30. Hunter

Chapter 30

Hunter

now

The next morning is mostly uneventful. Dr. F and my mother arrived at some point, but I left them to get settled in. Besides suffering through an awkward brunch, I've mostly stayed out of the way. Caterers have been brought in for the holidays, so there's not much to help with in the kitchen. I may be hiding, too.

The three of us stayed out in the hot tub for far too long, then quickly showered, chugged water, and passed out. I woke up in Kabir's bed, warm and sated. After brunch, he got to work, finally letting me out of his sight, and I headed up the second flight of stairs to the primary bedroom to hide away.

Memories of last night will be fuel for my self-care fantasies for a long time coming. Spence and Levi. Levi and me. The three of us together. The way our dynamic shifted and molded to the moment was seamless, fluid .

I'm not embarrassed by last night's escapades, but we're absolutely wading into uncharted waters. Suddenly, every emotion is more intense and every interaction is weighted.

With a long, slow inhale, I will the butterflies fluttering in my belly to abate and do my best to temper my enthusiasm. We've yet to have a conversation. For all I know, I may be alone in these feelings. But damn, that wasn't just sex. That was passion, power transference, and unabashed pleasure.

It was soul-stirring and life-affirming. The entire experience was right and real in a way nothing has ever been before.

But again, until we have a chance to talk, it's better if I put these feelings on hold. I don't want anyone getting hurt, so communication and clear expectations are key.

Later . There'll be time to talk and figure things out. Preferably when we're not at Greedy's family's cabin. And not while I'm desperately trying to keep my shit together knowing my mother is close by.

I'm already burned out on holiday rom-coms and spicy Santa novellas. This happens every year. The buildup that comes along with the holidays, the ads for Christmas romance stories and all things holiday cheer are so overdone that by the time it finally arrives, the actual day is lackluster.

Instead of forcing myself to work through my holiday Tbr, I'm rereading my favorite hockey romance series. Maybe I'll revisit the holiday list next year.

I snag a plush blanket off the end of the bed, and for the first time since we arrived, I venture toward the library.

Despite how frustrated I am by my trepidation, my footsteps are tentative. Greedy made it clear that he doesn't care whether I use this room, as long as I stay out of his way. Yet it's still a struggle not to be wary of being in this space. As if my presence here without him is sacrilegious in a way.

I swear I can still smell him on the sheets in this room and picture him in the doorway, a version of him that's a little younger and far less angry .

He's everywhere. Inescapable.

It's one of the reasons I slept downstairs with Kabir last night. That, and I wasn't done basking in his affection. His brand of aftercare is sublime.

I push open the door to the library and am instantly hit with a blast of cold, stale air. Shivering, I peek into the familiar space, then find the light switch on the wall. It's drafty, and the space smells of old books. My olfactory response is automatic. The familiar scent alone instantly eases my anxiety.

As I make my way toward the chaise lounge situated in the middle of the room, recollections and memories consume me.

Holed up at this cabin with Greedy three years ago. Lazy summer days spent reading. Long nights snuggled up in his arms, getting lost in a book while he dozed. We came up here multiple times that summer, using this place as our personal retreat.

With a long breath out, I banish the memories.

What was can never be again.

It hurts. The memories. The choices I made. It all fucking hurts.

I bite down on the inside of my cheek to distract myself and keep the tears at bay. My period is about to start, too. That has to be why I'm so emotional today.

Spreading out the blanket and curling up on my side, I settle onto the lounger. Before I load up my e-book, I take another deep breath and scan the space I know so well. This room I still love.

For the most part, the library looks the same. The furniture and the decor haven't changed since I was last here. If I didn't know better, I would think the pillows are arranged exactly how I left them.

And yet, as I burrow deeper, searching for a comfortable position while trying to focus on my Kindle, I can't help but sense subtle differences.

The trees outside the window are taller and bare. I've never been here in the winter. That's got to be it. The room is cold, and the view is different .

I'm different now, too.

Sighing, I cue up the tried-and-true dark hockey romance.

Except I can't focus. After I've read the same sentence four times, I sit up and bury my head in my hands.

Why can't I get Greedy out of my mind? From what I can tell, he's stayed away from this room since we arrived. Heck, I don't think he's even in the house right now.

I should be taking advantage of this time alone. It may be all I get during this trip.

Silently admonishing myself, I flop over and lie on my other side, facing the built-in bookshelf instead of the window. Once I'm settled, I home in on the row of novels in front of me.

My heart stumbles. What the…?

Holding my breath, I push to my feet and stalk over to the shelf.

"No way," I mutter, tracing the spines with my fingertips. It's suddenly very clear what's changed in here since my last visit. This is why it feels foreign yet familiar.

The books are different. The books are… mine?

My throat constricts and tears prick at my eyes.

Some of the books are old and weathered, with broken spines and well-worn, well-loved covers. Others look to be brand new.

The shelves are full of hardbacks, paperbacks, and special editions with foil embossing on the letters and even sprayed edges.

"No way." Hand trembling, I bring it to my mouth as I step to one side and continue perusing.

These are titles I know. These are titles I love . Books I owned and treasured once upon a time.

Dropping my hand to my heart, I will the traitorous organ to calm. But it continues racing, aching, fissuring.

What was once Greedy's mom's library has been completely transformed. Gone are all the books she loved. They've been replaced by books I haven't seen in years. Books I cherish and adore. Books I assumed my mother threw out when we moved out of my childhood home .

A sob climbs up my throat, catching me by surprise. I press my lips closed, as if the action can keep the well of emotions from spilling out.

He saved my books.

Not only that. He's clearly purchased special editions of many of my favorites, so there are multiple versions of several titles.

Tears flood my eyes, but I swipe them away. Though it makes little sense, anger joins the mixture of emotions consuming me. He should have warned me.

A therapist once told me that anger is an easy default for many because it's a productive emotion. It builds, then peaks. It has a beginning, a middle, and an end. It's not an emotion that people often sit with, because it takes so much mental, emotional, and physical bandwidth to maintain.

Yet…

The anger creeping through me is set at a low boil. It's steady. Heated. I could sustain it forever.

And I might have to.

I'm not sure I can ever forgive myself for what I did and how I handled things when it comes to Greedy.

All he wanted was to hold on and love me.

I'm a monster for how I treated him. Back then, and now, too. I'm a monster, and I'll be angry with myself forever.

It's all I deserve.