38. Hunter

Chapter 38

Hunter

now

After a few hours, I convinced Spence that I really was okay, and he finally let me leave his room.

Now I'm trying to find Greedy, and the primary bedroom is the only place I haven't yet searched. Begrudgingly, Spence is stationed outside the door, looking completely out of place as he sits cross-legged on the hardwood floor.

I appreciate his concern—the hovering and the check-ins. His need to stay close, to ensure I'm well. Typically, I revel in his particular brand of love and care. But I need to do this on my own.

Something inside me broke earlier. Spence knows that. I know it, too. It's not the first time he's witnessed me breaking.

But Greedy wasn't the cause, and I'm determined to stand on my own two feet and apologize to him for how I reacted.

I head for the library first but stop at the sound of a low, harmonious laugh in the distance .

Heart beating in anticipation and a little fear, I open the door to the Juliet balcony. I'm not surprised to find him here, but I didn't expect Levi to be here too.

"Hi," I greet them quietly, looking from man to man to try and gauge the mood. Upon closer inspection, my eyes practically bug out of my head. "Duke! Why don't you have a coat? You must be freezing!"

"I am," he grits out between chattering teeth.

Greedy cringes, his expression going sheepish. That's when I realize that he's wearing Levi's favorite hoodie. It looks good on him—everything does—and he's surely warmer than Levi, but it's still impractical against the frigid night air.

"Can I talk to you?" I ask.

Before Greedy can reply, Levi gently guides me back into the room and brushes past me. "I'll give you two some privacy." With a kiss to the crown of my head, he whispers, "I'll be in the hall if you need me."

I don't bother telling him Spence is already out there. He'll figure that out soon enough. "Thank you," I murmur as he exits the room with a glance back at me.

Once the door clicks shut, I turn back to the balcony, only to find that Greedy has widened his stance and turned his back to me completely.

"Hey." I place my hand on his low back. "Can I join you?"

He pulls in a sharp breath, then lets out a shuddering exhale.

"Stay inside. It's too cold out here for you."

My stomach twists at the rejection in his tone.

It wasn't too cold for Levi, but pointing that out will only cause more strife. If he needs space, I want to give him that. He deserves to work through the anger and frustration he's feeling in whatever way he sees fit.

"Can I stand in here and talk to you, then?" I hold my breath, waiting for a response that never comes. Cold air bites through my fuzzy pajamas, the chill settling deep in my bones .

Eventually, I step out of the doorframe to shield myself from the elements. Resting my back against the wall, I close my eyes and blow out a long, centering breath.

"Tem—" he starts, his voice panicked.

Dammit. He thinks I've left. Again. Like I always do.

"I'm right here," I tell him softly. Rather than peek around the doorframe and confront the bitter cold again, I reach out, following the rough grain of the wooden doorframe with my fingertips. I search until I find my target, then I brush my hand with his. "I'm right here."

Emotion clogs my throat when his fingers twitch, acknowledging my presence. Despite the fear rippling through me, I force out the words I've held back for so long—the words he needs and deserves to hear.

"I'm sorry."

Another twitch of his fingertips against mine.

"I'm so sorry, Greedy. I panicked, and it just came out. That wasn't fair to you. I take full responsibility for earlier. I never meant for you to even find out—"

"Can I ask you something?" he interjects before I can babble on. His voice is low and gravelly, the familiar timbre carried in on the cold night air.

I nod, even though he can't see me.

He waits several seconds, then clears his throat. "Why is my name your safe word?"

Heart pinching, I close my eyes. Now I have to tell him. He deserves an explanation. He deserves so much more than the way I've treated him.

"It just… is. The first time Spence and I were together, we set safe words. I still don't understand why I said your name. Maybe because you were the one thing I didn't want to think about when I…" I hesitate, pulling my lip between my teeth as my stomach sinks.

Greedy is silent, but his fingers catch mine, giving me the courage I need to continue.

"I didn't want to think about you when I was with another person. Intimately, I mean." Then, with a desperation and sincerity I hope he believes, I add, "I can't really explain it. It seems stupid now. But I was hurting and doing everything I could to lock away all my emotions back then. I did everything I could possibly do to forget you. I thought if I could just move on… make myself forget… that in the end, we'd both be better off."

That's the truth, whether he wants to believe it or not.

"I was sick," I admit on a whisper. "I didn't cope well. I hated myself. The sadness I carried each and every day was crushing me. Suffocating me. I tried to ignore it, pretend that I was okay. But I wasn't good at playing pretend, either. Soon after I met Spence… I broke."

I close my eyes, fighting back the tears that ride on the waves of self-loathing.

According to my therapist, there's nothing I could have done to block out the intrusive thoughts or to fight off the suicidal ideations that plagued me at that time. I was always destined to be diagnosed with PMDD. Yet I still hold on to so much shame.

His voice is a gravelly whisper when he finally responds. "I wish you would have let me be there for you. Back then. More recently, too."

The simplicity of the confession takes my breath away. Gasping, I will the fresh wave of tears that crests to abate. I sniffle quietly.

A second later, Greedy clasps my hand.

We've endured a lifetime of sorrow because of my choices. I may never be able to communicate the gravity of my guilt and anguish over what I did—over what I'm still doing. My default setting is self-sabotage: if I wreck it first, no one else has the power to ruin me.

I don't deserve his understanding or his forgiveness. At bare minimum, I need him to get that the misunderstanding earlier was my fault.

"I'm sorry," I say again. "For what happened downstairs. I was out of my head, and as soon as it felt too real, I panicked. It's on me for safe-wording when we hadn't discussed it prior."

Greedy's hand flexes in mine, his fingers tightening, as if he's fighting the urge to ball his hand into a fist .

"You wanted me to stop, and I didn't." Self-loathing drips from his every word.

"But I'm the one who didn't communicate that," I huff out. Why doesn't he get it? He's not to blame. For any of it. Not now, and not then. It's all me. "I'm the one who applied rules you didn't even know existed until it was too late."

A choked sob escapes me. I try to pull back—turn in on myself—but Greedy doesn't let me remove my hand from his grasp.

"I'm sorry, Greedy," I whisper again. "I'm so fucking sorry."

My shoulder aches as I strain against the wall, my hand still firmly in my first love's grasp. My head—and honestly, my heart, too—are screaming for me to run. To retreat. To remove myself from the equation and give Greedy the peace he deserves.

But as I pull away, he clings to my hand tighter. I can't see him. He can't see me. We're both hurting, and there's no easy path from here.

"I'm right here, Tem," he whispers from his position outside on the balcony.

The sincerity in his tone prods at the deepest, most vulnerable part of my soul.

"I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere."