if we were made for each other. My hands explore her body with a gentle touch, mapping out every inch of her skin, every dip and curve. She sighs softly beneath me, her body arching to meet mine.

I enter her slowly, conscious of every sensation, every nuance of her response. The connection between us is electric, a current that hums through our veins, binding us together in this singular moment of vulnerability and trust.

Our movements are slow, deliberate, as if we're moving to the rhythm of our own heartbeats. I watch her face, her expressions guiding me, telling me what she needs. When her eyes meet mine, there's a silent exchange of emotions, a wordless dialogue that speaks volumes.

I gently, softly unbutton her shirt, removing it one arm at a time. She lays there, still, peaceful. I watch her as I rub my hand down her chest, resting on the middle clasp of her bra. I unclip it with one hand, quite proud of my skills.

As I remove her bra, she arches her back ever so slightly, letting me know she is completely in tune with the slow, sensual tenor of the moment.

I shimmy my pants down, never taking my eyes off of her and then position myself over her. She closes her eyes and slowly runs her tongue over her beautiful, full lips.

With my hand, I lightly brush the head of my cock over her wet opening. The sensation of her on the one million sensitive receptors almost makes me come right there, but I hold it back. I want to drive her absolutely fucking crazy before she explodes.

I enter her slowly, watching her back arch and her head fall back. She never opens her eyes, only moans quietly. I've never taken the time to go so slowly and purposefully and realize I have been missing out. The act itself is orgasmic, never mind the intense sensation of her clenched tightly around my shaft as she swallows me whole.

Her muscles narrow around me as her entire body responds to mine. There's no rush, no urgency—just the two of us, lost in each other, lost in a moment that is both timeless and fleeting.

"Hunter," she whispers, her voice laced with emotion as she finally speaks. It's a plea, a benediction, and I respond by increasing the tempo ever so slightly, my body moving in sync with hers.

We climb higher, our breaths mingling, our hearts beating in unison. And when we finally reach the precipice, we leap together, our cries of release echoing through the room.

After the zealous orgasm, we both fall limp. It was more intense than anything I ever remember experiencing before. I am closer to her now than ever.

I lie in Frankie's bed, her warm body curled against mine, our limbs intertwined. The bedside lamp casts a gentle light across her face, highlighting the curve of her cheek, the slope of her nose. I trace my fingers along her arm, marveling at how right this is, how natural.

"You okay?" I whisper, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

She nods, her hand resting on my chest. "Yeah. I am okay. I've never felt so safe and I'm so grateful that we've forged this, whatever it is, so that I'm not alone right now."

I feel the same way. It's almost as if we came into each other's life right at the right time, to be there for each other while we each go through some shitty, heavy stuff.

Frankie shifts, propping herself up on one elbow to look at me. Her eyes, usually so bright and full of life, are tinged with sadness, but there's a warmth there too, a depth of emotion that takes my breath away.

"It's strange," she says softly. "I barely knew my father, and yet he was a part of me. It…."

"It still hurts," I finish for her. She nods, and I pull her closer, savoring the steady, light thump of her heartbeat against my chest. "Loss is loss. It doesn't matter how well you knew someone. The potential of what could have been... that's what hurts."

She's quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing patterns on my skin. "Tell me more about your mom," she says finally.

I take a deep breath, surprised by how easy it is to talk about her. "She was... complicated. Pushy, sometimes overbearing, but she loved fiercely. She wanted the best for me, even if she didn't always know how to show it."

Frankie listens intently, her presence a balm to the raw edges of my grief. As I talk, I realize how much I needed this—not just to be held, but to be truly seen and understood. Almost to know how to process grief for someone I wasn't particularly close to but who I loved regardless.

When I finish, Frankie leans in and kisses me softly. "Thank you for sharing that with me," she whispers.

I cup her face in my hands, struck by how much she's come to mean to me. "Thank you for being here," I say. "For being you."

We fall silent then, content to just be together, to find comfort in each other's presence. The world outside seems distant, unimportant. Here, in this moment, it's just us—two people who've found each other in the midst of loss, forging a connection that seems as crucial as air in my lungs.