Winter
We follow the cop through the station hallway single file. Hunter and I sit on metal chairs across from Liam and Max while Jared paces between the four of us.
“Will you sit the fuck down?” Hunter growls at Jared.
“You know I don’t deal that way.” Jared scowls. “I need to keep moving.”
After about ten minutes, the same cop returns. “We’re ready for you,” he says.
Hunter leans over and kisses me briefly on the lips. “Be right back.”
“Take care,” I tell him.
God, that sounded stupid.
“Good luck,” I try again.
Still shitty as hell.
Oh, well. He’s gone with his brothers—all four of them follow the cop down the hall and into a room.
While I wait, I cross and then uncross my legs. I stare at the screen of my phone and realize I’m reading things and not absorbing any of it. The knots in my stomach are so intense I worry I’m going to be sick.
This is personal for me. Mr. Storm may not have been my dad, but his death hit our entire community hard. To watch the four Storm boys become orphans was brutal. Thank God Liam had just turned eighteen and could file for custody of his brothers. The idea of them being separated gives me chills. I don’t think any of the four would have survived if they been taken from each other.
As I continue to sit on the cold metal chair and wait, flashbacks of the night Hunter’s dad died flood my brain. And my heart.
I was sitting cross-legged on my bed, wearing my favorite slouchy sweatshirt and worn blue jeans. I’d been staying up late all week, trying to learn my lines for our school’s rendition of Rent. The pebble—honestly, it was a rock and Hunter’s lucky the glass didn’t shatter—hitting my bedroom window startled me so much I dropped my laptop on my barefoot. While I was hobbling off my bed, another stone hit the pane. I glanced out, and thanks to my dad’s always-on security lights, I saw Hunter standing on our lawn. He was looking up at my window, and we caught eyes.
Even through glass and from a story up, I knew something was very wrong.
Hunter and I weren’tthatcouple. We didn’t go knocking on each other’s windows in the middle of the night for a romantic rendezvous. We didn’t sleep over at each other’s houses or make out for hours after dark. We hooked up when the moment presented itself, and then we walked away like it was nothing. Even though that was a lie.
I threw my feet into my sneakers, grabbed my backpack with my keys in it, and left my room. Closing my door quietly behind me so my parents would assume I was still in my bedroom, I crept down the stairs and out the back door.
Hunter was waiting. Leaning against the brick wall next to the door, he had his head down so that the hood of his sweatshirt blocked his profile.
“Hey.” I reached for his arm. “What’s going on?”
He turned toward me. His face was pale and his expression tortured.
For the rest of my life, I knew I’d never forget the stark whiteness of his skin against his green eyes, which were filled with the kind of pain that doesn’t go away in a day. Or a year. Or a lifetime.
Hunter’s eyes changed after his mama died when he was young. This time, though, they looked so gut-stricken I didn’t know what to do.
“What’s wrong?” I shook his arm. “What happened?”
“My dad.” He held up his hands.
And that’s when I saw the blood.
“Oh my God! Hunter!” I reached for his blood-stained hands, but he pulled them back. “Are you hurt? Should I take you to the hospital?”
“Already been there.” His tone is a flatline when he says, “My dad was murdered.”
I threw my arms around him, but he inched out of my hug. “Come with me to my house?” he asked me. “We had to talk to the police and give our statements, and my brothers are still at the hospital dealing with shit. I just needed…”
Our eyes caught and held.
