12. Winter

TWELVE

WINTER

I 'm unnerved at how long it took me to get ready this morning. My routine was all the same: wake up, take Kitty out, make coffee, prepare Kitty's things and my supplies for the day, get cleaned up, and leave the apartment.

But when I faced my reflection in my bathroom mirror after spending forty-five minutes diffusing my curls and applying lashes, I felt foolish.

Silly.

I'm going to spend an hour with Hunter Brigham. Alone. Talking.

Holy bananas.

But now that I'm standing on the steps of Amelia Manor waiting for one of the staff to open the door, I'm self-conscious. Half of my wardrobe is currently on my bed, strewn about after my frantic search for the right outfit combination.

I rarely go to the mall or anything like that, but I love online shopping. I have a lot of clothes for living in a studio apartment.

I smooth my hands over my floral linen dress and pull the sides of my soft cardigan together, praying I look casual and approachable rather than dressed up for no reason.

I don't want Hunter to think I tried too hard for this simple meeting.

Didn't you, though?

Kitty shuffles closer to me in his seated position, leaning against my freshly shaved legs. His presence helps knock a bit of the edge off. Which is a good thing because as soon as the door opens, I find it hard to breathe.

Hunter stands in the entrance. His charcoal gray suit can only be custom made, and because he doesn't wear the suit jacket, the unbuttoned top of his crisp white shirt stands out. Between the open panels of fabric, the edge of his chest tattoo peeks out.

With air trapped in my lungs, I try to form words past the constriction when he saves me from further embarrassment.

"Winter," he says. And when he smiles, I feel like I can relax again. The pensive, troubled look he wore for most of our parent meeting is gone. He looks…happy.

I'm glad for it.

"Where do you want me?" I ask after he ushers Kitty and me inside.

He gives me an unreadable look, and I want to smack myself because damn if that wasn't a provocative statement.

"Let's try the sitting room. It has a pocket door that we can close for privacy," he says. I freeze, suddenly having to face the idea of us being secluded together.

"Or not. It's all good," he adds quickly.

I face him, biting my lip. "It's okay, we wouldn't want someone overhearing or interrupting us."

No, we certainly would not.

Once in the room, I tackle the main issue.

"So first, I want to clarify. I'm not a licensed therapist yet, so it was a poor choice of words when I said I could take you on for a session. I can only provide services under the supervision of my advisor. I could ask for her to add you to my practicum…or I can be here as a friend to talk to. Would you like me to explain the differences between the two?"

I go for a gentle smile, but I'm distracted by the tremor in my hands.

"Lay it out for me, Winter," he replies, leaning back on the loveseat Ella sat in when interviewing me.

I clear my throat, patting the side of my leg to wordlessly get Kitty to jump in my lap.

"Well, if I'm to be here in an official capacity, that means that we will have to create super clear boundaries about what I can and cannot share with you in this space about August. Feedback sessions on August's progress will be separate from our sessions together. Does that make sense?" I raise my hands to my mouth, prepared to bite my nails, but I lower it to run through Kitty's fur. My dog lets out a pleased huff.

"That makes sense," he says. "What else?"

"Um…" I look around the room and feel heat rising to the apples of my cheeks.

"I mean, that's the main difference. We couldn't have a personal relationship outside these doors."

He raises an eyebrow.

"A personal relationship?" he asks, and there is a thread of amusement in his question.

Oh, God, he's laughing at me.

"Not that you'd want to connect outside of this professional arrangement. I don't mean—I mean?—"

I'm flustered, stammering, so I'm grateful when he breaks my diatribe by saying, "I understand what you mean."

I pull Kitty closer to my chest.

We're both silent for a moment and I'm grateful for it. He glances away, and I want to think it's because he knows I need a break from the intensity of his eyes on me.

With a deep breath, I ask, "Which one do you want? "

His eyes slide back to me when I begin speaking, and he bites the side of his lip for a moment.

"Let's be friends," he says. He smiles, and I can't help smiling back.

"Okay, Hunter. Here's to being friends."

The silence is comfortable as we look at each other in the wake of that admission. When I was here last with Ella on the day of my fateful interview, I only had a moment to take in a few of the room's details.

Now, I can't say if anything has changed. All I can see is Hunter.

Hunter, who is now my friend.

"Well, friend ," I say, testing out the word. "How are you?"

His laugh falls flat.

"That's a great question," he says without sarcasm.

"Isn't it?" I reply, giving him space to think. When he doesn't respond for a full minute, I say, "I'm not here to psychoanalyze you or diagnose you. I'm your friend, right? Friends talk about how they're doing."

His lips twist before settling into a smile. "You won't psychoanalyze me?"

"Well, not officially. Just in my head, though."

His smile is gentle. "You're funny, Winter Vaughan."

I smirk back at him. "This? Catch me when I'm warmed up. I'm hilarious."

Then I wink.

I wink!

Who even are you?

"I don't doubt that for a second," he replies.

"So don't avoid the question. How are you?"

He tap-tap-tap s a finger on his thigh several times before saying, "I'm sustaining." He inhales deeply, holding it for a second before expelling it.

"My whole life has changed in a matter of a day. I've gone from traveling the world, doing what I want when I want, to being tied down. I don't leave the house—I've brought the business here. Things are stressful at work, but when are they ever not stressful? Plus, all I want is for August and me to be able to move forward, and it feels like I'm doing everything wrong." He runs his fingers through his silky black hair, and I squeeze my thighs together involuntarily.

Skirting around his statement about August for now, I ask, "Do you like your work?"

He barks out a quick laugh.

"That good, huh?" I respond.

"It's not that I don't like my work. I do. We're doing some great things. Some world-changing shit. But am I passionate about it?" He thinks about it for a moment. "No, I'm not."

"So why do you do it?"

"I—" he cuts himself off, rubbing his thumbnail over his top lip. "I'm not really sure. At first, we started the business out of revenge. To right a lot of wrongs in this world. But now it just gives me a goddamn headache."

Revenge?

I nod. "I get that."

"What about you? Why did you get into psychology?"

I startle at his question, not expecting him to ask anything about me. But then again, this is supposed to be a friendly conversation, right? Not a counseling session.

I'm not his counselor. I'm here as his friend.

Yeah, keep telling yourself that, sister.

I consider his question. Even with our budding friendship, I won't tell him everything.

I would never tell him everything.

"My parents died when I was a kid. Their death really impacted me," I say.

He frowns. "I'm sorry that happened."

I shrug. "It happens," I say. I desperately want to change the subject. I twirl a loose thread from my cardigan around my finger .

"After finishing high school, I decided I wanted to help people, so I got into psychology." I pause for a moment. "How did you end up here with August?" I ask.

"What do you mean?"

I blow out a breath, reversing the direction of my twirling finger. "What happened with August's mother that resulted in you being absent all these years?"

He blinks. "Wow, going for the hard-hitting stuff right out the gate, huh?" The corner of his mouth quirks up in an imitation of a smile. It doesn't reach his eyes.

When I don't fill in the silence, he continues on. "Well, I was an idiot to start." He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. "And Maiya and I, we weren't healthy people in any sense of the word."

"You mentioned she was in active addiction when she had August," I add, wanting him to fill in the gaps in the story.

"She was."

"And you?"

"I was too. But I wasn't as bad as she was." He pauses for a moment. "No, that's actually a lie. I was just as bad as she was. Probably worse if I'm really honest. I just was able to…"

"…function?" I fill in for him.

"Yeah," he confirms. "But I had a lot more resources than she had."

"Ninety-nine-point-nine percent of America has fewer resources than you, H."

He nods before saying, "Fair enough."

We lapse back into comfortable silence, and I usher Kitty off my lap. He settles at my feet, relaxed yet alert.

"Are drugs part of your life now?" I ask.

"Not really. I haven't gotten high in over a year, and that was just weed. I haven't touched the hard stuff in six years. The only substance I use now is alcohol."

I hum. "What attracted you to her? Besides…how did you put it? "

He flushes and seeing him embarrassed does something to my already overheated lady bits.

"Yeah, I'm sorry for how I handled all that the other day."

"Apology accepted," I reply. "Now answer my question."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're persistent?"

"It's a great quality to have, H. The question." I arch an eyebrow at him, and he laughs.

"She never asked a lot of questions. She didn't talk much."

"I see," I say. Probably because she always had a mouthful of his cock.

And now I'm flushed and thinking about Hunter Brigham's cock.

"She didn't expect my attention or anything like that. She was just there, and she let me simply exist."

The look in his eyes grows distant, and I know there's more there.

"Could I ask a tough question?" I ask.

"Your questions haven't been tough enough?" He doesn't look off-put. He sighs and leans deeper into his seat. "Sure."

"Why did you walk away from August?"

He's silent for several heavy moments—the only sounds in the room are our breaths.

"I was never too far away from him. I don't know if that makes it better or worse. I kept up with everything he was doing. Anything he needed, I got it for him. But mostly, I was afraid I couldn't take care of him and keep him safe," he says finally.

"Safe? Take care of him? You have more than enough resources to take care of one child. Were you threatened to be disowned if you didn't drop him?"

"No, nothing like that," he says.

"Help me understand then. Because I see a man who feels deeply, and it's obvious you care about August. I'd say that you even love him because if you didn't, you wouldn't be trying this hard to build a relationship with him. So what's this about?" I feel flustered, and I try hard to regain my composure.

"The best way to hurt someone is to find their weaknesses. August is a weak spot for me," he says resolutely.

"You make it sound like you're in the mob," I say, mostly joking.

His silence makes it so that I'm not.

"I'm not in the mob, Winter," he clarifies.

"Thank God for that."

He smiles and then shrugs. "So, what's your story, Winter? Have you lived in northern Virginia all your life? Big family? Friends? Boyfriends?"

Am I hallucinating, or did he sound a little growly when he said, "boyfriend?"

"I've lived in Virginia forever, but I have an apartment in D.C. now. I don't have a big family, but I have a best friend who is more like a sister."

"I see," he says, echoing my phrase. "And the last part of my question?"

He leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees. He pushes his sleeves up, exposing his forearms. I damn near faint. The tattoos on his forearms stand out in colorful whorls in his skin.

I want to analyze them up close. Then I want to lick them.

Get. A. Grip!

"What was it again?" I blurt out.

"Is there someone you're going home to after this?" All of a sudden, his face looks grave. And instead of feeling fear, I feel like I'm vibrating.

And as is my M.O., I opt for humor.

"As a matter of fact, there is," I say smugly.

His face falls slightly, and I don't think too deeply about why that is. "Ah, I see. Is it serious?" he says.

"Very. He's with me twenty-four-seven. We do so much together—share meals, back rubs…I love him. "

"Got ya," he says, leaning back and looking away.

"His name is Kitty," I say.

His gaze jerks back to me.

"Your boyfriend's name is Kitty ? What the hell kind of name is that?"

I can't help it. I burst out laughing. It's one of my loud, full-volume laughs that echoes off the walls around us. I cover my mouth and snort when I try to suppress my laughter.

He raises his eyebrow at me.

"Yup, Kitty. And I wouldn't say he's my boyfriend. He's way too furry for that."

Humor floods his face. His eyes flick down to my dog at my feet before settling back on my face. "I see. So this is Kitty, I take it?" He nods his head in Kitty's direction.

"Yep," I reply cheekily.

It hits me right then that I'm comfortable with him. Kitty's relaxed, and a quick look down shows that he's panting with his tongue out, looking at Hunter. When Kitty looks back at me, I swear he grins.

"He's a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. At first, the service animal trainers wanted to pair me with a Golden Retriever. It was a nice dog, but I saw Kitty's cross-eyed, happy face and fell in love."

"How long have you had him?" he asks.

"A little under four years."

"Hm," he replies with a gentle smile. His face is so expressive. I think back to the time we sat together in the great hall—his face showed everything. I wonder if he knows his expressions give him away.

I know he wants to ask me the same thing everyone else does.

"I have an anxiety disorder," I say simply, calmly. Usually, trying to explain this stresses me out because people judge mental health issues so harshly. But with him, I feel safe .

I know it's crazy, but I do.

"I'm mostly in remission from the worst of my symptoms. But that's only because I have tools. Kitty is one of them." I lean down to rub his silky ear. "Some people think it's impossible for a psychologist to also have a mental health disorder. I think it helps me to relate to clients. I know what it's like to struggle, not just because I've read about it in a textbook, but because I've lived it. I know what it's like to manage this condition."

I'm not looking at Hunter, feeling like I've shared entirely too much. I don't want to see his expression in case I'm wrong. In case I've read the entire scenario wrong.

"That makes sense," he says softly. I snap my head up, and instead of pity or skepticism, his eyes shine with what I can only imagine is compassion.

We're both silent for several moments. His head rests on his fist as he leans into the arm of his seat.

I keep rubbing Kitty's ear.

He lets out a small, humorless chuckle.

"What?" I ask. I don't know why I'm whispering, but I am.

"Nothing, you're just…" His voice is just as soft, raspy.

"I'm just what?"

"Unexpected," he finishes.

These feelings I have for Hunter Brigham? They're unexpected too. And I'm way over my head here.

"H," a voice says, and I only stay in my seat because Kitty jumps in my lap, probably reacting to the sharp spike in my heart rate.

Standing at the entry of the sitting room, a large, unreasonably attractive man takes up most of the door opening. He's wearing a suit, like Hunter, but he wears a jacket and a cocky smile. I'm unnerved by his sudden appearance.

I look over to Hunter, who stares at me intently. His eyes roam over my face, and something he sees causes him to frown. Hunter spins to face the intruder.

"What's up, Leo?" His words are friendly enough, but his tone is anything but.

"Just stopping to let you know I'll be out for the rest of the afternoon," the man, Leo, says casually. He leans against the doorframe, and I see Hunter raise an eyebrow from my position facing his profile.

"I'm sure you could have texted that information," Hunter says through clenched teeth. The sudden flip into aggression doesn't feel great, but even with Hunter showing this edge of agitation, I don't feel scared of him.

This new guy, though…

He looks like he hurts people for fun. But when he speaks, his tone is teasing and lighthearted.

His aura is confusing.

"Probably," Leo says, still loose in his delivery and obviously not going anywhere. "I couldn't pass up an opportunity to officially meet the person helping August." He unfolds himself and saunters over to me.

"Leonardo Polanco," he says, holding his hand out to me. Kitty sits up in my lap, creating a physical barrier between me and the man.

I swallow. I don't need to be afraid right now. Hunter wouldn't allow me to be hurt.

I feel foolish to have this level of trust in a man I've just met, but here we are.

"Down," I whisper into Kitty's ear, and he moves to sit at my feet. I scramble to stand and shake Leo's hand.

"Winter Vaughan," I say back, and I must be losing my mind because a low growl comes from Hunter's direction. My eyes shoot to my hand where Leo grasps it. He rubs the inside of my wrist, and while it doesn't feel terrible, it's clearly not something I want.

I only want H's hands on me .

Wait, what?

I look to Hunter for help, but when my eyes land on him, his gaze is intense and locked on where my and Leo's hands meet.

"I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to speak. But I'm grateful you are here. Dr. Wagner had wonderful things to say about you. You're close to finishing your degree program, yes?" Leo's accented voice takes on an intimate, smoky tenor.

I try to pull my hand back, but I'm unsuccessful against his firm grip. He flips his hold so the back of my hand faces up, almost as if he intends to press a kiss to my palm like in the movies.

Please God, no.

"Not particularly," I say. "Two more years and then I'll have my post-doctoral internship to finish."

"Hm," Leo says. "Were you injured when you fell?"

I shake my head and say dumbly, "Fell?" I pull on my hand that he's still grasping, but he doesn't let go.

"Yes, when you fell in the fountain. You did fall in the fountain, right? Did I hear that correctly?"

Even though I don't think he means to embarrass me, a wave of mortification washes through me. I jerk my hand back, cradling it to my chest.

"Leo." Hunter's hard voice snaps in Leo's direction, and I look at him gratefully. H sits on the edge of his seat, and at his gaze, Leo takes a step back.

Amusement is clear on Leo's face. "My apologies, Winter. I'm an ass," Leo says, and I see that heartbreaking side grin slide across his face.

Leonardo Polanco is trouble. Flirty and troublesome.

"It's okay," I squeak. This has officially tipped over into "too much for me" territory.

Hunter moves suddenly, standing and taking the two steps to get in Leo's face. Hunter doesn't say anything to him, he just grabs him by the thick bicep and hauls him out of the room.

Walking backward, Leo faces me as he points to Hunter's back, his expression saying something along the lines of Can you believe this guy?

Once Leo's frame passes the threshold, Hunter turns to me briefly. "I'll be right back," he says over his shoulder.

Then he's gone.

I sit down again for a few minutes, absently rubbing Kitty's soft fur after he jumps back on my lap. His soft chuff brings me out of my daze.

I frown. Despite Leo being breath-stoppingly handsome, his advances feel discomforting and unwelcome.

I don't like how he came at me. But he seems like he has a sense of humor.

Maybe.

I look at my watch, surprised that H and I have been talking for more than an hour. My phone beeps, reminding me that I have a virtual meeting with my practicum coordinator and Dr. Wagner in two hours.

I'll barely make it back if I run into traffic.

I pull out my phone, tapping the prompts to schedule a ride, when Hunter bursts back into the room and slides the door closed quickly.

He turns to me with his back pressed to the door.

"I'm sorry about that," he says. He keeps his distance. "I could tell you were uncomfortable. I told him to leave you alone."

I bite my lip. "You didn't have to do that," I reply.

His face takes a strange look that I have a hard time reading.

"Do you want him to…not leave you alone?" His words are level, but my hypervigilance allows me to see his fists tighten slightly.

His knuckles are a little red .

"No. I mean, yes. I mean, I don't want him to treat me like a pariah, but I also don't want him rubbing on me." I cast my eyes down in the direction of his feet and suck my bottom lip into my mouth, worrying it.

Hunter makes a noise when I release it, and my eyes snap to his.

The look in his eyes is so intense, so focused, that I find myself having a hard time breathing. And it's not from anxiety.

I blink once, twice, three times, and then I stand to grab my bag and Kitty's leash. The spell is broken.

"I understand," he says when I'm facing him. His voice is even more hoarse. "Friends?"

The question takes me off guard. I know we said we'd be friends, but defining what that means is…

"Friends," I say resolutely. I hold my hand out to him, expecting him to shake it. But when he presses his hand to mine, it's a move more intimate than I could have ever expected. It's overwhelming.

"Beautiful," Hunter says. And I relax into the friendly embrace.