by Kennedy Fox
That earns me a relieved smile. “Good.”
After we’re finished eating, Hunter puts my remaining pasta in the fridge as he does every night, then we sit on the couch and watch TV, though I can’t pay attention to anything that’s happening. He flips through the channels, and soon, I’m yawning over and over.
Hunter tilts his head, giving me a worried expression. “Lennon.” His voice is just above a soft whisper.
When he looks at me with a gentleness in his eyes, it brings me back to the first night we met at the bar. The Hunter sitting beside me is the man I met two years ago, not the asshole I’ve been living with for the past year.
“You can’t continue to bunk on the couch. It’s not comfortable, and I know you’re not getting any rest. You’re constantly tired and going to burn out. You need a real bed.”
I shake my head to argue. “I can’t…I can’t sleep in that bed, Hunter. With his side empty. It’s cold and bare without him. The sheets still smell like him. It’s painful enough to walk in there in the mornings. I…”
For a moment, he watches me, then sucks in a deep breath as if he’s contemplating something. Taking me by surprise, he places his hand on top of mine and squeezes. “You can have my room then. You have to get some sleep.”
I’m shocked he’d even offer, but he’s been surprising me a lot lately. “I don’t want to lie in the same bed a hundred other women have slept in,” I say, trying to break the tension in the room while cracking a smile.
Hunter removes his hand and sticks up his pinky. “What if I swear to put clean sheets on for you?”
I twist the corner of my lips, pretending to actually think about it. “And flip the mattress?” I ask, with raised eyebrows.
“Damn girl,” he says with amusement, dropping his arm. “You’re a tough negotiator.”
I give him big puppy dog eyes, and he rolls his at me.
“Fine, if that’s what you want, Lennon. I’ll even spray Lysol and light one of your girly candles if that’s what it’ll take for you to finally get a good night’s sleep.”
When I don’t answer right away, Hunter stands and crosses his arms over his broad chest. “Well?” He looks even larger when he towers over me, making me feel small and fragile. Though I’m sure that’s how most women feel around him. His muscles alone could crush me if he really wanted to.
I study his hard expression, realizing he won’t take no for an answer. I bite my lower lip as I try to imagine myself in Hunter’s room. In his bed. As weird as it is, I know he’s right. The couch fucking sucks. “Okay.”
“Thank God.” He releases a relieved breath, which makes me smile. He really does care. “Never had to persuade a woman into my bed before. Thought you were gonna make me go on my knees and beg for a minute there,” he teases, which immediately eases the tension.
“And for a minute, I thought you were being a gentleman,” I fire right back, though I’m chuckling at his exaggerated relief.
“I very much am.” Hunter winks before he takes off down the hallway. I gather my pillow and blanket from the couch, then hear him really flipping the mattress, which makes me laugh.
A few more moments pass before he returns. “It’s all yours,” he says, waving his hand out to gesture for me to walk ahead of him.
Once we reach his room, I open the door and glance around. I realize I’ve never really been in here longer than it took to throw in the random bras and panties I found lying around the apartment. I turn and look at him and relief floods over me that I might actually get some rest. I’m exhausted from trying to get through everything while sleeping on the most uncomfortable couch of my life. Not that I’m surprised. They probably bought it cheap while they were in college since it’s been here the whole time I’ve known Brandon.
“Let me know if you need anything else.” Hunter turns with his pillow and blanket to walk away, but I reach for his arm and stop him.
“Thank you, Hunter,” I genuinely say, hoping he sees in my eyes how much I appreciate him.
With a nod, he gives me a little grin. “Anything for you, Lennon. Good night.”
He shuts the door behind him. I fan my blanket out on top of the freshly made bed, then slip under the cool sheets with my pillow. For the first time since Brandon’s death, I relax enough to almost instantly fall asleep, which is a miracle in and of itself, and the only person I have to thank is Hunter.
Chapter Fourteen
Hunter
I don’t even know how to describe these past two months without Brandon. Our normal routines of hanging out on the weekends, hitting up the clubs, or just fucking around at home feel like a distant memory now, but at the same time, it seems like only yesterday.
Now the reality of him never coming back or seeing him again hits me over and over every morning I wake up in his room. It’s a fucked-up situation, to say the least, but when Lennon refused to sleep in her bed even after two weeks, I refused to allow her to go on like that. I offered my room in exchange for the couch, but when she saw my feet hanging off the edge, she demanded I take her bed. I’m twice the size of Lennon, but I wanted to be respectful of her space. She’s barely walked into the room she and Brandon shared and has kept everything the same inside. If me staying on the couch was what it took for her to finally get some rest, I’d sleep on it every damn night.
However, Lennon handed me a clean set of sheets and refused any excuse I gave her. I wasn’t really sure I wanted to, considering the endless amount of sex they’ve had in there, but I was kinda out of options. Sleep halfway off the couch and wake up sore as fuck every morning or sleep in their bed with clean sheets. After the first week, it wasn’t so awkward, and it quickly became our new routine.
Each day, I go into my room to grab clean clothes, and she does the same. Then we leave like it’s not weird or anything that we switched spaces. She’s not so tired in the mornings, but I still hear her crying sometimes late at night. The urge to comfort her is so strong that I often find myself on the other side of the door ready to let myself in. But then I think better of it and force myself to step away and leave her be.
Now Lennon is on summer break and sleeps in, so I tiptoe into my room, grab my things, then quietly leave. I should really just move my shit over, but until Lennon’s ready, I won’t. I don’t want to overstep my boundaries. I think she likes coming into this room and seeing his things where he left them, but she’s not quite ready to stay for more than a couple of minutes. I can’t imagine how painful it is.
“Morning,” Lennon greets me while I’m in the kitchen. “Coffee. Now,” she mutters. The sleepiness evident in her tone.
“Why are you up so early?” I ask, filling the coffee pot with water.
“Couldn’t fall back asleep after someone’s loud ass woke me up,” she says, but I know she’s teasing me by the way she’s grinning. I hit the brew button and wait.
“I beg to differ!” I say as if I’m offended at her accusation. “I was being very quiet.”
Lennon looks over at me, then down at the floor. “You have loud feet, Hunter.”
“What does that even mean? Loud feet?” I wrinkle my nose, walking to the fridge for the bottle of creamer for her.
“I don’t know, but your feet are massive and clunk against the floor.” She waves a hand around as if she’s trying to think of the right words. “Clammer? Clank? Whatever. You know what I mean.”
She gets all flustered, which makes me laugh. “Okay, sorry. I can grab my clothes before bed from now on. Unless you want me to just move them over to my room? Your room. I mean.”
I study her face, hoping I didn’t upset her. “It’s okay. I was only teasing.” Her face holds no expression as she reaches for two mugs and sets them on the counter. “I think I’m gonna read today.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask.
“There’s a new book I’ve been hearing about that releases today, so I’m hoping Barnes & Noble has it in stock.”
I love hearing her talk about g
etting out of the house without being told or reminded.
“What’s it called?” I ask, genuinely interested.
The coffeemaker beeps, and Lennon fills my mug first. I don’t use creamer, so I start blowing on mine right away. When I finally take a sip, Lennon answers, “Snitches Get Stitches.”
My mouth isn’t fast enough to move away from my coffee before it spews from my lips. She starts laughing as I try to hold the cup away from my body. I wasn’t expecting that response at all.
“Are you okay?” she asks, though she’s still chuckling at my expense.
“Um…besides burning the fuck out of my lips, yeah.” I set the mug down and grab a paper towel to wipe my chin and shirt. “That’s a weird ass title I wasn’t anticipating.” I start laughing then too.
“I know, but that’s what makes it fun. It’s an MC romance,” she admits.
“MC?” My brows raise as I think about it. Wait. “Motorcycle?”
“Motorcycle club,” she confirms. She turns and pours herself a cup, then adds creamer.
“Lennon.” She looks up at me. “You sure that’s a good idea? I mean, considering?” I’m shocked she’d even have an interest in that because of Brandon’s accident.
She shrugs as if she’s unsure. “I think it’ll be a way to face my fears or something. I’ve read the other books in the series, so at least I know what to expect.”
Licking my lips, the tip of my tongue feeling burnt, I stay silent as I watch her expression. She wants my approval, to tell her it’s okay to enjoy reading even if she thinks she’s supposed to be miserable for the rest of her life.
“Then I think you should get it.” I flash her a smile, though I feel hesitant. The last thing she needs is to spiral down again to where she was weeks ago. After finally making some progress, I’d hate to see her beat herself up again. “Only if it doesn’t upset you.”
Lennon takes a sip of her coffee like it’s nothing, probably because it’s more creamer than anything else, and flashes me a grin. “Don’t worry. If it becomes too much, I’ll put it in the freezer.”
I furrow my brows, wondering if she’s serious. “Huh?” I grab my to-go mug and pour the rest of my coffee into it. I have to leave for work soon.
“Have you never watched Friends?” Her eyes widen with judgment.
“Who hasn’t?” I smirk.
“The episode where Joey and Rachel trade books. He puts The Shining in the freezer because it scares him,” she says, laughing at the thought. “Then he reads Rachel’s book, Little Women, and when one of them get sick, he gets sad, and Rachel—”
“Offers to put it in the freezer,” I finish for her, now laughing as I remember that episode.
“Yes!” she singsongs. “Best show ever.”
Ten minutes later, I’m grabbing my things and getting ready to leave for work. I leave a little easier knowing Lennon won’t be alone and wallowing. Either she saves that for when I’m not home, or she’s getting better at dealing with her emotions. I’d hate to think she’s hiding her feelings for my sake and hope she’s comfortable enough to express herself how she needs to. I still have her sisters check on her when I’m not here, and Liam and Mason have even stopped by a few times.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be okay,” she reassures me before I walk out the door. “I cry in the shower, get it out of the way for the day, and then I’m usually good until bedtime.”
The sadness is evident on her face, though her tone is light. I give her a look, knowing there’s nothing I can say to change any of this.
“We should watch Friends later,” I simply say. “I’ll order dinner, and we can laugh our asses off all night long.” I figure it’s a safe show for us to watch. Nothing overly sexual or sad. We’ve been watching—or, rather, she’s been insisting—on her trash reality shows, and for the most part, I’ve been allowing it, but enough is enough. A man can only handle so much female drama caused by self-sabotage.
“Sounds like a plan. But I’m still controlling the remote,” she adds with a grin.
I shake my head and chuckle. “What else is new?”
Driving to work, I think about Brandon and our old daily routine. Before Lennon moved in, we’d pass each other in the mornings and then hang out all night. He wouldn’t see her until the weekends, but then as soon as she moved in, she consumed his waking moments anytime she was near. He loved her so damn much, that was obvious.
I only wish Lennon and I could’ve gotten along under different circumstances. I know the majority of why we didn’t was on me, and if I could go back and change things, I would. Dealing with my feelings for her is something I was never able to fully process, but I’ve been able to hide them, shove them down as best as I can, and continue being the friend she needs right now. The guilt burns inside me, knowing how I’ve felt about her all this time, but I try to give myself a break, considering I never acted on them or would. Lennon is my best-kept secret.
At almost noon, I get a text message.
Mason: I was gonna stop over and bring Lennon some lunch. You think she likes Del Taco?
I laugh.
Hunter: Who doesn’t? She likes the beef and bean burritos.
Mason: Good to know. Thanks!
Hunter: Wait, she talked about going to the bookstore today. Let me see if she’s home first.
I press her number before waiting for his response. It rings twice before she picks up.
“Hey,” she whispers.
“Hi. Are you home? Mason wanted to bring you lunch,” I tell her.
“No, I’ll be home in about fifteen, though. Just walking to the registers,” she whispers again.
“Why are you whispering?”
“Because I’m at Barnes and don’t want to be rude when people are shopping and reading,” she says in a condescending tone and then laughs.
“Okay, just asking.” I chuckle, shaking my head. “Did you find your book?”
“Yep! Grabbed a few others too. Some young adult fantasy about wicked kings, a young adult romance that sounds like some kind of mean girl competition, and a self-help book on grieving.”
I wasn’t expecting that last one, but I can’t say I’m surprised either.
“They sound…interesting.”
“I guess we’ll see.” She breathes out. “Tell Mason I’ll be back home shortly. Wait. Do you know what he’s bringing me? Maybe I’ll stay,” she asks with a soft laugh.
“Freeloader,” I tease. “He said Del Taco.”
“Hell yeah. Okay, I’ll be home as soon as I check out.”
After we hang up, I text Mason and give him the update. He sends back a thumbs up emoji, and I relax the rest of the day knowing Lennon is slowly but surely becoming herself again.
I don’t get home until after six and am actually anxious to eat and watch TV like we planned. Today was the Monday-est Tuesday ever, and I’m over it.
Seeing Lennon on the couch with a book in her face makes me smile. I see the other two books she bought on the coffee table, and by the way she’s grinning, I figure she’s not reading the grieving book.
“I’m gonna shower quick since I was on the worksite all afternoon. You okay with ordering after?” I ask as I kick off my boots.
“Sure, that’s fine,” she answers without blinking away from the pages. It makes me chuckle.
“Think about what you want while I’m in there because I’m hungry as fuck,” I say, unbuttoning my shirt. “Guessing tacos are out of the question, though, since you had that for lunch.” I pull off my shirt and rub a hand over my jawline. Shit, I need to shave too. The scruff’s getting a little thick. “Anything besides sushi, though. Maybe burgers?” I say aloud, undoing my jeans. I’m too far in my head thinking about food to see Lennon’s staring at me over her book with perked up brows. “What?” I finally ask.
“Um…” She clears her throat, blinking. “Didn’t realize you were providing dinner and a show.” She chuckles, narrowing her eyes.
“Huh?” I look down an
d realize I’m down to my boxers. “Fuck.” I grab my clothes off the floor and turn to walk down the hallway. “Sorry!” I call out.
Goddammit. I was so distracted and eager to get out of my work clothes, I wasn’t even thinking. Now she probably thinks I’m a pervert. I’ve walked around in my boxers before, usually as I’m escorting a one-night stand out the door, but this was like a private strip show, which was completely unintentional.
I wash off and think about the past two months and how much has changed. Some days are better than others, but Lennon and I are still taking it one day at a time. The grief hits me at random times and is often unexpected.
Not only do I miss my best friend more than I ever thought possible, but I’m struck with guilt anytime I look at Lennon and wish I could kiss the sadness off her face. It’s fucked up, this whole situation is, but what happened didn’t automatically erase the deep-rooted feelings I had for her. If anything, they’ve intensified as we’ve grown closer, and I feel like a fucking prick for it.
On top of that, I haven’t gotten laid in over two months, which means fucking random chicks to forget about her is no longer my coping mechanism. At least when I was with another woman, I could hide those feelings and bury them in someone else. Now they’re all pent up and piling up.
My dick grows hard just thinking about it, and I know I’m an asshole for considering my own needs at a time like this. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve beat my cock to thoughts of her, but now it feels more wrong than before. Still, the desire hits me, and I palm my length, stroking it hard and fast until I’m cursing and releasing a deep, animalistic grunt. I feel like a fucking bastard afterward, but I can never cross that line with her.