11. Winter

ELEVEN

WINTER

“ E veryone is having breakfast in the main dining room. Wanna come?” Veronica stands in the doorway to my bedroom, dressed in denim overalls and a white T-shirt. She hasn’t styled her hair like she usually does—instead, two abnormally messy French braids adorn her head.

I want to say that we’ve all fallen into a routine, if for no other reason than to stave off boredom and anxiety about The Legion’s next moves. But the reality is that’s only true for some of us.

For others, anxiety is a constant companion.

Specifically for Hunter.

At first, he seemed to settle into a sense of resignation. Things are still fucked, but he seemed to accept things as they were. But then, a few days after Ella decided to join The Resistance’s efforts to take down The Architect, he had a meeting with Misha that turned into another screaming match, and all of Hunter’s calm resolve vanished.

Every night, I watch him fall into a fitful sleep that never lasts too long. In the mornings, he wakes with dark circles under his eyes and a sharp attitude.

August and I see him around, but whenever he’s with us, he’s distant.

A few days ago, I tried to initiate sex with him, reaching across the bed and grasping his cock in the way that I’ve learned that he loves. He hadn’t tried anything since our tryst in Misha’s kitchen. I thought his hesitation was because my shoulder was still tender. But now, the wound is nearly healed, and the scars have started to soften.

It barely hurts anymore.

But before I could get two strokes in, he grabbed my wrist more painfully than he’d ever touched me, jumped out of the bed, and ran into the closet.

After entirely too much time in there, he re-emerged fully dressed and left the room in the middle of the night.

I didn’t see him again until well into the following day, and he still hasn’t talked to me beyond general inquiries and questions about the baby.

Damn him. Damn him for doing this to us again.

So things are tense with Hunter, and they’re tense with Veronica too.

Ever since our showdown in my bathroom, she’s been absent. Not that she’s been purposely avoiding me, but more like whenever we’re in the same room, she’s quiet and lost in her thoughts. The only thing that brings her out of her shell is when Summer demands her attention.

It’s rare these days for us to act normal around each other, but can I really expect things to be normal?

Things are way, way abnormal right now.

Veronica faces me with her hand on the doorknob to my room. She wears the mask that I’ve seen her don for other people but never for me. It’s the delicate smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes—one she perfected over her years of schooling. Her eyebrows are in a neutral position, and the contraction of her cheek muscles that crinkle her eyes in a mockery of joy causes dread to fill me.

She’s hurting.

She’s lying.

And I don’t know what to do about it.

I know that Veronica hates my decisions. She hates the ones I’m making now and the ones that I’ve made up until today, but I can’t make myself regret anything.

“Coming,” I say, my voice quiet.

Veronica waits for me while I throw on a pair of yoga pants under a loose T-shirt and bralette. Clothes have been a sensory nightmare for me lately. For the first several days of my recovery, the pain pills caused me to be vaguely itchy, in addition to the hormones surging through my body, causing everything to be sensitive.

I’m almost five months along now. My breasts are larger, and my questionable pooch is now a small but undeniable baby bump. I run an absent-minded hand over my stomach and say the silent prayer I’ve recited every day since learning of the new life inside me.

Let us make it through this alive.

When we reach the dining hall, I’m surprised by how many people are in here, and even more surprised by some of the familiar faces in the room.

To one side near the head of the table, Misha, Amelia, and Luna stand in a loose semi-circle, talking amongst themselves.

In another corner, Max chats with a woman I don’t recognize, and Ella stands near Misha’s group, hovering near Amelia but not interacting with her.

Seated at the middle of the long table—a table that rivals the size of the one in the great hall back home—are Jared and Rio. They both look in good health. I haven’t seen the pair except in passing while roaming the halls, and we haven’t spoken. Each time I’ve run into them, they’ve been off to tend to some important detail related to The Legion.

I get it.

I immediately search for Hunter, except he’s not here.

Unease triples in my chest, and I find it hard to breathe. For some reason, his absence impacts me keenly right now.

One.

One-two-one.

One-two-three-two-one.

“I am so glad to see you well, Mrs. Brigham,” Rio says, his voice gruff. At the mention of the name, I tense, giving him a look.

“Winter,” I say, not correcting his use of my fictional last name but also wanting to engage him. “I think we can be on a first-name basis now, don’t you think?”

He gives a slight grin.

“Sorry for putting a gun to your head,” I say, my voice halting. He shrugs, and it’s a casual response.

“I wouldn’t have expected you to do any differently,” he offers.

Veronica shifts next to me, and I catch it when she removes her gaze from Rio down to Summer. The baby begins to fuss, and Veronica shushes her as she heads off to a quieter corner to nurse.

Rio’s gaze follows her across the room.

Jared clears his throat and stands, and when I take him in, my breath leaves me in a woosh . Even though I’ve seen him at least twice since arriving, I’m still caught off guard that he looks perfectly fine, given the fact that he’s supposed to be recovering from a shot near his femoral artery.

Veronica’s words about the “freaky shit” clang between my ears as I realize that neither he nor Rio look as if they’ve just suffered near-fatal gunshot wounds.

“Thanks for not shooting me too,” Jared offers, his voice teasing.

Jared has always been an enigma to me. He’s got a deeply Southern accent and a gentle presence, yet the sheer amount of bulk he carts around makes him an intimidating figure. He’s built a little like The Mountain from Game of Thrones, but when he opens his mouth, he sounds like Rhett Butler.

Still, while they may be able to joke about that night, I’m not. I look at my shoes, and Rio’s soft, “Hey,” causes me to look at them again.

“You did good, Winter,” Rio says, and his smile seems genuine. But looking between them both again, I can tell that my confusion must show on my face.

“I feel like I’m living in The Matrix . Or, I guess, out of The Matrix . Or maybe I took the blue pill?” I’m rambling, and I have to force myself to lower my hand from my mouth when I start to bite my already-ripped thumbnail.

Kitty jumps up on my calf.

“We could tell you more later if you want,” Jared says, sliding his eyes toward Rio, but Rio gives him an unreadable look.

“Yeah,” I say, feeling the urge to bite my nails. “That would be good.”

Veronica’s words come back to me again. There’s much I don’t know, and even if Hunter is willing to share with me now, there may be things that even he doesn’t know.

Knowledge is power, and without knowledge, we may face an inevitable death.

My hand goes back to my stomach.

The double doors open, and servers file in, each carrying a steaming dish in their hands. Different types of eggs, breakfast meats, and fruit are placed in the center of the dining table, and another set of attendants come through to lay place settings and fill glasses with water.

It’s a beautiful presentation.

But it’s the eggs that do me in.

The urgent need to vomit causes me to turn from the room and run down the hall. The only silver lining is that my stomach is empty except for the water I drank to take all my meds.

I’m a few feet from my room and potential salvation at the hands of the porcelain gods when I run into Hunter.

“Sunbeam, are you okay?”

He barely has time to get the words out before I strong-arm him out of my way and retch bile and probably some of my pills onto the carpet.

“Oh, shit,” Hunter curses, and when there’s a break in my heaving, I collapse on all fours.

“Shit,” he repeats, but his voice is heavy with worry. In a moment, he shifts me over so that I’m cradled in his arms. In a powerful lunge, he takes the nine steps to bring me from the entrance of our room to our bathroom. He places me on the short settee near our toilet.

I drop my sweaty head in my hands.

“Ugh, I’ll clean that up in a minute,” I mumble, trying to collapse into my thighs. My esophagus burns and quivers on the edge of puking again.

Hunter rubs my back in slow, silent circles, and I relax into his touch.

“The baby?” he says, his voice as soft as his movements.

I nod my head, still keeping my face pressed to my lap. Well, as close to my lap as I can comfortably contort myself with the roundness of my baby bump in the way.

“They really didn’t like the thought of the eggs benedict that was served at the breakfast,” I quip.

Deciding it’s time to sit up, or at least to test my ability to, I straighten my spine and meet Hunter’s cerulean eyes.

Looking at him never ceases to stun me, and I’m not convinced that the feeling will ever fade.

Will his attraction to me fade over time, though?

I take in his features and then look at my mangled nails.

Has he already lost the spark?

My hands begin to tremble, and I bend forward again, banding my arms around my stomach as the nausea returns.

Hunter jumps back and commands, “Wait here,” without looking at me while he storms out of the bathroom. I count my breaths, both to anchor myself in time to see if he’ll return and also to give my queasy stomach something else to focus on besides the idea of hurling up my guts.

Again.

But Hunter returns a few moments later, fumbling with several small items in his palms.

“I had one of Misha’s people go out and get you some ginger pops. Also, the Internet said that peppermint might help with the nausea. But if it’s really bad, I can take you to the doctor here on the base and see if they can get you a real anti-nausea medicine that’s safe.”

He spills all this while kneeling in front of me and unwrapping a lollipop and peppermint. Finally, he offers one of each to me.

“Which one feels right?” His gaze is earnest, and I can’t help it.

I start to cry.

This is confusing. He is confusing. He’s been hot and cold, on and off, for several days, and I feel like a fool for believing that we were on a new road.

Because as soon as something upset him, he shut down quicker than a laptop with a dead battery.

“Sunbeam,” he says with a sigh. I throw myself into his arms, pulling him close. He puts his hand on my cheek, and the roughness of his calloused palms makes my body feel electrified.

“Are we okay, Hunter?” The words are vulnerable, more dangerous than they should feel.

“We are more than okay. We, you and me, are perfect, Winter.”

I bite my lip as I look at his face, searching for any sign of deceit. There’s so much on his shoulders, but the decision not to speak up isn’t the right one.

“You’re doing it again, Hunter.” I take a deep breath.

Now would be a great time to use your training.

“When you…” I search for the right word. “When you stop communicating with me, I feel insignificant. I feel in danger.”

There. I said it.

Hunter blinks at me and his hand on my face stills. “You feel that I’m a danger to you?” His words are…hurt.

I take a steadying breath. “No, that’s not what I said. I said I don’t feel safe when I am ignored by you.”

I count my breaths—one, two, three—and his hand falls from my face when he rises. When he walks over to the edge of the bathroom and turns to me, leaning on the doorjamb, I stand too.

“I feel better,” I say, desperate to change the subject, even if this confrontation is needed. “I’m going to brush my teeth.”

Hunter nods, then looks to the floor, rubbing his top lip with the back of his thumbnail before heading back into the bedroom.

I make quick work of cleaning the vomit taste from my tongue, and the mint in the toothpaste and Listerine help quell my nausea. But still, when I turn off the taps, I don’t move from my spot at the counter.

Hunter returns, taking up his previous spot in the doorway, and asks, “You good?”

Our gazes clash. “Yes, Hunter. I’m good now.”

He nods sharply and steps away from the exit, putting his hand out to indicate that I should go past the threshold.

The smell of disinfectant hits me, but I’m grateful that it isn’t pungent. The spots where I puked on the floor are cleaned. I turn back to the bathroom and see Hunter standing at the entrance, drying his hands on a white towel.

“They’re going to hand Ella over soon,” Hunter says without preamble.

The devastation that he clearly feels seems to take over his body. He clutches the towel between his hands, winding the material around his fingers as he starts to move restlessly around the room. I know he wants to rage, but I’m still caught off guard when he picks up the decorative crystal statue situated on a small end table and throws it at the wall.

It shatters into a million pieces. We’re both silent in the crash.

He lets out a dark chuckle, and without looking at me, he says, “If you were scared of me before, I’m sure you’re terrified now.”

I involuntarily raise my hand to my neck, and the other goes over my belly, over our child.

“Hunter,” I begin. There are so many things I want to say, but I’m unsure which one will set him off.

“Everything you think is always right on your face, baby. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that it’s her choice to make, and you’re right. But still, I can’t fucking stand it.”

He starts to pace again but gives up and flops to a seat on the bed, grabbing his thick, dark hair in both hands. His knuckles turn white as he pulls.

“I’m going to lose my sister,” he rasps.

The statement moves me into action.

“You don’t know that, Hunter.”

“Yes, I do.”

I huff. “Well, shit. I didn’t know you were clairvoyant. Why haven’t you told me this before? Surely we could have avoided some terrible moments, yeah?”

He glances up at me, and while I’m sure he doesn’t fully appreciate my quip, there’s a slight tilt to his mouth.

I sit next to him on the bed, our bodies touching from shoulder to knee.

“Misha’s plan is for me to contact Winthrope and tell him to meet on Isla Cara.”

I nod. “That could be a good move. Known territory and all that.”

Hunter rubs his top lip again.

“Sure, I guess. He’s been hounding me to make the call for days now, but I can’t do it.”

I grab his hand, so grateful that he’s talking, but I also want him to feel good about offering up the info, like he’s in control.

“The plan is to meet there, set up the hand-off, put a tracker on her and someone, ” Hunter waves his free hand wildly to indicate the uncertainty in the plan. “And then we pull Ella out. Maybe kill a few people in the meantime. Maybe not.”

I hum in response and rub his hand with gentle circles. Rub. Rub.

“Surely they’d expect us to do something like this, so the plan doesn’t make any sense,” he says.

I bite my lip but don’t stop rubbing his hand. When I think about it, of course, Hunter is right. The plan is far-fetched and way too damn simple. But…maybe, somehow, it’ll work because they won’t expect us to make the obvious choice.

...Maybe?

“What do you think is a better idea?” I offer.

He holds back his response for several moments before saying, “I don’t know.”

He pulls my hand to his mouth, kissing each knuckle with reverence. My heart thuds in my chest.

“I’m sorry, Sunbeam,” he says with his lips pressed to my flesh.

I want to cry, not just because I’m a hormonal mess, but because everything is so fucking overwhelming.

So I launch myself onto his body, straddling his waist, which causes him to fall into the mattress on his back.

“I love you so much it hurts, Hunter,” I say into his neck.

The words shake me because when stripped away, what am I really saying?

This love hurts.

He bands his arms around my back, bringing me even closer to him. “You have no idea how much I love you,” he says.

The words whisper over the flesh at my neck, and goosebumps rise on my arms.

“All I want is for you to be safe and for nothing to touch you anymore.” He rubs his cheek against mine.

“I want to give you Paris. I want to give you the cherry blossoms in spring. I want to take you sailing around the world and for us to deal with fussy babies and diapers and putting them to sleep so we could rush off and make love.”

I pull back to look at his face. “Hunter….”

“I want to give you every single one of your desires, Sunbeam. It feels like…it feels like if there’s one thing on this planet that I could do that’s good, it’s loving and cherishing you.”

My tears fall onto his chest, where they soak into the fabric of his T-shirt.

“Hunter,” I say. “I’m not afraid of you. I’m afraid of life when I don’t truly have you.”

The words are raw and honest, and in any other environment, I’d be embarrassed for having said them. But now, when it’s just me and him and our baby between us, there can only be space for honesty.

Hunter’s hands skim up my back, lifting my shirt, and I can’t resist grinding my core against him.

“How do you feel right now?” he asks, his tone deepening. I kiss his cheek, then give him a small caress of my lips against his.

“Definitely feeling good enough to have you inside me, H,” I say, grateful that I brushed my teeth and gargled some mouthwash.

His smile is crooked, and then, in a flash, he switches our positions. When I’m beneath him, Hunter pulls one of the throw pillows from the head of the bed and wedges it beneath my right hip.

“What?” I begin.

“The doctor says you’re not supposed to be flat on your back now. It could compress important blood vessels, remember?”

I roll my eyes.

“I’m not far enough along for that really to be a concern, H,” I say with a slight chuckle.

Hunter raises his eyebrow as he leans over me, but I suppress a gasp when he glides his hand over my hip and down to grasp my elevated butt cheek.

“The pillow stays,” he says. There’s no room for argument in his tone.

“Yes, Sir,” I say, teasing, but something flashes in his eyes when I do. While his eyes darken, he brings his face close, pressing teasing kisses across my cheeks, my forehead, and then my lips.

When he pulls away again, he says, “Let’s take it slow, baby.”

“What happened to ‘the next time you’re inside me, you’re going to fuck me so hard I can’t move?’” I lift my eyebrow to amplify my sarcasm.

He delivers a slap to the outside of my thigh, but it doesn’t hurt. It barely stings through the fabric of my yoga pants.

“That was before you puked on my shoes,” he says, grinning. Heat flushes my face with embarrassment, and I bring my hands up to cover my eyes.

“Hey,” he says, pulling one wrist away. “I want to give you what you need, baby.”

He kisses me, so soft, so sweet.

“Do you need me, Winter?”

Always.

I will always need Hunter Brigham.

“Yes,” I say with a breathless sigh.

The look in his eyes will be my undoing.

Without saying anything further, Hunter lifts my shirt from my body, kissing his way across my stomach and breasts as he does so. I moan, biting my lip to keep it from turning into an outright scream, when he licks my hard nipple before bringing it into the wet warmth of his mouth.

My fingers plunge into his hair, gripping the strands as I contour my palms to his skull.

After several pulls, which I feel deep within my pussy, he releases me with an audible pop. Kissing the flesh above my breast, he makes his way toward my ear.

“Nice and slow, Winter,” he says in a muted voice, and when he slides his hand under the band of my pants and underwear, I don’t suppress the full-body shiver that results from the feeling of his fingers moving against my wet folds.

“Hmm,” he growls. “I love how wet you get for me, Winter. Your body is getting you ready to take me in deep.” He nips at my earlobe, and good God, he drives me crazy when he does that.

I rush to push my pants and underwear down, getting them past my hips before Hunter releases a chuckle.

“Slow,” he emphasizes, grasping my wrist. I want to groan in frustration. It’s been nearly a goddamn month since we last had full-on sex, and I need it.

Badly.

“Slow. Sure,” I say, my tone petulant. He chuckles again but takes his time to move down my stomach before stopping to place reverent kisses over the place where our child grows.

“You are such a gift to me, Winter Leigh Vaughan.” He places his cheek over my lower belly, and I have to take deep breaths to keep from crying.

“I wouldn’t change anything, H,” I whisper to him, promising him that this is my truth. He freezes, but with a deep release of air, he moves, peppering kisses over my mons. The fabric of my pants bunch around the bottoms of my thighs, restricting my movements.

He doesn’t move his face from its position between my closed legs. But I nearly leap off the bed when his tongue snakes out and strokes between my folds and over my clit.

“Hunter!” I gasp, and my thighs tense, seeking more, more, more….

When I try to open my legs against the restriction, I grunt in frustration when Hunter presses them back together.

“We’ll get there, baby,” he says, and it’s clear he’s enjoying this.

“Stop teasing me,” I say, frustration eking into my words.

“Why are you in such a hurry?” he replies.

“Because it’s been forever and a day since I last had your cock inside me, and I miss it. So hurry the fuck up!”

He laughs outright, and I’m so grateful for the sound. I didn’t realize just how much I’ve missed him like this. A flash of our first date pops into my consciousness. He was so happy. We were so happy.

I pout, but it turns into a smile. Then that smile turns into an open-mouthed groan when he uses one arm to pull my thighs together even more and uses his other hand to slide between my pussy lips.

“Shit!” I swear. He laughs again, and I decide to take matters into my own hands and push my pants down further. They drop to my ankles, and I kick them off.

“You can go slow next time. This time needs to be fast,” I say.

God, I need to come. I need him to come with me. In me.

Hunter pulls my legs apart and rests on his heels, staring at my pussy for entirely too long. I pull on his hair, trying to spur him into action to do something. Anything.

But he pulls my hands from him and folds both of them over my navel.

Then he places his mouth over my cunt.

My back bows off the bed, and I struggle to keep my legs flat and my hands on my stomach. I want to race off and reach my height so badly. A part of me recognizes that I want to get there with him now, immediately, because I’m so uncomfortable with how things have been with us lately.

The distance. The cold.

I can’t stand it.

“Hunter, please,” I plead. I’m begging him now, but I don’t move my hands. I just stare down at his dark head as he laps into me.

Our gazes meet, and something in mine must make him pause because after a heartbeat, he pulls away, breathing deeply as he looks at the floor.

Please.

Hunter stands and whips off his shirt and shoves down his pants. His cock is so hard that it points toward his navel. I’ll never get tired of seeing him like this.

He leans over me so slowly until we’re face to face, and he kisses me, stealing my soul from my lips.

He puts his arms under my back and lifts me so that I lie in the middle of the bed, putting me on my side with a pillow wedged behind my back. With smooth movements, he climbs over me until our bodies meet in full, and he wraps my top leg over his hip. With aching slowness, the tip of his cock runs through my folds before notching in the mouth of my pussy.

“You never have to beg me for what you need, baby.” Inch by inch, he sinks into me, and darkness covers my field of vision as my eyes roll back. “We might play together here, but I’ll never withhold what you need.” He rocks into me, fully seated within my body.

I am so close to coming, I can taste it.

Hunter’s lips find mine again, and I place my hands on his shoulders, pressing my fingers into the tense muscles as my body coils tight. He rocks in and out, dragging himself over my most sensitive parts. But it’s when he pushes all the way into me, his pelvis kissing my clit, that he uses shallow movements to bring me there.

Right there.

One, two, three strokes. Then he says, “I’ll always take care of you, my precious, precious Winter.”

Fireworks go off behind my eyelids as I tip over, tumbling into an orgasm so consuming that I lose my sense of sound and sight.

“Fuck yes,” he swears as I clamp onto him, but he doesn’t change the languid pace. Instead, he kisses me, pressing us tighter together.

And when I say, “I love you, Hunter,” he groans long and low and comes without ever changing the cadence of his movements.

We breathe together for several minutes as Hunter rests inside me, and even when he softens, he doesn’t pull out. Instead, he keeps me close as if he’s as reluctant to add space between us as I am.

“I need to pee,” I say, breaking the spell. He laughs, more of a snort, and says, “Of course, baby,” and rolls away from me.

I pad over to the bathroom, naked, and hold onto the euphoria that we’ve just experienced.

Why can’t it be like this? Why do we have to be in this space where everything is so fucked up?

And for how long?

When I wash my hands, Hunter stands behind me and wraps his arms around my middle. One of his hands rests near the side of my breast, and he rubs dizzying circles around the curve of it. He leans down to kiss my neck, and my eyes slide closed as the warm water runs over my fingers.

“I need to know that we are okay, Winter,” he says against my throat.

I take a deep breath. Are we okay? My heart and body say yes, but my mind is conflicted.

I look at him through our reflections in the mirror. My Hunter, the love of my life, the man who consumes me.

“You and I are always all right,” I say.

Yet the words echo in my brain.

Consumes me.

Consumes me.

…What will there be left of me once he’s done?

I feel myself begin to spiral as anxiety stabs its hooks into my psyche, but I’m broken out of it by loud banging on the door.

Hunter is the first to jump into action, pushing me further into the bathroom and tossing a robe my way from the back of the door as he rushes out.

Banging starts up again, and after tying the belt of the robe in a tight knot, I exit the bathroom to see a shirtless Hunter standing in front of the open door with his pants pulled up but unbuttoned.

“Leo?” I call out from my position between the rooms, but no one acknowledges me.

“How bad is it?” Hunter asks. His voice holds a note of dread so acute I feel it as a physical thing.

Leo’s naturally tan face is pale, but at Hunter’s question, it turns grim.