Masters of the Hunt: Fated and Forbidden

by Sarra Cannon

  Matthew froze. She didn’t know him, didn’t need him. What she needed was to be with her friend—not to deal with the attentions of an overeager stranger. He watched the doors of the ambulance close, unable to tear his eyes from them as they drove away, even as the police officer approached him, wanting his statement.

  Chapter 2

  Two Weeks Later

  Hallie’s phone buzzed near her head, startling her awake. She had fallen half-asleep with her head on Dani’s hospital bed again, which left her feeling crooked and creased all over, folded at the knees and back and neck. She rubbed at her cheeks, which were embossed by the wrinkles in the scratchy hospital sheets.

  Every day, Dani looked smaller and smaller beneath those sheets. They’d put her into a medically induced to allow her brain and body to endure a series of painful and risky operations.

  The doctor who told her all of this had eyebrows like caterpillars and wouldn’t look you in the eye when he spoke. Hallie didn’t like him, but the branch that had impaled Dani’s chest was gone, and her heart was still beating, so she had to give Dr. Caterpillar credit for that.

  She rubbed sleep from her eyes and checked her email, her stomach sinking at the sight of one from her English professor, titled Make-Up Work.

  Dear Hallie,

  I am very sorry to learn about the personal circumstances that have kept you from attending my class for the past month. In the interest of salvaging your grade, I have in mind a make-up assignment for you. I am currently leading a small group of graduate students on a research project that could use some extra hands and eyes. If you are interested, please stop by my office tomorrow at 1 p.m. (our weekly meeting time) so that we can get you up to speed.

  My best wishes as you endure this challenging time.

  Dr. Brandi Signer

  Associate Professor

  Department of English

  Abingford University

  The lump in Hallie’s throat grew harder and heavier. After a month of missed classes, she would be hard-pressed to “salvage her grade” in any one of her five courses, but she had to try. Her scholarship was on the line, and although most of her professors were willing to work with her, four weeks of American literature, international politics, advanced statistics, Spanish, and microbiology were enough to bring even the most focused student to her knees.

  The door to Dani’s ICU room slid open, and three nurses entered, maneuvering a cot into the tiny room.

  “Good morning, Hallie,” the oldest-looking nurse, Caroline, said. She was short and round, with bright pink sneakers and a no-nonsense attitude. “How’s our girl doing?”

  “Um. Okay, I guess.” What kind of answer was she supposed to give? They should be telling her. “The same… but she’s getting smaller.”

  Caroline pursed her lips. “It’s not unusual for patients to seem smaller in here. Illness can do that. But try not to worry—we’re making sure she gets the nutrients she needs.” She rattled Dani’s IV bag, which made Hallie cringe. They didn’t get it. They didn’t know Dani, didn’t understand that she had always been thin and willowy and ethereal, but that she had also been larger than life, golden and radiant and bold, able to make an empty room feel full with her sheer energy. Now she was still, grey, and colorless, no matter how many IVs they pricked into her.

  Without Dani, Hallie felt lost, adrift. Who was she without Dani? They’d grown up as sisters, in tandem, in sync, Dani leading and Hallie close behind. The two of them up against the whole wide, indifferent world. To see Dani this way, crumpled and wasting away in a hospital bed, and to know that she was responsible… Hallie pushed the thought away, unable to descend down that dark corridor of her mind with the nurses chattering away, disconnecting Dani’s wires.

  “Wait, where are you taking her? She had her scans already. This morning.”

  Caroline looked up from the notes she was typing into Dani’s chart. “Didn’t the doctor come in and speak with you, dear?”

  “No.” She silently cursed Dr. Caterpillar.

  “We’re transferring Dani up to Boston for the remainder of her surgeries and recovery.”

  “Boston?” Hallie stood up. “You can’t do that. She lives here in Abingford. We live here.”

  “Well, we’ve contacted her mother, and she’s authorized the transfer to Boston on Dr. Catrell’s recommendation. The surgeons and hospital up there are much more well-equipped to deal with Dani’s case, and I promise you she’ll receive excellent care there.”

  Hallie reeled. The ground felt suddenly unstable, as though it was made of quicksand, and her legs were like watery jell-o. She couldn’t move, but she felt herself sinking.

  “Her… mother? You spoke to Louisa?” She rubbed her chest, which seemed to be collapsing. “The same woman we haven’t heard a peep from in six years, since she left us - since she left Dani - at a Motel 6 in Abilene?”

  For a moment, Caroline’s composed expression slipped.

  “We - we merely contacted the university, with whom Dani had listed her mother as an emergency contact. Their attorney is outside now, if you’d like to speak with him about the situation.”

  “Whose attorney?”

  Caroline bit her lip, looking as though she seriously regretted giving Hallie so much information.

  “Dani and her mother’s attorney, dear,” she said gently.

  “Dani doesn’t have an attorney,” Hallie challenged, but the Caroline simply shook her head.

  “Try to understand—” she began, but Hallie was not to be appeased. Her heart thrumming, she rushed outside, where a thin man with a pointy nose and mild expression was leaning against the nurses’s station, adjusting his cuff links.

  “Are you the lawyer?” she demanded.

  The man peered down at her, his expression bemused. He stopped adjusting his cuff links and straightened up.

  “Ah - yes. Samuel Brockhurst, of Brockhurst, Landon, and Associates.”

  “Are you here for the Fawcetts? Dani and Louisa?”

  He tilted his head, frowning at her. “Who is inquiring?”

  Hallie resisted the urge to grab his shoulders and give him a hard shake.

  “Hallie. I’m Dani’s sister—adopted sister. Kind of. We live together, and I want to know why the hell Louisa thinks she has the right to—”

  “Hallie Medina?” Brockhurst interjected, his face brightening.

  Hallie faltered, then nodded.

  “Ah, excellent. I was worried that tracking you down would be a task, but it makes sense that you’re here. Would you have time for a meeting tomorrow? I have some financial matters to discuss with you, as Ms. Fawcett’s representative.”

  “What?” It was hard to be outraged and confused at the same time.

  “I’d, uh, really prefer to delve into this when we have a little more time. As it is, I’m just here to see that Dani’s transfer goes smoothly, as a favor to Ms. Fawcett.”

  “You know Louisa pretty well, then.”

  “Yes, I’ve represented the Fawcett family since I left law school,” he said, a touch of pride in his voice.

  “Then maybe you can explain where the hell she’s been the last six years. And why she thinks she has the right to waltz back into our lives now, just to take Dani away.”

  Brockhurst bristled. “Ms. Medina, I assure you that Louisa does have the right to handle Dani’s care as she sees fit, given that she is her closest living blood relative and has been chosen by Dani to be in charge of her medical care, in an event such as this.”

  More nurses swept past them, rolling machines in and out of Dani’s room.

  “How does she even know where we are? How does she know what Dani wanted? We haven’t spoken to her since she left.”

  Brockhurst’s lips tightened. “Well, I can’t speak to that directly. But I might suggest that perhaps you don’t know all the details of Dani’s relationship with her mother.”

  Hallie sucked in a breath, trying to fend off the stabbing feeling in her chest.


  “But… she left us.” Her voice broke. “She doesn’t even know Dani. She doesn’t care enough to know her. Or me.”

  He placed one awkward, bony hand on her shoulder.

  “Louisa just wants the best care possible for Dani. Isn’t that what you want, too?”

  Hallie nodded mutely.

  From inside his coat, he extracted a cream-colored business card and handed it to her. “Shall we meet tomorrow afternoon, to go over the material we need to discuss?”

  Hallie rubbed her finger along the edge of the card, nodding. As he turned to leave, she called out to him.

  “Wait… Mr. Brockhurst.”

  “I can’t just leave her… I can’t let her go alone to Boston.”

  He nodded.

  “Come see me tomorrow, Hallie. We’ll talk.”

  Chapter 3

  The English barista in the student union was too attractive for his own good. Or Hallie’s, but only because he spent his time flirting with coeds rather than pouring coffee. She’d been in line for a good fifteen minutes, and between the restless night in her hollow, empty campus apartment waiting for news of Dani’s arrival in Boston, and her upcoming meeting with Dr. Signer, she just needed her coffee.

  “What can I get for you, beautiful?”

  “A caffe Americano, please. And my eyes are up here.”

  He flushed. “Ah - sorry, love. Coming right up.”

  She shook her head. On any other day, she would have smiled good-naturedly and complimented his Buddy Holly glasses and colorful sleeve tattoo. But today, she didn’t feel like smiling or joking or flirting. Today, Dani was gone, and the hole she left in Hallie’s life was gaping. Today, she had to try to fill it—to try to salvage her semester and her scholarship, and get answers about Louisa.

  Today, she had to prove to herself that her life had not completely fallen apart.

  “Hallie! Oh my God, Hallie, how have you been?”

  In the corner of her eye, her neighbor Mayra appeared, rushed past a cluster of plush arm chairs, and flung her arms around Hallie’s neck in a blur of black hair and purple costume jewelry.

  “They sent an email to the whole building saying you’d been in an accident, but they didn’t give us any details, and we were so worried, and I asked around to see if you needed someone to check in on your apartment, or someone to take over RA duties, but—”

  “Thanks, but it’s okay. Really.” Trying not to cringe, Hallie disentangled herself from Mayra’s babbling embrace and rearranged her expression into one of resigned disappointment, as if she’d lost a big tennis match, and not her best friend.

  Mayra pursed her lips, her hands on Hallie’s shoulders. “Do you need anything? Because say the word and I will have it done in a—”

  “I'm fine," she said, a little too quickly. She softened her voice. "Really, everything’s handled. Surprisingly, being an RA for campus apartments doesn’t involve many responsibilities.”

  Mayra laughed, and Hallie forced her own smile. At least, normally it didn’t. Most apartment RAs dealt with move-in and move-out inspections, and the occasional noise complaint. But most RAs didn’t have neighbors like Mayra, or the twins who lived upstairs.

  “How are the twins doing?” she asked. The twins were brother and sister, a musical duo who had been hounding Hallie and Dani to join their “band” since last summer’s welcome picnic, when Dani had coaxed Hallie into an impromptu duet. They argued a lot over messes and food and their various “artistic differences”; their fights tended to be explosive, but they always managed to come back from them.

  “Much better,” Mayra informed her. "They've decided on a band name, finally—The Blue Zephyrs—so that drama is over. At least until they realize that’s a stupid name for a band.”

  "Nice."

  "How's Dani?"

  "She's… okay. Stable, at least."

  Mayra pursed her lips. But before she could respond, the barista served up her Americano, and Hallie snatched it, muttered a hurried good bye and thanks, and bolted from the union.

  Weston, the building that housed the English department, was directly across from the student union, its red brick, windowless facade contrasting with the cheery colonial buildings that made up most of Abingford’s campus. Built in the sixties to be riot-proof, it looked like a stout, ivy-wrapped fortress, and it was hard to imagine that lively discussions about literature happened inside. The walkway to the main entrance was littered with bits of rock salt, remnants of the freak ice storm that had so thoroughly derailed Hallie and Dani’s lives. She followed the trail of rock salt all the way into the stairwell.

  As she climbed past the second floor landing, a class let out and students poured out, their backpacks jostling her as she struggled upward to the sound of rough apologies and careless chatter. The sounds were slightly foreign to her, like hearing someone speak English underwater. She didn’t know if it was the nerves, or whether her life had become so far removed from theirs that she no longer understood them.

  On the third floor, she pushed open the door to the small conference room, glanced around, and her heart stopped.

  Standing in the corner, chatting with Dr. Signer about which leftover danish to eat, was him. For a moment, she thought she was hallucinating, so mythical had he grown in her mind. But no. Here, again, was the real-life version of the man who’d been haunting her dreams since the night of the accident, whose low, soothing voice she heard in those moments before she’d wake, eyes wet and chest aching. Since that night, he’d never been far from her mind, with his kind eyes and warm firm grasp and that fervent refrain: “This is not your fault.”

  At the hospital, she made the mistake of mentioning him to the social worker who came to check on them. The social worker had asked about the leather jacket Hallie wouldn’t let go of, that she used as a blanket and pillow and lap desk, and Hallie had responded that it belonged to the man who had saved them.

  She knew she sounded irrational. Crazy, even, to cling to the jacket of the man who’d dialed 911.

  “Don’t you think he’d like his jacket back?” the social worker had asked, so kindly, so saccharine-sweet, as if it made all the sense in the world, that Hallie wanted to deck her.

  “No.”

  Now, here he was. She was grateful she hadn’t worn the jacket like she’d considered doing, as a kind of shield. He looked up, and she met his eyes, which were the same deep cornflower blue she remembered. He didn’t look nearly as surprised as she felt. As he stared, his gaze sweeping over her features, her face grew hot. She felt the beat of her heart in her ears. She couldn’t explain it. Was it that he’d been there to help them? Or that he’d been the one to drape his jacket over Dani, to show her that small kindness in what could have been her final moments? What was it about his presence, his half smile and unwavering gaze that felt so achingly familiar? That drew her to him, as if the inertia of her life had made their meeting inevitable? That should have unnerved her, but instead set her senses alight?

  He set down his coffee on the danish table and excused himself from Dr. Signer, then approached her.

  “Hi,” he said. He was taller than she’d realized, with a lean solid frame and golden brown hair, but his voice was just as she remembered it: low and warm.

  “Hi,” she repeated, more out of reflex than actual composure. Her palms were cold and sweaty, and she was glad he hadn’t tried to shake her hand.

  “I’m not sure if you remember me—”

  “Oh, I remember you,” she said, with a shaky laugh. God, she sounded demented. But he didn’t falter, didn’t flinch, didn’t laugh. His gaze was intense and steady, but when she looked away, she saw his fingers flex slightly, as though he was struggling to keep them still. Again, she thought of those hands linked with hers that night, the way they’d grounded her when she felt her heart stumbling and shattering like the pieces of glass embedded in her skin.

  “How are you?” he asked, and she winced. She knew how deceptive that little
phrase of greeting could be, how fraught with meaning it was nowadays.

  “I’m fine, thanks.” One glance at him and she knew she hadn’t convinced him.

  “And your friend? Is she…?”

  “Coma. Boston.” She paused. “The doctors still don’t know.” She waited for him to fidget the way all people did when they met someone who was dealing with real trauma or tragedy. She expected him to backtrack, to offer some platitude, or to just shake his head - any socially appropriate gesture at sympathy. But already, a part of her knew he was different: too intense, too steady for that.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets, thumbs hanging over the seams.

  “I'm sorry to hear that. You know, I’ve thought about you every day since that night.”

  A wave of warmth washed over her. Okay, so he’d gone straight for the jugular instead. It was weirdly refreshing. The confession relieved some of her anxiety, and she felt her heart rate steady and slow. The urge to run back out the door subsided. But everything remained in strong focus, all her senses heightened and alert thanks to his presence, which brought back the night of the accident in startlingly vivid detail.

  She sipped her coffee to unstick her throat. “If you’re going to hit on me, at least tell me your name first.”

  For a moment he looked stunned. Then a small, secret sort of smile twitched at his lips, and he held out his hand. “I’m Matthew.”

  Matthew. She mouthed it silently. His handshake lingered, warming some of the feeling back into her clammy palm and numb fingertips. “I’m Hallie.”

  “I remember.”

  She flushed. She wondered what he remembered. A hysterical, screaming, crying lunatic. Her tears and snot and blood on his chest. A half-dead sorority girl. Ice and sirens and their pink Westfalia wrapped around the tree. Nothing anyone would want to remember.

  “I—I didn’t know you’d be here,” she said.

  “Nor I you,” he said. “But I’m glad you are.” Something told her he knew he had the upper hand in their exchange, which gnawed at her. This wasn’t right. How could he be so casual, so friendly, so calm, given the way they’d met? She felt stupid and foolish for clinging to the memory of his soothing voice and grounding embrace… when it was so clear that he’d only been doing what any person might have done for someone in her situation.