41. Hunter

Chapter 41

Hunter

now

I'm mindlessly scrolling, despite none of my socials properly refreshing. Reception really is shit here in the mountains.

I have a check-in text from The One and Only. He wished me happy holidays and asked that I call when I can. I don't know when he actually sent the text, though, since the reception is so spotty.

I start three separate versions of a message to Joey, then delete each one when I can't put into words what just happened.

How do I explain that my wretched mother is sick, maybe even dying, and that her fate lies in my hands, yet I can't bring myself to care?

The primary bedroom door opens and closes. Kabir again, I'm sure. He ran me a bath, then took off to make a cup of tea for me.

I glance up, trying and failing to smile. When the scene in front of me registers, though, I nearly drop my phone in the tub.

My mother strides into the room, chin lifted high. "There you are," she says breathily, waltzing past me toward the vanity. "I've been looking all over for you, darling. "

I carefully set my phone off to the side, then sit up straighter in the water.

I'm always on high alert with her, but after tonight's conversation, I'm a ball of anxiety and a bundle of nerves.

"Hunter," she says, her tone dripping with disgust. "Aren't you going to ask how I feel?"

The. Audacity.

Rage ignites, engulfing the emptiness. I prefer it, really. Shuttering my eyes, I steel myself for the confrontation. It's the absolute last thing I need, but she's got me trapped. I'm naked and in the tub. I couldn't run if I tried.

I'm tired of running anyway. Tired of worrying about her reactions and the way her actions affect me. I take a deep, cleansing breath and lock eyes with her in the mirror. "That was a low blow," I state. "Using Dr. F to manipulate me."

"Hunter!" she cries in mock outrage.

She's such a phony. A liar and a fake.

"I was afraid if I told you myself, I wouldn't be able to get through it."

It would be a fair concern if we had any semblance of a normal mother-daughter relationship. Though we're both still looking in the mirror, she's no longer fixated on me. She's looking at herself, pulling at the skin around her eyes.

"What you're asking—it isn't fair," I tell her calmly.

She scoffs. "Don't talk to me about fair, Hunter. I'm so sick I can't travel any longer. I can't go anywhere on my own, and I can't stay awake for more than a few hours at a time. I'm sorry if my illness is an inconvenience to you ."

"I'm registered for twenty-one credit hours this spring," I tell her. "Classes start in two weeks."

She turns then, her eyes hard as she sweeps them over me in the tub.

"I'm sure they make exceptions for medical leave. "

I'm sure they do, but I have no interest in allowing anything to distract me from my goals, especially now that I know I can handle such a heavy course load.

"Why me?" I ask, fighting back angry tears. I will not cry. I will not cry. I can't let her see me cry.

Kitten heels clip across the tile floor as she approaches. Slowly, she squats until we're eye to eye.

"Darling, I gave you life. Brought you into this world." She reaches out as if she's going to caress my cheek.

I rear back on instinct, barely avoiding her touch, the warm water sloshing around me.

She scowls. Her beautiful features have never looked so ugly. "You're my daughter, my blood. You're the most likely match for this type of transplant, and you owe it to me."

"I owe it to you? Why?" I challenge. Because she birthed me? Because she weaponizes her position as my mother against me when it's convenient? She's never been there for me. Not for one single day in my life. She neglected and abused me. I owe her nothing . I don't want to give her anything.

A shrill laugh escapes her. "Why? Did you really just ask me why ?"

A sharp knock pulls us both out of the moment, startling me and sending her shooting upright and spinning around.

The door eases open, and Greedy is there, filling the opening.

"Garrett," my mother chirps, her tone and demeanor morphing completely in an instant.

She shifts, blocking me from view.

"What are you—"

"I was looking for you," he supplies evenly. "My dad asked me to find you. Says he has one more Christmas surprise."

"Oh! Really?"

"Bible," Greedy supplies flatly, giving her a single nod .

My mother scurries back to the mirror, inspects her reflection, and then beelines out the door. She doesn't look back at me. She doesn't even have the courtesy to excuse herself or say goodbye.

Greedy guides her out of the room, pulling the door mostly closed behind him.

Instantly, the boulder pressing down on my chest is lifted.

And yet…

"I know you're still out there," I say, my voice loud enough to carry.

He peeks around the corner, a deep scowl of concern etched into his features. "I'll go. I just wanted to make sure she was gone for good before I left you alone." He backs out, his hand on the knob.

"No—Greedy. Wait."

He appears again, bracing his arms on either side of the doorframe.

"Please stay," I quietly request.

He meets my gaze, searching my face for a moment, and nods. "Want me to lock the door?"

"Yes," I reply automatically. "I'll text the guys so they don't worry."

I shoot off a text to Levi and Kabir, telling them where I am and who I'm with. Then, in no uncertain terms, I make sure they understand that they should not come in or worry about me.

Greedy and I, we're okay. We're more than okay.

At this exact moment? I'm craving more of him, more for us.

He approaches, his footsteps growing louder as I rearrange the bubbles in the tub. We've been here before, Greedy and me. In this bathroom. In this tub together, even. I gulp past the lump that threatens to cut off my airflow at the memories.

"I get it now." He stops beside the tub, lowering to the tiles and resting his arms on the side.

I search his face, unable to read into the neutral expression he wears. "Get what?"

"The self-preservation. What you've been running from. "

Tears well in my eyes. Yes. It's so much easier to run, to keep my distance, than it is to go to battle with her day in and day out, in big and little ways.

"Baby…" he whispers, angling in even closer. "When you left for London… it was because of her, wasn't it?"

I bite down on my bottom lip and nod.

It's more complex than that, though. My reasons were multi-faceted. I ran from the pain of the miscarriage. I hid from the reality of what we discovered that day at the country club—that my boyfriend was about to become my stepbrother. Ultimately, I needed to get away from her. To start fresh. To create a life for myself that she couldn't touch.

So much for that brilliant plan.

"Tem," he pleads, pulling me from my racing thoughts. "We need to talk to my dad."

"And say what?" I ask, batting at the tears on my cheeks. "That his second wife is toxic, manipulative, and playing us all?"

Greedy clenches his jaw in response, eyes blazing with fury, but not at me.

I reach out a wet, bubbly hand, and for the first time in a very long time, I smooth my palm against his cheek.

He freezes, his jaw instantly going slack and the green of his irises softening. He nuzzles into my hand, giving more of his weight.

When he lifts his head, he kisses the center of my palm, then he releases it.

"It just clicked for you, didn't it?" I ask. "You heard the way she speaks to me in private. She's a mastermind. She hides that side of herself well. You've only now seen it. Why would your dad believe us?"

"He needs to know."

"There's nothing we could say…" I trail off. The last thing I want to do is fight with him. Not after the last few days. The last several months.

"He deserves to know, Tem."

"Maybe, but you shouldn't be the one who has to bear the burden of breaking his heart. "

With a scoff, he hangs his head between his arms.

I reach out, tentatively at first, not wanting to startle him, and scratch his scalp. "Let me deal with Magnolia," I tell him.

Lifting his head, he hits me with a glare. "No. Not alone."

Sighing, I drop my hand.

We're at an impasse, and we both know it. Neither of us will convince the other tonight. We sit in silence as the water grows tepid. I'm considering adding more hot water when he speaks again.

"Do you want me to go?" Greedy tips my chin back, gently urging me to look him in the eye.

I shake my head. "Do you trust me?"

His expression falters for a millisecond—but then he nods. Sitting up slightly, I make space, then tell him, "Get in."

His eyebrows shoot up into his hairline, and his jaw starts ticking as he works his molars back and forth.

"I want to feel close to you," I tell him softly, letting the invitation linger between us.

Something must click, because a second later he rises to his feet, then pulls off his tech shirt and shucks off his sweatpants.

I scoot forward and add more hot water as he slips in behind me. When I peer back, I notice that he's still wearing his boxer briefs. When he's settled, I slide back against his chest, soaking in his warmth.

"Is this okay?" he asks, arranging his legs on the outsides of mine and holding me like he used to when we'd come up to the cabin together.

I rest my head on his shoulder and let it roll to the side so I can meet his gaze.

"More than okay," I whisper. For a moment, I study him, relishing the way his steady heartbeat thumps against my back and the warmth of the water surrounding us, cocooning us in a bubble of tranquility. In this moment, with Greedy's arms around me, all the bullshit with Magnolia dissipates from my mind.

I close my eyes and breathe in his familiar scent, for the first time in a long time willing memories of our time together to flood back. The laughter, the shared secrets, the unspoken bond that has existed between us since the day we met in that parking lot. It takes effort to fight the knee-jerk response I've developed, but I refrain from burying my longing. He's here. With me. In this moment, we're together.

As I sink into his embrace, a sense of peace washes over me.

Except the tranquility doesn't keep, because on his next breath, Greedy asks, "When you say you didn't cope well in London… What does that mean?"

Trepidation creeps up my spine. Anxiety riots against my ribcage. I want to tell him, and yet…

"If I tell you, I need you to understand that where I was back then is not where I am now."

"What does that mean?" he asks, his tone gravelly. He sits up a bit straighter, realigning our bodies until he's holding me as tightly as he can.

"Just… let me get this out. I want to tell you, but I need you to let me explain before you react."

His throat works as he swallows, his focus intent, but eventually, he nods.

So I dive in.

I tell him about leaving for London. About crying every day and working at Splice late into the night.

I tell him about meeting Spence. About what I thought I was getting into—and how I sincerely never intended to have anything but a casual fling with him.

The harrowing truth about my breakdown is hard to force out, but I get through it, explaining the suicidal ideations that entered my mind and couldn't be tamed. The moments where I wasn't even lucid. The missing details that remain.

I recount how, when I started my period for the first time after the miscarriage, it was so eerily similar that it took me right back to that moment.

Then I tell him about staying in bed for a week. How Spence cared for me. How he got me the mental health support I so desperately needed .

"My official diagnosis is Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder—PMDD."

He nods thoughtfully, as if he's trying to recall the information he knows about my illness. For his part, Greedy has held it together beautifully. He's barely reacted, and he hasn't interrupted me once.

Finally, when I've been quiet for nearly a minute, he speaks.

"Those nights… when you would come to me…"

I nod. "I still get low—I always have dark nights. It's worse when I ovulate, and then a day or two before my period starts."

"Fuck. I'm so fucking sorry you've had to deal with all this."

I sit up, prepared to brush it off like I usually do. I'll have to deal with PMDD for decades. There's no sense wallowing in self-pity over it.

"Don't." Greedy's voice is rough, low, and threatening.

"Don't what?" I sass, a spark of annoyance flaring up inside me.

"Don't act like this isn't a big deal. Like it's not a huge burden you've been carrying on your own for way too fucking long."

"It's not," I insist. "Spence has been there for me. Other friends, too."

He drops his head so his face is buried in my neck. "I wasn't."

The agony in his tone is palpable.

"Because I left," I remind him gently. Then, because I've been desperate to tell him for years, I add, "I always intended to tell you about the baby. About the miscarriage. About all of it. You're all I wanted that day, Greedy. It just…" I trail off, at a loss for how I can possibly justify the way I shut down that day at the country club when our parents told us they were engaged.

"Running felt like the logical solution back then," I admit. "It also felt like the kindest option."

With a shake of his head, he hooks his arms under mine and holds me tighter against his chest. "I get it. I fucking hate it… but I get it." He kisses the side of my head, right above my ear, cradling me to his chest as best as he can in the water. "We're both here now."

He brushes a few strands of hair away from my face, then ever so lightly kisses my temple.

"Let me hold you now, Tem. Let me back in. Not because you're unwell or feeling desperate. Let me hold you because I want to, and because you want me, too."

"Okay." The word escapes so easily, and with it, a little of the tension that's plagued me for years evaporates. With a calming breath, I relax in his arms and let him hold me.

"I'm sleeping in here with you tonight," he declares.

I smile, but I don't argue. "Okay," I say again.