53. Renee

I wake up in the middle of the night with two thoughts.

One: Pregnancy sex, and the post-sex ache that comes with it, is beyond amazing.

Two: I am thirsty.

I think maybe I can just fall back asleep. Honestly, I do not want to get out of bed. I want to bask in the afterglow of coming home with Weston, knowing this doesn”t have to end.

My thirst wins out.

I roll out of bed, nearly tumbling to an ungraceful demise on the floor. Nothing like having jelly legs, right? I snatch the shirt Weston wore last evening and slip it on.

It”s a good thing, too, because when I walk into the kitchen, who do I find in there but Hunter himself?

I bite my lip. So Weston still has him around. Part of me still has some apprehension, especially when we”re going to be bringing a child into this apartment. I don’t want my baby around drug use, but I don”t think it would be fair to tell Weston he has to quit his own best friend cold turkey, either.

But that”s a conversation for not three in the morning.

”Long time no see,” I croak. He looks up from his concoction—some kind of towering sandwich with an alarming variety of ingredients—and gives me a nervous smile.

”Oh, hi, Renee. What”s up?”

”The Thirst-O-Meter, that’s what.” I grab a glass from the cabinet and go to the fridge to get water from the door.

He laughs. ”Thirst-O-Meter. Right. Yeah. Good one.”

He goes back to his sandwich and I down my glass of water. Pregnancy thirst is nothing to play with, so I get another one. When that one is downed, too, I”m geared up to head back into the room.

But before I can leave, Hunter stops me. ”Hey, Renee?”

I pause and look to him. ”Yeah?”

He leans on the counter, though he doesn”t look directly at me. He seems really interested in the butter knife in his hands. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s anxious. ”I”m really glad that you”re back with Weston,” he says haltingly. ”He was real messed up after…”

I bite my lip. Fresh wounds are hard to heal, even when things are looking up now.

”Yeah. But we”re past it.”

”Yeah. Yeah.” Hunter shifts, still looking uncomfortable. ”You know, just in case you”re worried, that”s never going to happen again. I”m—I”m done with the dumb shit and I don”t want to put West in that position again. Or you.”

Okay. I”m a little confused. “Uh. What are you talking about, Hunter?”

He blinks at me. ”Uh… Oh. You need me to say it. Right. I mean, you know, for stealing from Weston. I was in a bad spot and needed the money—and I know that”s not an excuse. But I”m doing better now, I”m not on the pills, and I”m… I”m getting better.”

Hunter nods, like it”s reaffirming the notion to himself.

But I”m stuck on something else.

”You stole from Weston? He knows?”

Hunter seems to realize that he said the wrong thing. ”Uh… Yes?”

”You… He…”

Before I think twice about it, I go to mine and Weston”s room.

”Wait, Renee?—!”

I ignore Hunter.

Weston has some explaining to do.

I throw the door open, letting it crash into the wall. Weston startles in the bed, shooting up immediately with sleepy alertness.

”What the—ah, fucking hell!” Weston barks when I cut the light on, eyes squeezing shut.

I give him no mercy. ”How long have you known Hunter stole from you?”

”What?” Weston blinks, probably from a combination of confusion and retinal fry. I don”t feel sorry for him.

He”s been lying to me.

”I said, how long have you known that Hunter stole from you?”

As I ask the question, I feel a presence behind me. Hunter speaks before Weston can. ”I”m sorry, Renee. I didn”t realize you didn”t know?—”

”You told her?” Weston has the nerve to sound concerned.

I whirl back to face him again. ”Why was it supposed to be a secret, Weston?”

He pushes his fingers through his hair and groans. When he finally looks at me, I can tell whatever he”s about to say is going to be some bullshit and not at all a satisfactory answer.

”I handled it,” Weston says at last. ”The issue is quashed. There was no point in dragging you into Hunter”s business.”

“‘Hunter”s business’?!” I damn near shriek. ”Your stuff getting stolen was the whole reason you got me kicked out! You thought I was some gold-digging whore and made sure that I paid for it! Why is he here?!”

Weston narrows his eyes. ”He”s my best friend, Renee. I”m not going to just drop him.”

My heart breaks. ”But you could just drop me?”

”That was different.”

”How?” I shake my head. ”It”s the same thing! The same fucking thing, Weston, because it”s the same fucking crime.”

”He had a reason.”

”Drugs! Drugs were the reason!”

”Pills,” Weston corrects. ”You don”t understand, Renee?—”

”You”re right; I don”t,” I interrupt. And damn it, my voice wavers in a way I’d hoped it would never do again. ”I don”t understand how you claimed to love me and yet it was so easy to kick me to the curb. I told you that I didn”t do anything and you didn”t believe me, but he”s just running around in your kitchen making a sandwich! I had to go crawling back to my family to keep my life from being totally ruined!”

”And I fixed that, didn”t I?”

My anger boils over. I can”t believe he”s trying to justify what he did—and what he”s refusing to do.

”After I had to sell my future to Deacon fucking Carrington! After I had to deal with him and my parents making me feel like shit! And through all of that, I had to know the truth: that I never stole from you and I never would have and you didn”t believe me no matter how much I told the truth. And all this fucking time, Hunter”s been here!”

”I know I fucked up.” Weston shakes his head. He looks at me, giving me this expression like I”m supposed to just chill out and see his side. ”I know, but that”s why I”m doing what I”m doing now?—”

”Letting someone on pills who steals waltz in and out of the place your child is going to live?”

Weston”s expression darkens. ”Hunter would never do anything that would hurt our kid.”

”Yeah. And I”m sure you believe he wouldn”t do anything to hurt you, either.”

It”s a low blow, but I don”t care. The real low blow is the fact that I was so easily disposable but somehow, Hunter wasn”t. It wasn”t important enough to believe me, but any excuse from Hunter is fine, no questions asked.

I grit my teeth and storm into the room. Weston looks at me apprehensively; he probably thinks so little of me that he”s expecting me to go apeshit on him.

Well, unlike him, I don”t do shit that hurts the people I love irreparably.

My target is my phone. I snatch it and send a message to Sutton.

RENEE: Sorry it”s late. Coming over.

When I reach the bedroom door, Weston speaks up. ”Where are you going, Renee?”

”Why does it matter to you?”

Childish, yeah, but I’m not exactly in my best state of mind right now.

”As my wife, you”re kinda my business.”

”You guys got married?!” Hunter asks in surprise. He”s still behind me.

I roll my eyes. ”I guess keeping shit from people you supposedly care about is just your thing, huh, Weston?”

He says something, but I don’t listen and I don”t answer him. What is the point? I storm through the apartment, Weston hot on my tail.

”Renee, where the fuck are you going?” His hand finds my upper arm, and I yank it from his hold with a barely-suppressed scream—the memories of Deacon”s violence are still too vivid and recent.

”What?” I ask, increasingly belligerent as I spin around to glare daggers at him. ”Are you gonna make me stay here? You gonna throw me out of the building if I don”t fall in line?”

Weston steps back as if he just touched hot iron. His breath rattles in his chest, mussed hair falling over his eyes. ”I think I have a right to know where my wife and child are running off to.”

”Sutton”s!” I snap. ”Do I have your approval now, sir?”

I don’t wait for the answer to that, either. I just slam the door in Weston”s face, leaving him with Hunter since being around him is so important.

I march right over to Sutton”s and pound on the door. It might be harder than necessary because I hear Sutton”s voice call out, “Hold the fuck up!” and the heavy pad of her feet.

Her door flies open.

Her hair sticks out like bird nest twigs beneath the rim of her bonnet. Sutton looks two steps away from a “get off my lawn, you crazy kids!” when she realizes that it”s me.

”Nay!” She blinks rapidly. ”What are you doing here?” She must not have woken up for my text. Her eyes roam from my fucked-up hair to the baggy man”s shirt falling past my knees and she instantly arrives at what’s probably the correct conclusion. ”Damn, you look like shit. Come in.”