9. Winter

NINE

WINTER

I 'm not anxious. I'm nervous.

My leg bounces up and down underneath the dining table. Well, to call it a dining table would be utterly absurd. The behemoth slab of Amazon rosewood parading as a table gleams as the wall of windows lets in the sunlight. This thing could easily seat forty people.

We're in what Ella called "the great hall," and I feel entirely dwarfed as I sit to the right of the head of the table.

In that seat is H. Mr.Brigham.

"This parent interview and assessment is pretty thorough, so it will take the entirety of our time together." I try to make my tone light, even though I'm not looking directly at him. I can't. Instead, I make a show of flipping through my yellow legal pad and straighten the various assessments placed on the table before me.

Kitty lies on the floor near my feet.

"I've got everything lined up, though, so we'll be able to get through everything pretty seamlessly." I glance up at him, and I'm startled to see his eyes locked on my face. Which…where else would he look? We're the only two people in this massive room. But still …

When I arrived this morning, I felt a whole heaping of doubt when seven guards stared me down, demanding my identity before my foot even left my Uber.

I only calmed down when a hulking blond with a hard Southern accent put me in the most tricked-out golf cart I've ever seen.

Ella's bubbly personality soothes many ills, so once she greeted me with a warm welcome, I was calm and smiling for the rest of the morning.

But now I'm sharing airspace with Hunter Brigham, and his presence sucks the oxygen out of the room.

Daring to steal more oxygen, I take a deep breath before asking, "Do you have any questions before we begin?"

My eyes lock on his.

"Not at this time," he says. The angles of his stupidly handsome face are sharp, his gaze hard.

"Great, so let's get started." I shuffle more papers. "We'll go through the parent interview portion. Then I'll leave you to fill out the parent questionnaires. I also connected with August's past providers and had a wonderful chat with his occupational therapist."

"Who gave you that information?"

"Oh! I completed my interview with Ella—er, Miss Brigham, virtually a few days ago. She gave me their info." I can see the moment when a wall goes up in his brain.

He replies with a short, "Hm."

"Anyhoo," Oh, my God, Winter. Anyhoo? "I've got a lot to go on here, but your input will let us wrap this up nicely."

I pause, waiting for him to say something.

Anything.

I keep going when I realize he's not going to add to that statement.

"Moving on, then. Can you tell me about the pregnancy with August? What was it like? Was it uncomplicated, or were there a lot of concerns? "

He clenches and unclenches his jaw, and I'm mesmerized by the movement. "I don't know much about it, but I believe it was pretty straightforward considering she was an addict." My eyebrows shoot to my hairline and I force my face into a professional mask. I turn to my legal pad to make a note.

"Was she in active addiction during the pregnancy?" I ask. I don't judge people with addictions for their illness. God knows I could have so easily fallen into that path. I try to make sure my voice sounds as positive and nonjudgmental as possible.

"I'm unsure," he grinds out.

"That's okay," I rush to say and face my legal pad again, scribbling notes I'm not sure will be legible. "Let's move on from that. The delivery. Was it a C-section or vaginal?"

"I don't know."

"Okay, how about the first few months of life? Did the mom breastfeed, or was August formula-fed?" I ask this question without looking at H, but I tear my eyes from the paper when his silence goes on for a moment too long.

He's not looking at me, though. He's looking out the window. His face is blank, and his head rests on his fist.

"Whatever you remember, Mr.Brigham." He raises his eyebrow and settles his gaze back on me.

"What do I remember? Well," he emits a somber chuckle. "I don't remember much because I wasn't there. I was anywhere but. I stopped by the hospital to see my son through a window for fifteen minutes and was on a plane to the other side of the country twelve hours later." He sits up in his seat and leans toward me.

"Want to know the truth, Winter? Maiya and I? We fucked. A lot. She gave great head. Grade-A. That's all there was. We weren't a family unit. We didn't have pillow talk or go on dates. It was fucking, plain and simple. Next thing you know, August is here. That's what happened."

I snap my mouth closed and look around to make sure we're still alone. We are, and I feel heat rising to my cheeks from anger.

"What are you even saying right now? Do you even want August?" My line of questioning is wholly inappropriate, but he opened the door.

"Fuck yes, I want him. I wanted him then too. I saw his face through that damn nursery window and he became the most important person in my entire world. And that's why I—" He cuts himself off, looking back at the window, but this time, he covers his mouth with his fist. I can see the wheels turning in his mind.

"In my world, there's not a lot of space for things like families." The muscles in his face tighten.

He continues on. "These questions…I know you're going to ask me a lot of questions I don't know the answer to," he says, still not looking at me. "And that makes me feel like shit. But that's not your problem." He stands up, and the scratch of the solid wood chair ricochets around the room. "That said, I don't have much to add to the conversation. And I won't be able to fill out these forms." He picks them up and throws them into the crate sitting on the floor near my feet.

He walks away.

I sit at the table, stunned for a full two minutes. My mind spins. He clearly feels something for his son. That's apparent whenever you see him interact with August. He's desperate to connect with him. But he talks so poorly about the circumstances of August's birth. About how he showed up as a father up until now. And the sad part is: he's telling the truth. It's not that he's necessarily being hard on himself. These are the facts. This is what happened.

August is paying for the sins of both of his parents.

My anger returns. His father needs to be there for him through this process. Hunter Brigham needs to get his shit together .

"Stay," I tell Kitty. He shakes his head like he doesn't believe me. "I mean it," I say with more intensity.

He lies down with a huff.

I make my way through the estate, following the path of Hunter's departure. After a few turns, I stop in a hallway deep in the mansion.

"Where the fuck am I?" I mutter, and I slow my breathing to try to orient myself.

I hear the smack of what sounds like skin hitting skin, and I'm apprehensive about following the noise. Is he having sex right now?

I don't know why, but my feet follow the rhythmic pounding, and to my relief, Hunter isn't, in fact, in the process of having sex. He's in a gym, and he's trying to annihilate a punching bag.

My relief turns into red-hot shock when I realize the very fortunate/unfortunate news that he's shirtless. If I check myself right now, I know I'll find drool. I was so right in my earlier assessment of him. He has a solid figure that's not overly defined like a bodybuilder's. His stomach is thick with muscle beneath his skin. His arms are covered with tattoos…and scars.

Burn marks?

He must realize I'm standing there because his voice shocks me from my gawking.

"What else do you need, Ms.Vaughan?" He punches the bag again, harder than his previous jabs. And goddamn if his back muscles don't flex with each movement.

I stand up tall, summoning all the authority available in my body.

"Regardless of your presence to date, Mr.Brigham ," I emphasize his name, "your participation in this process and the following sessions is vital to August's recovery."

In the middle of my speech, he steps down from the platform that houses the punching bag and walks over to the dumbbells. The ones he picks up look impossibly heavy, but he lifts them easily.

"I really have nothing to add to this process." He sits down on the bench and alternates arm curls.

"Well, I disagree. Wholeheartedly, actually. You're August's father. And regardless of what your relationship has looked like so far, you and his aunt are all he has. Don't cut his support system down. Be there." The weights clank loudly as he drops them back on the rack, the sound vibrating off the mirrors along the wall nearest to us.

"What do you need from me, Winter?" My chest warms at him using my name.

"I need," a lot of things from you. "I need you to come to the caregiver sessions with Ella so we can discuss your progress and come up with ideas to engage with him." I take a breath. "And figure out how you two can build a relationship."

His left knee pops up and down rapidly, and he grunts when I stop speaking.

"And I think you could really benefit from one-on-one sessions with a counselor. Someone who can help you process your trauma and emotions. I can help you."

His head snaps my way when I mention one-on-one sessions. It wasn't something I'd thought about until the words came out of my mouth. I don't think I can actually offer him counseling sessions. Not legally or officially, anyway.

"Or , " I say, rushing to fill the silence. "I can connect you with a few great referrals who can work with you individually. It's, um, it's up to you." I bring my hand to my mouth and start nibbling on a hangnail.

Hunter stands up and walks toward me. When he's a foot away, he stops, places his hands on his hips, and looks down.

"And if it goes nowhere? If it turns out that August will always hate me and my presence hurts more than it helps? Goddamn it," he says, rubbing his hand over his mouth .

He walks back to the dumbbells and sighs, his back to me. He may not like it, but I hear the vulnerability in his tone. He isn't looking at me, but I can feel it. This strong, powerful man is scared. Maybe he wants this to work.

Compassion floods me. Uncontrollably, my feet move closer to him.

"We just need to give it time." I place my hand on his forearm.

His gaze snags mine at the touch of my hand, and I find myself wholly ensnared. The foot between us seems to evaporate, and I feel the intimacy of his nearly naked body so close to mine.

So close.

His smell—cedarwood, smoke, and sweat—wraps around me, and the room starts to spin.

Down, damn pheromones!

I pull my hand from his arm.

"Oh, sorry. I shouldn't have—okay, wow, I should really get going." I step back several feet and find myself at the doorway. I clutch the doorframe so hard my fingertips ache. "I'll be by in the morning. I'll evaluate everything from Ella's interview and assessment submissions tonight and present an action plan to the three of you tomorrow. Okay, bye!"

I whip around and shockingly find my way back to the great hall without getting lost. Stuffing everything back into my tote as quickly as possible and bringing Kitty to heel, I swing my bag over my shoulder. I damn near run to exit Amelia Manor.

I'm forty feet down the driveway when I realize I never scheduled an Uber.

Fuck.