He swallows a bite of his panini. “I guess so since it was my idea this time. And I think there’s more you need to know about me. Then maybe you’ll understand why I’ve been so ... well, you know.” The flecks of green in his hazel eyes are brilliant even in the shade where we sit. “Colette didn’t just break up with me ... She was cheating on me with my business partner. The one who was falsifying documents and stealing money from our accounts. And I had no idea—about any of it—until it was too late.”
An unexpected rage swirls up my chest, hot and indignant. “That’shorrible. I’m so sorry, Hunter.” I’m tempted to curse in SwedishandEnglish, but I wrestle the urge into submission. “What happened with the business?”
“He got off with all the money, and I got stuck with all the debt. I tried to get a lawyer and go after him, but the retainer was too much money—something I didn’t have anymorebecauseof him. I had to close our marketing company and sell my house in Florida to pay everything off so I could walk away.”
The unfairness of it all boils hot in my blood. “Where is he now? Let’s take a baseball bat to his car. I can even tryfinding him in a bar or wherever scumbags hang out and kick him right where it counts.”
Hunter laughs again, and I want to punch my hand into the air in victory—even though I’m still full of rage on his behalf. “Wow, I had no idea you cared so much.”
Neither did I, until that moment—legit ready to attack a nameless man over the cruelty he dealt the man in front of me, who has already suffered far too much. And I don’t even dare voice what I want to do to Colette for breaking his heart so cruelly.
“I appreciate the support,” Hunter says, his laughter fading. “But if Ieversee him again—even to destroy his property or inflict bodily harm—it’ll be too soon.”
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my shocking level of anger. “That’s why you moved out here—to start over. And to never see them again.”
He nods, taking a bite of his sandwich and looking toward a nearby playground, where a few groups of kids run amok, laughing and shouting to each other.
“Did you ever callherback?” I’m afraid to ask, but for some reason, I need to know if he talked to Colette.
“No,” Hunter says, still watching the kids play. “I have nothing to say to her either. And I have no desire to hear anything she has to say to me.”
“How long were you together?”
“Almost a year.” Hunter finally looks back at me. “Your turn. And you owe me three confessions now.”
“No way, those were allsubconfessions of your one and only confession.”
Hunter snorts. “Nice try. You owe meat leasttwo.”
I mock scowl. “Fine.”
He waits expectantly.
I take a deep breath. “I’m more afraid of dying because of what it would do to my family than of actually being gone.”
Hunter’s gaze is unwavering, piercing through me. “Why?”
“Because when my dad died, it almost destroyed my mom. She wasn’t herself for ... a long time.”
Hunter doesn’t say anything, merely waits.
“It happened so fast, you know? He collapsed on the beach the day after his birthday and got diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor. Then three weeks later, he was gone. And a year after that,hisdad died from a heart attack. That’s why we moved here, to help Farmor—and so she and my mom could try to survive their shared grief together.” I push my salad around the plastic container with my fork.
“How old were you when your dad died?” Hunter asks.
“Thirteen.” I spear some lettuce and force myself to take a bite, even though I’m not very hungry anymore.
“That’s pretty young to lose your dad.”
I somehow force down the salad through my constricting throat. “There’s never a good age to lose a parent. And that ... that’s why I’msoscared,” I blurt out. “How am I supposed to dream about marriage, about having a baby—when I don’t know how old my child will be when I leave them with the same pain I’ve carried since I lost my dad?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Hunter stand. For a second, panic spikes—I went too far, scared him off. He’s going to ask for space. Maybe even tell me to call an Uber.
Instead, he slides onto the hard plastic bench beside me and wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. “I’m sorry, Liv,” he murmurs.
I sink into him—his warmth, his solidness, the quiet strength of his body. He holds me like I’m something precious. And that’s what does it. Not the grief. Not the words. Buthim. The unexpectedtenderness of it all shatters the fragile hold I’ve held on to for weeks. The sobs break free—helpless, messy. Hunter doesn’t flinch. Just holds me tighter, his hand moving slowly up and down my arm, steady and silent while I fall apart.
Several minutes later, I slowly regain control, and he loosens his grip, carefully moving me back so he can look down at me. “Better?” he asks softly.
