by Roni Loren
But Hunter couldn’t stop the confessions from flooding out now that the spigot had been opened. “I hate the media attention. My dad has somehow made my career about him. Baseball’s fine, but I know I don’t love it like my teammates do. And I’m getting married and don’t really know why.”
“Because you love her,” Devon said, his voice echoing in the cavernous hallway.
“What?”
“You’re marrying her because you love her. You said I love you in the text.”
Hunter leaned against the wall and ran a hand over his jaw. “I’m not even sure I understand what that means anymore. I care about her. She’s a great girl. But . . .”
“But what, Hunt?”
He closed his eyes for a second, trying to find the words. “But most of the time, all I want to do is run. From her. From my life. From everything. I dream about it. Getting in the car and just taking off—new name, new job, new start. Nothing feels like it fits.”
Devon tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. Maybe he hoped it would hold answers for what to do with the crazy man who’d shown up on his proverbial and literal doorstep. After a moment, he looked at Hunter again. “Let’s get to your room and sit down. Now I need a drink.”
Hunter nodded, but his skin itched like it was too small for his body, everything feeling tight, claustrophobic. He’d spoken from his gut, but now those feelings were out there, taunting him to deal with them. He grabbed the room card from his pocket and rolled his suitcase toward the corner suite, Devon following. Hunter just needed to take a breath and calm down. He probably was still feeling effects from the booze, and this internal crisis would abate. He slid the key into the reader and opened the door.
The room that greeted him on the other side was opulent—rustic elegance in a way only Texas could do—natural woods and Austin stone, warm colors. It was a suite fit for the governor. But that’s not what had him backing up a step. Sitting on the couch in the living area was a lithe brunette wearing a silky pink robe. She stood when she saw him and smiled. “Well, it’s about time. I thought you weren’t going to show.”
Devon stepped up behind him but halted when he realized they weren’t alone. He leaned close to Hunter. “Who the hell is that? Isn’t your fiancée blond?”
Hunter didn’t have time to ask Devon how he knew what his fiancée looked like. He was too busy trying to answer the first question himself. He stepped inside, Devon following close behind. “Um, ma’am, I think you have the wrong room.”
She smiled a seductive smile as she gave him an up-and-down look. “Oh, no, I’m in the right place.” She waltzed over and handed him an envelope. “And I didn’t plan for two of you, but I bet we could work something out.”
Hunter blinked and looked down at the envelope, recognizing Macy’s looping handwriting. What the fuck? He pulled out the card.
Babe,
I know that things have been tough for you lately, and you’ve been so wonderful and patient with my decision to wait. But I also know men have needs. I arranged for Delilah to give you a massage with a nice finale. I won’t ask questions. I told her she can touch you as long as you don’t touch her. Consider this a very special spa treatment.
Love you,
Macy
“You’ve got to be freaking kidding me,” he muttered. His sweet-as-sunshine girlfriend had set him up for a rubdown and a hand job? Unbelievable.
Devon leaned over his shoulder, reading the card. “Holy shit.”
Delilah smiled. “Ready to get started?”
“Huh?” Hunter looked down at her. She was sexy in that sophisticated, man-eater kind of way. Definitely not a girl who was making her money walking the streets. He’d seen her type at team parties. Beautiful. Skilled. And discreet. A high-end escort, no doubt. Macy wouldn’t have chosen anything less. Though he was floored she’d chosen anyone at all. Who the hell did that?
No one. And especially not girls like Macy.
That’s when he realized what this was.
Another test. Another of Macy’s hoops to jump through.
Mother. Fucker.
He held up a finger, letting Delilah know he needed a minute, and then yanked his phone from his pocket. He hit a button and put it to his ear, his other fist balling with rising anger. The phone rang a few times and was one ring away from rolling over to voice mail when Macy answered.
“Hey, baby,” she said, her voice soft but way too alert to be fresh from sleep. She’d been awake, waiting.
“Hey.”
“Everything okay?”
“Mace, what the hell are you doing?”
She laughed, the sound a little too lilting, forced. “You made it to your hotel room, I presume.”
“Answer my question.”
“I know it’s a little crazy, but thought I would do something nice for you.”
“Nice?”
“Yeah. You’ve been so stressed, I thought maybe . . . Is she not pretty enough? I tried to choose a woman I thought you’d like,” she said, her words careful.
“She’s gorgeous,” he said, wanting to be mean all of a sudden. “Knockout body. Killer rack.”
Delilah grinned at the compliment and put her hand to her hip, striking a pose.
“Great,” Macy said, her tone going tart. “Should be a fun night for you, then.”
“I’m sending her home.” He gave Delilah a pointed look and cocked his head toward the door. “I’m not interested.”
Delilah lifted a brow but didn’t attempt to debate. She strolled over to the couch and begin putting on the dress she had draped over one of the chairs. She didn’t bother hiding her skimpy lingerie as she shimmied her clothes back on, but apparently, she’d been prepaid, because she looked more than happy to be off the clock.
“Oh?” Macy asked. The bright victory in that one word was so fucking annoying that Hunter wanted to throw the phone. “You sure?”
Devon stepped around him and leaned against the back of the couch, arms crossed, eyes curious.
Hunter wet his lips. “This is where I say that I don’t want any other woman touching me besides you, right? That I’ll wait for as long as I need to because you’re worth it. That you don’t have to ever worry about another woman turning my head.”
He could almost hear her grin over the phone. “Oh, babe, you’re so—”
“I’m not saying it, Mace. That’s what I’m supposed to say.” He turned his back on Devon and began to pace. “But I’m not doing this anymore. I told you I was fine waiting, and I was. I’ve waited without complaint for two years. But this, what you’re trying to do, is bullshit. A relationship isn’t supposed to be about making someone perform like a circus animal.”
Delilah strolled past him, giving him a little finger wave before slipping out.
“Babe—”
“No, I can’t—” He leaned back against the wall, the foundation of his well-bricked life sliding from beneath him. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“Wait, I’m sorry,” Macy said in a rush. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just—I don’t know. I told myself that even if you took me up on the offer, I’d be okay. She’d just be performing a service for you. But this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. I’ll fly up there and we’ll talk. This was a mistake. I’ll make it up to you. I just—you know I get paranoid. You’ve been so distant, I started to think you were cheating and . . . I thought this would let me see if—I’m sorry.”
He closed his eyes and let his head tip back against the wall. Macy. The girl who was so desperate not to repeat her parents’ marital mistakes that she’d go as far as hiring a goddamned hooker to prove her guy was true. Macy, who wanted to be married so badly. Macy, who had chosen the wrong man for those dreams. “I won’t make you happy.”
“No, you do! I love you. I—”
“I’m sorry, Mace. I haven’t been fair to you. This isn’t going to work.”
“What?! No, you are not breaking up with me, Hunter Riley. The wedding is almost here, and I
’ve waited for you.” The pleading tone had left her voice and now she was pissed. “So get the hell over yourself and come home or let me come up there. You don’t get to break up with me like this. So I made a stupid mistake. So what? We love each other. We move past it.”
Each word was a jab to his chest, and though he was angry, he felt like the biggest shit for doing this to her. Without intending to, he’d used her. She’d been easy. Safe. His parents had already loved her and with her being a virgin, it had given him a way to avoid dealing with a side of himself he hadn’t wanted to think too hard about. But he’d only been going through the motions of being in a relationship with her. She was the type to orchestrate, to paint the picture how she wanted, and he’d let her place him where she wanted him. Exactly where he didn’t need to be. “I do care about you, Mace. But not like either of us deserves.”
“Shut up,” she said, tears in her voice now. “You’re just scared. You love me. I know you do.”
His shoulders felt like they were weighted down with boulders when he pulled in a breath and let it out. Now or never. The truth. “No. I’ve only loved one person that way in my life. And he’s not you. I’m sorry . . .”
“He?! Jesus H. Christ you’ve lost your mind. I’m coming up there—”
“Don’t bother. I won’t be here. We’ll talk soon. But I need some time.”
She started yelling incoherent things then, but he couldn’t have this conversation right now. He’d told her what she needed to know. It was shitty. He’d hurt her. But any drawn-out conversation would end with the same conclusion. He felt it in his gut. He was done. Had been for a long time even if he’d been too scared to admit it. He told her good-bye, doubting she heard it over her own voice, and hung up the phone.
When he finally looked up, Devon was standing there, pale shock marking every inch of his face.
That’s when Hunter realized exactly what he’d admitted right in front of Devon.
Well . . . shit.
Chapter 11
Hunter pushed off the wall, turned his back on Devon, and went into the hotel suite. He’d told Macy the truth because she deserved it, but the confession had slipped out before he’d considered the consequences of Devon hearing it, too. Bone-deep exhaustion moved through him. “Maybe you should go.”
There was a long, quiet minute, and Hunter thought maybe Devon had just walked right back out. But then Devon’s voice came to life with the force of a thunderclap. “Go? Oh, is that what you think? You burst into my restaurant tonight. End an engagement right in front of me. Declare to someone else that you used to love me and then kick me out so you can get hammered and wallow? Screw you, Hunt. You don’t get to do that.”
Hunter rubbed a hand over his forehead, his heartbeat pounding at his temples. “You don’t owe me anything, Dev. You don’t have to sit here and deal with my mess.”
“I can’t believe all these goddamned years.” A hard shove came from behind him as Devon knocked him forward a step. “You fucking loved me?”
Hunter cringed, still not turning around to look at him. “Pathetic, right? You think you’re helping a straight guy figure himself out, and I fucking get feelings.”
Devon gave a frustrated growl and grabbed Hunter’s arm, spinning him around with surprising strength considering how much broader Hunter was than him. “I really want to punch you right now.”
“Do it,” Hunter said flatly. He’d actually welcome the pain. Maybe it’d distract him from his life burning up around him.
For a second, Dev looked like he might throw a swing, but then he held his arms out to his sides. “Why didn’t you say something back then?”
Hunter scoffed. “Because up until that last night, I still didn’t understand whether the feelings I had for you were best friend feelings or if it went beyond that. My head was all over the place. I knew our friendship had been changed forever, that we couldn’t go back. I knew I thought about you way too much. But I also knew that whatever I felt for you didn’t matter anyway because something more between us would be doomed from the start.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t have the guts to be open about it. You—the guy who had given up everything so that he could be exactly who he was—would have to fucking hide things for me. No way was I going to do that to you just because of my family’s shit. Plus, you were anti-relationship. I knew you didn’t want that kind of thing. You were just helping me figure shit out. I would’ve looked liked a jackass if I had made some big I’m-in-love-with-you speech.”
“Oh? You knew exactly what I did and didn’t want, huh? You were a mind reader in your spare time, too?” Devon asked, sarcasm dripping off his words.
Hunter’s lips clamped shut.
Devon shook his head, a sound of disgust escaping him. “You had no clue what I was thinking or feeling back then. No. Clue. You know how many potential relationships you’ve ruined for me, you idiot? Not just back then but since then. I didn’t date for a reason. Every time I got close to someone, all I did was compare them to you. And they never measured up.” He looked at the ceiling, like it pained him to say the words. “They still haven’t.”
Hunter blinked. “What?”
Devon lowered his head, meeting Hunter’s gaze, resignation there. “You were my best friend for a reason. I loved you way before we ever touched each other. And I thought that was enough, had accepted that it’s all we could ever be. But then when things changed, I got a taste of how much more might be there, and I was a goddamned goner. What we had between us wasn’t something you find every day—or every lifetime. It freaked me out. And then you were gone. Poof. Before I could even figure it all out myself, you disappeared and all I was left with was this big fucking hole in my life. It physically hurts to be in the same room with you right now because now I remember exactly how much I lost.”
“Dev—”
“So maybe you’re right,” he said, crossing his arms. “Maybe I should leave. Because if all you’re going to do is go back to your life in Houston, make up with your girlfriend, and make your family happy, then I need to go. Because, no, I’m not going to be anyone’s secret—friend or otherwise. And I can’t handle this shit again.”
The undercurrent of hurt in his words made Hunter’s chest ache. In that moment, he didn’t see the grown-up businessman. He saw the kid who had run beside him with laughing eyes the night they’d buttered the floor of that other frat house. He saw the guy he’d talked with night after night in the dark of their small shared room. He saw the man who had made Hunter want to be more than the person he’d been raised to be. “Devon.”
“Don’t.” Devon’s defiant gaze didn’t waver. “Don’t look at me like that, Hunt.”
“I’m not going back.”
His jaw flexed. “You don’t know that. You have a career. A life. You’re angry and probably still drunk. And God knows how much trouble we get in when you’re drinking. When your head clears—”
“It’s clear now.” Hunter ventured a little closer. “Maybe for the first time in four years.”
Devon looked pained, every corner of his expression jagged with emotion.
Hunter knew he should back off. Just because he’d laid the truth out there didn’t mean anything had changed. He’d hurt Dev. He didn’t know what Devon’s life was like now. They were strangers to each other. And Hunter had a huge mushroom cloud looming in Houston. But he couldn’t help himself. He got within a foot of Devon, the space between them hardly anything but still feeling like miles. “I thought I had stopped. But now I’m not sure I did.”
Devon didn’t move forward and close the gap, but he also didn’t back away. “What?”
Hunter swallowed hard. “Wanting you. Loving you. I thought I’d let you go, but when I saw you in your restaurant tonight . . . it was like the fucking sun came out for the first time in years.”
Devon closed his eyes then, and everything in his posture seemed to surrender. “Fuck.”
“You don
’t owe me anything,” Hunter repeated. “I know I’m a mess. I don’t expect you to give me your friendship or anything else. I’m sure you’ve moved on and had probably forgotten about me until I showed up tonight. But I’m telling you what I couldn’t tell you back then, because you deserve to hear it. And I’m telling you that I’m here if you want me—in whatever way that means. I won’t turn my back on you again.”
Devon’s chest rose and fell with a deep inhale and then finally, he opened his eyes. “Forgotten about you, huh?”
Hunter shrugged.
Dev’s eyes met his, steady as stone. “Last season, you had the best stats of any of the pitchers on your team. In the second playoff game this year, you pitched a no-hitter. And two games later, you injured your back against the Yankees and were out for the season. Your pretty fiancée gave an interview while they were carting you off on a stretcher, and she didn’t even glance your way. When you’re having a hard time on the mound, you take off your hat and say some kind of mantra to yourself. And though you look great in white, that road gray uniform makes me think absolutely filthy things about you. I pay for the special MLB package on cable, and I don’t even like baseball.”
Hunter rocked back on his heels, the steadily delivered confession pinging through him and lighting up places he hadn’t realized had gone dark. Devon hadn’t forgotten about him, had followed his career, had watched him play. Had thought filthy things about him . . .
“You’re right,” Dev continued, his voice softening as he closed the minute distance left between them. “I don’t owe you anything. And this is probably the worst timing ever. But hell if I don’t want every damn thing you’ve got to give, Hunt. I never fucking stopped either.”
Everything out of alignment inside Hunter seemed to jerk into place all at once, click, click, click—all the misplaced pieces landing just where they needed, locking into one image that had been burned into his marrow a long time ago. Devon. From the moment he’d met him, even before he understood what it was, it had always been Dev. He’d been his all along. That’s all he needed to know. The rest they could figure out later.