by Shen, L. J.
“Thank you for explaining it to me in simple English, Athair. For a minute there I was, hysterically at a loss,” Hunter said.
“Do not speak out of turn,” Gerald warned, stabbing into his steak like it was his enemy.
“I wasn’t planning on speaking at all. Mom was hella adamant I be here, though.” Hunter fingered his chin, throwing the ball back to his father’s court.
“She has her vices. You are one of them.” Gerald turned his attention back to his steak.
“And you’re not, which is why I’m here, taunting the hell out of you with my presence alone,” Hunter deadpanned.
Aisling sucked in a breath, and Jane paled and coughed out her drink—her MO, apparently.
Gerald’s chair scraped back with a screeching sound. He rose to his feet, slapping the table with a roar. “Enough! It’s bad enough that you have brought shame on this family—”
“Don’t talk to him like that.” It was Jane’s turn to dart up to her feet. She looked even more frail and bony next to her husband.
I glanced between Hunter and Gerald, knowing I was missing a very big piece of the puzzle.
Jaw clenched, eyes dead, Hunter stood, turned around, and stalked out of the room. I couldn’t blame him. This house—this family—seemed to purge him whenever he made an attempt to fit in. His father despised him, his brother ridiculed him, and his mother was too weak to stop either of them.
I rose, pressing my fingertips to the table. I could feel all eyes but the Fitzpatrick parents’ on me. Dad, Mom, Sam, and Aisling watched my reaction to Hunter’s meltdown. Even Cillian eyed me, probably curious what other ill-mannered tricks I had up my sleeve.
“I just want you to know one thing.” I pointed at Gerald, feeling my eyes narrow into slits. “When I agreed to this arrangement, I thought I was helping a loving dad guide his son back to the right path. But you’re not loving, and honestly? You’re barely even a dad. You’re a patronizing, bigheaded schmuck. You have no right to be mad at Hunter for turning to booze and sex with random people. He never seems to get any love where he needs it the most—his family. Whatever failure you see in him, be sure to know a big slice of it is your own.”
Without waiting for his reaction, I turned away in the direction Hunter had gone, my veins sizzling with rage. I stomped my way along the wide corridor. It was long and vein-like, twisting here and there. Every time I thought I’d found the farthest part of the floor, I was met with another golden curve decorated by a statue that led to yet another corner. This house was too big to manage. I wondered if Aisling knew every part of it.
At some point, I noticed three granite steps leading to an untouched, heavily decorated family room. All the furniture was angled toward the glass door leading to a beautiful English garden. The door was slightly ajar—on purpose or by design, I’d never know. Without thinking, I pushed the glass door open all the way, stepping outside.
I knew wandering off unannounced after Hunter, whom I’d defended ruthlessly the entire night, looked suspicious, that his father was likely wondering if I, too, had drunk the Hunter Kool-Aid and succumbed to his charm. But I needed to calm myself, far away from the Fitzpatricks. My mother jogged to get rid of the humming energy beneath her flesh. Me? I used my arrow and bow. But I didn’t have them now.
I wanted to ruin something to make myself feel better, even if that something was myself.
The weather had cooled. The chilly breeze coated my bare arms as my heels dug into the damp earth under the lush grass of the backyard. Although calling it a backyard was the understatement of the universe. It was more like an entire meadow, stretched into a barbecue area with an Olympic-sized pool complete with sunbeds, and on the far right, there was some sort of ivy-covered, medieval-looking glass structure. I eyed it, wondering what it could be. I’d already gathered that Gerald Fitzpatrick liked flashing his wealth like a creeper on a subway.
What could be more excessive than a candy bar? Maybe the glass house was where Gerald kept his compassion and sympathy—sealed, locked, and shoved far away from the main property.
It wasn’t in my nature to be nosy, but I wanted to know if Hunter was there. The need to console him clawed at my skin.
I marched to the ivy-laced room, patting it for the door handle. I hoped it wasn’t locked. As I dragged my fingernails along the door, I felt a long, muscular arm stretch behind me, brushing my shoulder. I jumped back, gasping. The hand reached for a secret door handle nestled behind a thick coat of ivy, opening it effortlessly, creating a sliver of space between the door and its frame. An unnatural amount of light poured from the crack. My head twisted back, my blood roaring between my ears, signaling me it was a fight-or-flight kind of situation.
Hunter smiled down at me calmly. “Butterfly garden.”
“It’s exactly like your dad to cage the symbol of freedom in a small, confined room for entertainment purposes,” I muttered.
His eyes twinkled in amusement.
“And it’s hella you to make that kind of statement.”
I shrugged. “I’m not very good at keeping my mouth shut.”
“As you demonstrated at the table.”
“I hope I didn’t make it worse for you.”
“Nothing can make it worse for me, aingeal dian.” His sultry voice wrapped around my body like a snake. He didn’t sound angry or upset. Just sad.
“Where have you been?” I pushed away from him, struggling to swallow the lump in my throat.
“Waiting for your ass to figure out my whereabouts. Here, I want to show you something.”
He gave me a slight shove, pushing me into the room. The door closed behind us with a soft click. I blinked, getting used to the artificial light that attacked my retinas.
It was a moist, nearly blistering room, with a rounded see-through ceiling, lots of overhead lighting, and lavish, wild plants winding behind wooden bannisters. They looked like a curious audience behind red velvet ropes. The railings lined a walkway around the room. There were two rustic, arbor-covered benches on either side of the garden and an artificial pond covered with moss, surrounded by heavy gray stones. But the thing that made my knees buckle was the swarm of butterflies fluttering around us. Hundreds of them. Blue and orange. White, green, dotted, and striped, small and large. I followed them with my eyes, momentarily forgetting Hunter was in the room. I twirled in place as I surveyed one particular orange one, adorned with symmetrically perfect black dots. It beat around me happily, and I went very still, like I was getting ready to draw an arrow, my body hardening into stone. The butterfly rested on the tip of my nose, its little wings clapping together as it settled. I crossed my eyes comically to watch it.
“A few years ago, Da was caught having a sordid affair with a married woman. Not just any married woman, actually, Mom’s younger sister, Virginia. Her husband found out about it and tried to extort money from him. It worked—initially, anyway. But when Gin’s husband asked for shares in Royal Pipelines in exchange for his silence, I guess Da figured it was never going to go away completely unless he nipped it in the bud. He made a press release and confessed to having an affair with his wife’s sister, admitting they’d slept together many times, including in his marital bed. Mom was so pissed she kicked him out of the bedroom. But see, his legacy and company meant more to him than their marriage. It hardly even surprised my mother that he went and confessed to fucking her sister in front of the entire world. In a bid to win her forgiveness, Da made this butterfly garden for her, because butterflies are her favorite animal. And Mom, who couldn’t see the irony in that, accepted his apology. Needless to say, Gin, her husband, and my three cousins haven’t been invited to any Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners since then.”
“Jesus,” I breathed out, looking around the room and suddenly seeing it in a completely different light—tainted, somehow. “That’s insane.”
Hunter caught a butterfly in his hand, brought it to his face, and opened his palm, watching it fluttering away.
&
nbsp; “Butterflies lead short, interesting, decadent lives. They live for about two weeks and never sleep. They do rest, on occasion. Otherwise, they’re always on the go. They prefer nectar to food, and just like me, they have three legs. But can I tell you the most striking fact about butterflies?”
Hunter’s hot mouth found the shell of my ear from behind, and my pulse stuttered, struggling to stay confined to the limits of my body. When had he gotten so close to me? When did he turn my body so I had my back to him?
I wanted to burst out of my skin and run away from him. From this. I closed my eyes, feeling my throat bob.
“Tell me,” I whispered, expecting the butterfly to fly away at the movement of my mouth. But no. It stayed on my face. I felt it flapping its wings lazily, sloping toward Hunter. Maybe it was waiting to hear his answer, too.
“Suspended development.” Hunter’s lips closed on the lobe of my ear, nibbling softly.
I shivered at the heat of his mouth, and his tongue swiped the velvety part of my ear. I wanted him to tear my dress, throw me on the ground, and take me from behind, making me the prey he so often told me I was.
“When the temperature drops to a certain degree, butterflies hibernate. They actually freeze in time—in age—waiting for summer to come and unchain them from the weather, to set them free. Butterflies can’t fly when they’re cold.”
“Like Sleeping Beauty,” I breathed, thinking about the hours, days, weeks, months, and years I’d been obsessed with proving I was better than Lana. No, not even better, just worthy. It was like being stuck in a constant winter, frozen, waiting for something I couldn’t even name.
Hunter grinned against my ear, his lips skimming down my throat, leaving a shudder in their wake. Our bodies were humming with something dangerous and carnal, and I wondered if people were looking for us. Someone could open the door and see us, and everything we’d worked for—everything we had on the line—would go up in flames.
But somehow, at this particular moment, I didn’t care.
“The prince is not going to save you, aingeal dian. He is stuck in his castle, fighting his own battle. Are you ready to step out of your comfort zone and live?” he asked, almost brokenly. I’d never seen him so bare, so raw. “You have to let life touch you. Drown a little with me, baby.”
I opened my mouth, not sure what was going to come out of it. The minute I did, the orange butterfly fluttered away, swirling in circles upwards, spiraling like smoke. It came to rest atop a fluorescent light. I felt the loss of it. I turned to face Hunter and placed both my palms on his chest, pretending to keep him away, but really, I was looking for an excuse to touch him again.
“You know, I always thought my dad was going to hate you, but I don’t think he does. I think he even likes you a little, in his own, very dry, very cautious way.” I cleared my throat, changing the subject lamely.
Hunter lowered his head, his lips puckering. “He thinks you’re so far out of my league, I don’t pose a threat.” He finished on a chuckle. “And he’s not wrong. As for my da, he wants to strangle you.”
“The feeling is mutual. Only difference is, if he tries to strangle me, my father will strangle him, and Sam will finish the job.” I quirked an eyebrow.
Hunter laughed, shoving his hands into his pockets. Butterflies danced around us, and I wondered why he wasn’t kissing me. Then I remembered I’d begged him not to.
The teenage idiot in me was disappointed that he’d respected my wishes.
“I’m glad you didn’t grow up here. This place is soul-crushing. I’m surprised Aisling turned out to be so awesome.”
“Aisling is like a cat. She’s got a good amount of souls.” He still wasn’t touching me, taking another step back.
Confused, I kept the conversation going. “I was going to ask, what did you mean by saying your dad is not your mother’s vice? That he doesn’t interest her?”
“She lost interest in him way before he took Gin to his bed.” Hunter cocked his head, smiling lazily. “But I also referred to the fact I’m not his. Biologically, anyway. Mom had an affair sometime between Cillian and Aisling, around the time she found out he was getting BJs from his secretary. It’s the best-kept secret of the Fitzgerald family. I found out at boarding school, through a friend of a friend whose dad knew mine. Apparently I was dubbed Beautiful Bastard at every country club on the East Coast because I was a cute kid, but hella illegitimate.”
My mouth nearly fell to the ground. Suddenly, I hated Jane as much as I did her husband.
“That is…” I started.
“A goddamn relief.” Hunter pretended to wipe his brow, chuckling to himself and taking another step back. He was almost at the door. I couldn’t figure out why he’d put space between us all of a sudden.
“I rarely throw the affair in my father’s face, but when I do, it always gives me the desired effect.”
“Which is?” I asked.
“Complete meltdown of the Fitzpatrick patriarch.”
“And your biological dad?” I stared at the ground when I asked. I was afraid of the answer.
Hunter waved the question off. “Not a person of interest. When I asked my mom, she pleaded insanity and said he was a male model who fucked off back to Eastern Europe after he was done with her. Which explains why I look nothing like Da, Cillian, and Aisling.”
Which explains why you look like a Greek god.
It helped me understand why he felt so hated here, why he was sent away, why he viewed himself as an airheaded playboy—a role his father had burdened him with, and he went along with. Hunter may have been one of the most sought-after bachelors in America, but the people he wanted attention and warmth from, his family, weren’t there for him.
He took another step back.
Suddenly, an overwhelming need to hug him consumed me, to a point where I wanted to squeeze the breath out of him until he knew he mattered to me.
“Why are you walking away from me?” I finally snapped, my brows furrowed. Hunter pushed the door open, took one step out the door.
“I would like to test a theory,” he said, moving one of his hands along his square, perfect jaw. “If I freeze you in friend-zone winter, will you run for my heat, or stay content with your useless little wings?”
“I’m not a butterfly.” I scowled, knowing he and my friends were right. I was catching feelings for him. I had the Hunter bug. But every time we came close to being something semi-real, I pulled away.
Now, I felt the urge to defy his father and his stupid agreement.
To break a promise.
To drown, lose gravity, make a mistake I couldn’t take back.
Hunter gave me his back, walking away, making the decision for us.
“You are my butterfly, Sailor. And maybe I’m not Gerald’s flesh and blood, but make no mistakes—when I finally catch you, I intend to capture you, too.”
Hunter left shortly after that, taking my car and not bothering with goodbyes. I didn’t blame him. It’d look suspicious if we left together after I’d defended him and we’d both disappeared for almost thirty minutes. Besides, my parents were happy to give me a ride home. They grilled me about life with Hunter throughout the drive, but it was nice to catch up with them. I noticed they asked about my shoulder out of concern, and about Aisling, Persy, and Emmabelle, but they refrained from talking to me about archery.
“Aren’t you going to ask how practice is going?” I sniffed from the back seat, looking for a non-Hunter-related subject. Archery was safe, a good topic. Dad met my eyes through the rearview mirror, side-nodding his head to Mom.
“Red, your stage.”
“We think you should enroll in a summer semester next year,” she said quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid.
“What? Why?” I asked. My parents had always supported my craft, even when they were worried that was all I cared about.
“Something to fall back on,” Mom explained while Dad muttered, “We don’t want you to waste your life away on one thi
ng.”
I quieted.
They thought I was wasting my life away?
That I wasn’t going to make it to the Olympics?
I stared out the window, fighting the sting in my eyes. It wasn’t just them, or the injury, or Hunter’s revelation about not being his father’s child, or the horrific dinner, or even Lana challenging me to come clean about what had happened between us all those years ago. What really bugged me was that there was a grain of truth to what everyone was saying about me.
I was obsessed with archery in a non-healthy way.
Sailor Brennan had managed to sail through life without going on dates, falling in love, going to parties, applying to college, or living; because everything posed a threat to archery. Love. Friendships. School.
I tried to convince myself the sacrifices were necessary to get to where I wanted to be in my career, but the truth was, they weren’t. Lana got to enjoy both worlds. She had the dates and the boyfriends and the clothing lines and the movies and the archery.
Why was I pushing Hunter away time and time again, when it was obvious this whole agreement was just another way for his dad to punish him for not being his?
So what if we were going to say goodbye soon? He was here now. That was more than I could hope for.
When my father pulled the Maserati to a stop at my building, the silence stretched in the car. I wanted to cut it with a knife.
“Look,” Dad said at the same time Mom sighed. “Sailor, we didn’t mean—”
“No,” I said, pushing my door open. “Save it. You’re right. I haven’t been living. I’ve been hiding away from life behind a bow, staring at it with one eye shut. But I’ll get better. At least I’ll try to—not only for my sake, but for yours, too.”
I slammed the door and ran into the lobby, letting the doors swallow me. I didn’t look back to see if they were waiting until I’d gotten into the elevator safely.