My own tears are threatening to spill over. “Why?”
I know why, but Saylor has to hear it.
“Because Saylor was worth the try. I would have given everything if it would have kept him with us. Even my own life.”
“For fuck’s sake, Hunter,” Saylor’s voice is watery before a sob breaks out of him, and he takes a few steps away from me.
The air in the room feels thick, heavy with the weight of unspoken grief and the ghost of tragedy. I sit there, the picture frame in my lap a forgotten thing, as the reality of their past and shared pain settles over me.
My heart aches with a deep, resonant pain that mirrors the loss and sacrifice etched into every line of Hunter’s story. I’ve always felt like an outsider, someone on the periphery looking in. Hearing this, feeling the raw edges of their trauma, something shifts inside me.
There’s a connection there, a depth I can’t help but be drawn to, a gravity that pulls me closer to them, to this place, to a sense of home that has nothing to do with the house and everything to do with the people who live inside it.
“He sounds like a great brother.” My nose burning, I smile sadly at Hunter, who returns it with his own sad but appreciative smile.
“The best.” He nods, his voice filled with affection, and I glance at Saylor, who seems stricken, hugging himself tightly. “Wait, don’t tell Nash that, or I will never hear the end of it,” Hunter adds with a huff of laughter.
I chuckle, glad to see Hunter’s mood brightening, even if just a little. “What about North?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“North would just agree.” Hunter shrugs nonchalantly.
“Slo, this is fucking killing me,” Saylor looks devastated, so I get up, not wanting to torture him any longer.
I’m just about to tell Hunter good night and get back to my room when he stands as well, blocking my way.
“North isn’t a bad guy, Sloan,” he reassures me gently, reaching out to rub my upper arm. “He would never let you out in the cold or do anything that could hurt you. He’s the one who wants to keep everyone safe. He would never kick you out when he knows you would end up in the cold. You can sleep here until everything is sorted out without worrying about him.”
“Thank you,” I say softly, hoping my voice conveys how much I mean it. “For sharing that with me, for letting me in.”
I’m not just a bystander. I’m becoming a part of their story and determined to make it a better one for Saylor from here onout. I can’t undo the past, but maybe, just maybe, I can be a part of the healing, a part of moving forward for him.
THIRTY-THREE
She’s fucking everywhere,and it’s driving me crazy.
Nursing my coffee, I sit at the breakfast table with my family late Saturday morning.
Andher.
Outwardly, I appear relaxed or as much as I can manage. But deep down, there’s a constant struggle, a tug of emotions I can’t ignore.
Last night, as I watched Sloan dance with Nash, jealousy gnawed at me. I wanted to get up from my table, pull her away, and claim her as mine. But, of course, I will not fucking do that.
I can’t.
She despises me.
She’s not mine to claim.
All that’s mine gets hurt.
But seeing Nash’s hands on her left me brooding in silence, nursing my beer and pretending not to care. It’s getting harder and harder, though.
Because I do fucking care, and I can’t do shit about it.
Then she left, drunk and alone.
How fucking dumb can you be?
