30. I Don’t Like Distance

Chapter 30

I Don’t Like Distance

Hunter

F or days, I’ve quietly watched my lover move through her usual daily activities on autopilot. While I know Megan has been through something extremely traumatic, and I shouldn’t expect miracles, something is off. Way off. She’s not necessarily avoiding me, but there is definitely a distance between us.

I don’t like distance.

Not from her.

Not after everything we’ve been through.

And especially not now that she’s become such a huge part of my life.

After ringing the bell to the apartment, I can hear Naomi’s slow, hobbled steps finally reach the door. Megan told me she broke her foot in some sort of accident, which is why she’s been spending more time in the apartment with her instead of with me.

“Sorry to hear about your foot, but I’m glad that Megan has something else to focus her attention on,” I say as she opens the door, leaning on one crutch.

“We’ve always focused on each other’s well-being. No need to thank me for what I’ve always done,” she says back with a smug twang to her voice that irritates me to no end.

Struggling to find anything nice to say to this woman is a feat in itself. Why do I even bother? I can appreciate that she’s fiercely protective of Megan, especially after hearing about everything Megan had to deal with at the Blue Whiskey and from her own family. So I get it, but it’s just that her attitude toward me leaves a lot to be desired, especially because she does nothing to hide it. If she were anyone else treating me with such disdain…hell, I hate to think how I would have already destroyed her life if she were anyone else.

“Do you talk to all of your landlords like this?” I say, immediately pissed with myself that I’m not able to let this go.

“You’re not my landlord,” she says with a shit-eating grin. “You’re Megan’s landlord, and I’m her guest.”

“A guest with her own bedroom?”

“I suppose that’s why they call it a guest bedroom.”

“I’m not here to trade passive-aggressive barbs with you. Where’s Megan?” I ask impatiently. I’ve been in this apartment for damn near five minutes, and she hasn’t come out to greet me yet.

“Stop stressing her. Lord knows she can hear your voice from the bedroom. She’ll come out in a minute.” Naomi hobbles to the couch and plops herself on the couch, finally turning on the flat-screen television. “Also, Lena is going to the exhibition in my place tonight, so you’d better take excellent pictures.”

“What the hell were you doing that you even broke your foot, clumsy?“ I taunt but am cut off when Naomi shouts out.

“Megan, your landlord is out here being a dick to me!”

I give her an icy look, and she gives me a mocking wiggle of her brows.

“What’s going on?” Megan appears in the room's doorway, looking harried. She gives me a narrow-eyed look when I stride toward her. “You’re an ice sculpture to the rest of the world but when you’re around Naomi, you pick fights?”

“I don’t pick fights,” I say with a smirk. “I end them.”

“What are you, Don Corleone?” Naomi jeers from her seat. “Am I in the middle of a scene in The Godfather and didn’t realize it?”

“Can’t you two get along?” Megan sighs, inadvertently wiping a bit of paint across her cheek.

“No, she rubs me the wrong way,” I assert.

“I wouldn’t rub you with a ten-foot pole!” Naomi shouts again.

“See?” I scowl at Megan. “You want me to get along with someone who acts like that?”

“She’s just very protective,” Megan says slowly before adding with an afterthought. “At least, I think that’s it. Anyway, why are you here? You didn’t text me to tell me you were coming down.”

“Were you painting today of all days?”

“Yes, I’ve gotten behind on some of my work for school. I have some pieces I need to work on.”

I feel like an idiot that I haven’t considered how Megan might be behind on her artwork. Doing well in school and in the exhibition has always been her prime aim. Her family, my club, and all the mess that comes along with it have all just been distractions.

“Should you take a break from the club for a while to catch up?” I ask.

“A break?” She looks confused. “How would I pay my bills?”

Naomi mutters a few incomprehensible words that I’m sure are meant for my benefit.

“You don’t need to worry about your bills, Megan,” I whisper. “I can cover everything in the apartment.”

“I know you can, but I still need to make my own money, Hunter. I have to buy art supplies, food, and bus fare.”

I bend my head down a little closer to hers. It doesn’t escape me how she takes a slight step back.

“Just because Samuel is taken care of doesn’t mean you still don’t need your security detail. There are still people out there trying to fuck with me, which means they could decide to fuck with you. Security stays. They can drive you to campus and they can pick up whatever you need from the store. They have a company credit card.”

“Hunter–”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” I shut her down, then hand her an envelope. “I brought some cash for Lena because she told me you invited her to the exhibition. I want her to go shopping and pick out something pretty to wear. Where is she, by the way?”

My sister has kind of warmed up to me after Samuel’s attack on Megan. I think she’s starting to recognize that I’m only here to care for the women in my life, not impose myself on their lives.

“She’s at her part-time job.” Megan takes off her painting smock. “I’m not sure she’ll have time to buy a dress, but I can lend her one of mine.”

“Thank you for inviting her.”

“I thought it would be a good way for you two to spend some non-intense time together. Plus, Naomi wasn’t using the ticket, anyway.”

Still feeling the sting of Megan’s standoffishness, I wander over to a pile of paintings and sketches that have been accumulating in a corner of the room and flip through them.

“Did she say anything about quitting her part-time job at the shelter? She was a little angry with me because I insisted she leave there and just work full time at the club.”

“She does have an attachment to that place. They must have been–“

Megan’s words fade into a pleasant buzz in the background as I select a painting of a couple in a café. The woman’s back is the viewer, but the man who is watching her has this look of burning passion in his eyes and a small, content smile playing on his lips as he listens to what the woman is saying. The features are in broad strokes, but not so broad that I can’t make out who the man is supposed to be.

My breath catches for some reason as I see none of the heaviness of the responsibilities of the world in my eyes. It’s completely different from her previous sketch of me. I look lighter, happier, and way more human.

“When did you paint this?” I ask her.

When Megan wanders over to see what I’m looking at, she immediately snatches it from me, blushing fiercely. “That’s not for you!”

“ When did you draw it?” I repeat.

“Paris.” She looks uneasy. “On the plane ride home.”

“Can I have it?”

“Fine,” she sighs, handing it over. “But it’s my favorite one, so be careful with it.”

I don’t know why, but something about the way she’s captured me looking at her is making something in my chest unfurl.

“What?” Megan asks when I keep staring at the picture.

“Every time I think I’m done being surprised, you do something else and throw me off, Miss Taylor.”

“Sometimes you talk in riddles, and I wonder if someone dropped you on your head as a baby,” she says, giving me a wry look. “Will I ever get a translation of these random thoughts of yours?”

I grin at her before squeezing her jaw and planting a kiss on her lips. “Such a smart mouth.”

She bites my lower lip in retaliation before pushing me off. “Go away. I have to clean up my paints, take a shower and get dressed. Naomi is doing our hair and makeup.”

“I can send you someone from the salon at–“

“Stop hovering, Megan’s landlord!” Naomi shouts from the couch. “I got this.”

“I’m going to shoot her,” I warn Megan as she laughs and pushes me out of the apartment with both hands on my back.

“You're not shooting her today, Mr. Middleton. Today is all about me. Now go so we can get ready.”

I tuck the picture in my inner jacket pocket before sneering at Naomi. “Once she starts living with me, her landlord is kicking you out.”

“That was a stupid move telling me that,” Naomi says as she hungrily munches on some random cheese-flavored snack. She then rolls her eyes at me then looks toward Megan. “Bestie, I feel like we don’t spend enough time together. Let’s never live apart.”

“Out, out, out,” Megan pushes me again as Naomi's chest rumbles with laughter. “Pick us up in a few hours.”

Megan rises on her toes and presses a kiss to my lips. And while I’ve been scrutinizing everything about her behavior lately, the kiss feels genuine. It feels like Megan. But after the door closes behind me, I frown.

Who have I become that I’ve allowed a college student and her snotty best friend to run completely roughshod over me?

This has got to change.

And it will start changing tonight.