“A few times. Better to find out if someone can handle my reality early on, right?” I lift a shoulder impassively. “Your turn.”
“Nope. Now I’m invested in this confession. What kind of details do you share that would make a guy end a dateearly?”
“Oh, you know, the usual: I feel healthy—most days—and I can lead a fairly normal life, but I have to get tested regularly to make sure my body isn’t rejecting my heart, and if a guy I’m dating ever got sick, I would have to quarantine from him so I don’t get what he has. Also, I could drop dead anytime of a heart attack, and I’mguaranteedto die or need another heart sometime in the next five to fifteen years. Twenty if I beatallthe odds. Stuff like that. They realize what a bad idea dating me would be and bam! They’re outta there.”
Hunter’s eyes are wide, his mouth slightly parted. “Wow, that’s ... alotto deal with.”
“Exactly why it works so well. It even works when Idon’twant it to.” I shrug, aiming for nonchalant, even though thememories behind my confession are anything but. “Earlier, you said you want to ask me out, but when we first met, you said you don’t do scar buddies, and last night, you also said you’re scared. And youshouldbe. So I’ll make it easier on you—I’ll tell you every reason that youshouldn’tdate me until you no longer want to. Problem solved!” I grin like I’ve just given him thebest news everand then quickly add, “Okay, your turn!”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Roll it back a minute.” Hunter leans forward in his chair and puts his hand over mine. “I didn’t mean that was a lot for those men to deal with—I meant foryou.”
My skin buzzes from the contact of his fingers lightly resting over mine.
“Anyguy who got freaked out by the potential of what your worstcouldbe was an idiot who didn’t deserve your best—which I think is far better than you realize.”
Having him use my own words against me makes my stomach do much more than merelyswoop; this is extreme-airplane-turbulence-level stomach tumbling going on. “Well, a couple of the guys were losers, and Iwantedto get rid of them. So. There’s that, I guess.”
I surprise a laugh out of Hunter. He shakes his head. “You really are something, you know that?”
“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or not.”
His fingers move over mine, a soft, featherlight stroke that makes me shiver. “Take it however you will. And for the record, you can’t frighten me by rattling off statistics about your future.That’snot what I’m scared about.” He pulls his hand away.
I blink at the sudden loss of his touch. I want to ask him what he means—oh, how I want to dig into that littlecomment. But now I’m the one who is too scared. Instead, I insist, “Okay, seriously.Your.Turn.”
“Fine.” Hunter studies his half-eaten plate of food for a moment before quietly saying, “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive myself for driving that day—for being the reason Lyla is gone.”
The desperation in his voice is like a punch to the chest. “Do youwantto forgive yourself?”
His gaze shoots up to mine. “What isthatsupposed to mean?”
My resolve falters, but I press on. “I know you’ve only told me a little bit about what happened, so I might becompletelywrong, but it’s just ... I don’t know if youwantto allow yourself to be forgiven. It kind of seems like you’re holding on to your pain and guilt as some sort of punishment you think you deserve.”
Hunter’s mouth flattens; his entire body stiffens.
“I’m sorry, thatwastoo far.” I hurry to add, “I shouldn’t have—”
“Yes,” he cuts me off, “thatwastoo far. But your semantics are right—Iwon’tforgive myself.” His voice is stony, reminding me far too much of the Hunter I first met weeks ago, not the version who has slowly been opening up to me. “Because the only way to forgive myself is to say what I did was okay. And it willneverbe okay.”
I’m balancing on a thin sheet of ice that’s fracturing all around me, but something drives me to swallow and hesitantly say, “Forgiving yourself doesn’t mean it’sokay. It means that you can make mistakes—really horrible mistakes sometimes—and still be worthy of love. That you don’t have to be punished for the rest of your life for it.”
Hunter shoves his plate away. “It’s not like I just wrecked an expensive car,” he says, voice low. “Or screamed at my parents and haven’t called in a few months. Those are mistakes—stupid, sure, but you can fix them. You can say sorry, and maybe they’ll forgive you.” His eyes flash in the darkening room. “But I didn’t do something fixable. I drove drunk. And because of that, my sisterdied. I don’t get to say sorry. I don’t get to fix it. She’s gone. And I put her in the ground.”
“I know,” I whisper tremulously. “And I know that pain will never go away. But I guarantee your sister loved you—andthat she still does,” I rush to add when he tries to cut in again. “I bet it breaks her heart to see you so lonely and unhappy.”
“Liv, I took away herlife. She didn’t even get to graduate from high school.” Hunter’s knuckles are white where he grips his arms folded over his chest—as if he’s trying to hold himself together. “Ifshe can see me, how could she be anything but furious? If she’s still out there somewhere—in heaven or whatever—she musthateme.”
My heart feels like it’s being clenched by a fist, squeezing with pain for him—for the darkness he battles. I understand why he thinks that, but I refuse to let him think I agree. “I don’t believe it works like that. How could it be heaven if she’s up there focused on hating you?”
Hunter glowers at me. “Well, so far this game isreallyfun. And it’s your turn again because right now, I’m winning.”
I search his face for a moment; I can feel my pulse in my throat. Night has taken full hold of the house, casting both of us and the rest of our uneaten dinners in shadow. I can see his face, but the details are obscured. His expression is flinty. I can’t push him any further—not tonight. Not about that. I’mactually shocked he hasn’t left yet—that despite how angry he seems, he’s still sitting across from me. That’s the only reason I exhale slowly and say, “Two of my biggest fears are that I will never find my person—or that Iwill.”
Hunter’s scowl eases into begrudging confusion. “I ... don’t understand.”
This time, I’m the one who swallows and looks away. “Because if I never find my person, I’ll be alone all my life—however long it may be. I don’t want to be alone forever. But if Idofind my person, I’m condemning him to losing me and going through pain I can’t bear to be the cause of.”
He examines me from hooded eyes, then says, “Shouldn’t you be telling yourself you’ll live as long as possible?”
