He squeezes my arm. “You can talk to me. Tell me what happened.”
I inhale a shaky breath. “He said he wants to be part of Maddie’s life—that he wants full custody after my mom’s gone. He got a lawyer.”
Hunter’s face hardens. “Jesus.”
“Yeah. So much for resolving this amicably,” I say with a humorless chuckle.
“I’m sorry, Mase.”
I rake a hand through my hair, laughing bitterly. “I don’t even know why he’s doing this. Hechoseto walk out of our lives—said it was for our own good, or whatever. And now he thinks he can just waltz back in and demand full custody after years of not giving a shit?”
Rage burns in my stomach, sharp and consuming. I hate that Stephen has this much control over my emotions.
“Sorry,” I mutter, forcing out a breath.
“It’s fine. You’re allowed to be upset,” Hunter assures.
“I shouldn’t be burdening you with this—”
“Hey,” Hunter says firmly, sandwiching my face between his palms. His eyes lock with mine—steady and brown and warm. “You’re not burdening me. Stop it.”
God, he’s so perfect.
I lean in and kiss him, soft this time, the chaos quieting until I can breathe again.
When we part, his forehead rests against mine. “My mom’s a lawyer. Criminal law, but she’s got connections. I can ask her if there’s anything she can do to help you.”
My stomach lurches. “I can’t afford a lawyer.”
“I know. Just let me talk to her, okay? She might have advice.” His voice is careful and patient.
I nod.
“You’ll get through this,” he says, squeezing my hand.
I look down at my yellow nails catching the light, and for once, I don’t feel a storm of impending doom growing inside me. Just warmth. Just sunshine. Just him.
Chapter Thirty-One
Aliyah’s cat looks like a giant rat. It’s a gray, disheveled, scrawny creature she literally found in a dumpster. His name is Paul because, according to Aliyah, giving animals human names is peak comedy.
Currently, Paul is wiggling onto my lap as I lounge on the couch in Aliyah’s apartment. He purrs like a jet engine as he headbutts my hand, demanding attention.
“Aw, don’t be rude,” Aliyah scolds from the kitchen as she prepares popcorn for our movie night. “Give Paul some love!”
I grimace. “No.”
“He’s adorable!”
“He’s… something.”
Aliyah gasps. “Watch your mouth. That’s my son you’re insulting.”
She comes back from the kitchen with two bowls of popcorn. Mine is coated in a hefty dose of ranch seasoning powder—my guilty pleasure.
Aliyah’s apartment is a perfect representation of her personality: boho eclectic, full of thrifted furniture, antiques, and random knickknacks. The green velvet couch we’re sitting on was found on the side of the road, destined for the garbage truck. I’ll never forget the frantic phone call where she begged me to bring my truck so she could rescue it.
She finds value in discarded things. I often think that’s why she likes me so much.
