Chapter 12

It's been a few days since the scene with Micah at Hunter's place, and I can tell it's still bothering him. A lot. He's distracted. But worse than that, he's angry. He's doing his best to hide it, but I can see through him. I not only feel terrible for him, but I feel completely powerless to do anything about it. I hate that he's hurting, and I can't help. I can't take away the pain of having fought his son.

Perhaps the thing I feel worst about, though, is that I feel responsible for it all. Hunter only fought with Micah because of me. He was defending me.

I've thought about it incessantly for the last few days. To be fair, Hunter hasn't been the only one who's been distracted by what happened the other day. I haven't been able to think about much else but that. Seeing him and his son get into it, not just verbally but physically, is one of the most terrible things I've ever seen. And I can't help but think that if I wasn't in the picture, none of that would have ever happened. Their relationship wouldn't be damaged—perhaps even damaged beyond repair.

"Are you okay?"

Hunter's voice pulls me out of my head, and I focus on him sitting across the table from me. After my shift at the hospital, Hunter took me out for a nice dinner. We're sitting in a cute little Italian place with great food and wine, and an amazing atmosphere. It's been a nice evening overall, but I can see the strain the situation with Micah is putting on him. And I'm not sure it's going to get any better until they talk it out.

Hunter says it's on Micah to make the first move if he wants to repair their relationship. But knowing Micah like I do, there's a better chance of Hell getting an expansion hockey team than there is that he actually does try to fix what he broke.

Micah seems to have inherited his stubbornness and obstinate nature from his father. They're more alike than either of them would care to admit. But Hunter is right about one thing—Micah has a lot of growing up to do yet.

"Harlow?"

"Yeah. Sorry," I say. "I'm fine."

"I can see you're not. What's going on?"

I put my fork down and sigh as I raise my eyes to him again. "I can't stop thinking about you and Micah. Thinking about the fight the other day…"

He shakes his head as my voice tapers off. "It's not worth thinking about. Micah was in the wrong. Way in the wrong. And the sooner he realizes it, the better."

"And if he doesn't come to realize that?"

Hunter shrugs. "I don't know. I haven't thought that far ahead yet. But I'm sure he's going to calm down and realize he was being an asshole. I'm sure once that happens, he'll come back around and apologize."

"You don't sound like you believe that."

"I do believe that."

"I wish I had that sort of confidence," I respond. "Micah is stubborn, and even when he's in the wrong, he likes to dig in. He usually doubles down when he's wrong instead of just apologizing and moving forward."

The corners of Hunter's eyes crinkled as a wry grin touched his lips. "I was pretty much the same way when I was his age. But I grew out of it … eventually."

I take a drink of my wine and look down at my plate, my appetite quickly evaporating. I know what I have to do. It's a realization I came to yesterday and have been thinking about nonstop ever since. It's a decision I don't like. It's a decision I didn't want to have to make. But after a lot of thought and soul searching, I think it's the right decision. Maybe the only decision I can make.

"What's going on with you?" Hunter asks.

"What do you mean?"

"You're not all here with me," he says. "Where are you at?"

The soft smile on my lips melts away. I feel my face growing warm as my belly churns and turns over on itself. The back of my throat is coated with the acidic taste of bile, and I'm having to fight off the waves of nausea washing through me. Just thinking about this makes me sick. Hunter leans forward, his dark intense gaze fixed on me.

"Harlow? What's going on with you?"

My hand shakes so hard that I almost drop my glass of wine as I take a sip, needing a little liquid courage to get through the next few minutes. Drawing in a deep breath, I hold it as I silently count to five, then let it out slowly. My trembling finally subsides, but I'm a long way from calm. Hunter stares at me, waiting for a reply, and the tension in the air between us keeps growing thicker. I need to tell him. I owe him that.

"Hunter, I feel terrible about what happened between you and Micah?—"

"That's not your fault. Nothing for you to feel bad about."

"Please," I say. "Let me just say my piece."

He frowns but sits back in his chair. "Okay."

"Micah is your son. He's your blood. I don't want to be the thing that gets between you and your son."

"You're not," he replies. "It's his attitude. It's his lack of maturity and his lack of respect. That's what's getting between us. Not you."

"But that all only came to a head because he found us in bed together."

"It would have come to a head at some point, Harlow. This isn't your fault."

"The fact that it was me in your bed certainly didn't help matters."

He shrugs. "Like I said, Micah will eventually come around."

"Unless he doesn't."

He shakes his head. "I'm not going to let my son's lack of maturity dictate who I see, Harlow. I'm not going to let him run my life that way."

"And I can't live with myself feeling like I'm the reason for this split between you two."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, I think…"

My throat grows dry as I try to force the words out of my mouth, but they seem to stick and don't want to come out. Taking another swallow of wine, I clear my throat and steel myself.

"Hunter, I think you need to work on repairing your relationship with your son," I tell him. "And I don't think you can do that with me in your life. At least, not right now. Not until Micah grows up a bit, like you said."

He shakes his head. "No. This doesn't work. I'm not going to let my son's mood determine who I can be with?—"

"I don't want to let it either, but I also don't want to be at least partially to blame for you not having a relationship with your son."

"You're not."

"I am, though. What happened with Micah wouldn't have happened if he hadn't found us together," I insist.

"That's his problem, Harlow."

"It's our problem. And it's a big problem," I tell him. "And it's a problem I don't think can be fixed while I'm in the picture."

He shakes his head, his face clouding over with emotion. He's not usually given to big displays of emotion, but Hunter looks frustrated and … sad. Seeing that kind of feeling on his face only drives the dagger in my heart even deeper. I know this is the right thing to do, but it's killing me.

"Don't I get any say in this?" Hunter asks. "I don't want to lose you."

"I don't want to lose you either. But I also don't want you to lose your son."

"That's his choice."

"It's a choice we've kind of made for him. And it's not something I can live with," I tell him. "For all his flaws, he's your son. I can't compete with that. Nor should I."

"Harlow—"

"I'm sorry. I just … we can't. Not right now."

Before I can back out, I get to my feet. My legs are shaking so hard, I'm half-afraid I'm going to fall. My vision shimmers with tears as I look down at Hunter and feel another pain cut through my soul. Leaning down, I plant a gentle kiss on his lips.

"I'm sorry," I murmur. "I don't want to do this, but I have to because I don't think either one of you will take that first step."

"Harlow—"

"Fix things with Micah."

I quickly turn away and head for the door, tears streaming down my face, and my heart breaking a little more with every step I take.