“Parents are never supposed to use their kids to settle their fights.”
“That’s why I got into partying as a teenager. To block them out. And then I’d come back all het up and joking and distract them from the bitter silence that had fallen between them to a better mood.”
“It’s a normal response. Look at statistics. They’ll tell you that. What matters is that you turned it all around. You’re a huge success, spending your life helping people, and loving what you do.”
“I got some kids in trouble back then. Led them to drugs. One of the guys I hung out with most in high school is in prison.”
“You might’ve led him to some bad things, Hunter, but the choices were his.”
His sigh wasn’t encouraging. “What?” she asked.
“I’m not looking for a cheering squad here. I’m try to tell you something. To show you by example.”
“Then show me. Because right now I’m obviously not seeing it.”
“What I know is that anyone who relies on me, anyone who ever thinks I’ll be there for them, ends up disappointed. So I don’t want you to rely on me.”
“Because you don’t intend to be here.” It was the only thing that made any sense. He had three employees, and their families, who relied on him. Had been relying on him for years. He had a list of clients, herself included, who relied on him. And he delivered, every single time. Over and above what he’d promised.
“No! Woman, you are giving me a headache.”
She smiled at the change in his tone. It told her something, too. He was really floundering.
“I made a choice, Julie. A conscious choice. I chose not to bear the pressure of having people rely on me. I don’t trust myself to be there.”
“Hunter, if it makes you feel any better, I’m thrilled that we’re friends. It’s like I’ve been walking on a different kind of air since our conversation. But I quit relying on anyone other than myself years ago. I’m happy for whatever time you’re in my life. I’ll miss you like heck if you leave. However, I’ll also move on and be okay. That’s one thing I know about myself.”
“My dad almost went to prison because of me.”
That was a new one. She sat up. “What? Why?”
“My senior year in high school, after I’d been accepted to college, my father told my mother he wanted a divorce. He’d found a practice to buy in Florida and he was going to move. My mother panicked. She couldn’t let him leave her, leave the state. When he continued with his plans, she retaliated by filing charges of domestic violence against him. Said it’d been going on for years, but that she hadn’t said anything because he’d never hurt me, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to give me the chances in life, schooling and whatnot, that she wanted me to have without his financial support.”
Julie swallowed. She’d heard the same story, versions of it, many times now. Women who’d stayed for financial reasons. Usually due to children. She’d seen the damage, broken bones that hadn’t healed correctly, fresh bruises. Emotional stains that might never wash away.
“Did you know about it?”
“He didn’t do it. If anything, he could’ve been accused of verbal abuse, in that he sometimes raised his voice to her. But even then, he didn’t attack her. Didn’t call her names or insinuate that she was stupid or anything. He told her she needed help.”
“Did she?”
“They both did. Mom would’ve been fine, I believe, if she’d married a different man. Maybe not. She’s high-maintenance. Needs a lot of reassurance. And Dad put his career first. He was saving lives, so he kind of had to. She took his absence personally.”
And Hunter hadn’t? Maybe not knowingly. But the pieces fell into place for a moment. His lack of trust in himself. His thinking that he didn’t have what it took to do anything but party. Could it be that little Hunter had determined at some point that he wasn’t good enough, that he didn’t matter enough, to deserve a man as important as his father?
She was no psychiatrist. But it made sense to her.
“What happened to your father?” He’d almost gone to prison. Had he pled out?
“There was a meeting with Mom’s attorney. To go over my testimony about all the fights. About how angry Dad would get. And then one with Dad’s attorney. He needed me to tell the court that I was certain Dad had never lifted a hand to her.”
In her opinion, they should both have been hanged. Making him choose like that!
“What did you do?”
“The only thing I knew. The thing they’d both taught me to do. I told the truth.”
So he had saved the day for someone. He’d saved his father from prison.
“I told them that my parents fought all the time. That Dad got really angry with her and raised his voice. And that I couldn’t testify to any physical abuse because I never hung around long enough. I’d certainly never had to pull my father off my mother because I’d left rather than hang around to potentially protect her. I’d never asked, when I got back, if everything was okay. I breezed in. Cracked some jokes. Suggested a family outing. Ice cream. A game. And, for my sake, they always played nice.”
Funny how at one time or another, life crapped on pretty much everyone. It was how you stood up, cleaned yourself off, moved on, that mattered. Hunter was far more of a success than he might ever know.
He was everything she’d ever dreamed a man could be.
“Wouldn’t you have noticed bruises when you got back if he’d hurt her?”
“She claimed it was where the bruises didn’t show.”
Not an uncommon occurrence.
“So what happened?”
“After I met with the attorneys—it wasn’t legal deposition yet, just talking—I had a conversation with my mom. I had a feeling she was lashing out because she was scared. I mean, she wasn’t being rational. Like, how would Dad being in jail help us? I mentioned that if Dad was off on his own in Florida, and successful, he’d able to help us financially. Help pay for my college. I mostly talked about how we could have fun, just the two of us. She agreed to drop the charges and Dad agreed to one hell of an alimony settlement. To make sure she’d be taken care of for the rest of her life.”
Sounded to her like Hunter had saved the day. It was so telling that what he saw was that he’d almost been responsible for his father going to prison because he couldn’t testify on his behalf.
“So you don’t think he ever hurt her?”
“Not physically. I’m 100 percent certain of it. He grabbed her shoulders a couple of times to calm her down when she was getting hysterical. That was the extent of it. I made her tell me the truth.”
“How did you do that?”
“Well, I asked her to tell me the truth and she did.” His tone had lightened again.
She wanted to tell him that he hadn’t let his parents down. That it was the opposite, in fact. They’d let him down.
But she didn’t think he’d believe her about his parents’ responsibility in the whole mess. It was a realization he’d have to come to on his own.
“Chantel lied to Colin. She told him she was rich when she wasn’t. She started a relationship with him based on a lie.” He knew enough of the details. She didn’t have to elaborate.
“I know.”
“No one’s perfect, Hunter. No one makes the best choices for everyone involved all the time. It’s impossible when you’re dealing with warring needs. You do your best. And that’s all I’d ever expect of you. Not to take care of me. Not to fix me. Not even to always be there for me. Just do your best. That’s the kind of friend I want.”
“That’s it?” He sounded as though he wasn’t quite ready to believe her.
She thought hard. Looked deep inside herself. She needed to be completely honest with him. And he needed to be the same with her.
<
br /> “There’s one more thing,” she said.
“What?”
“Honesty. Be honest with me. No matter what.”
“Always.” His voice was solemn.
“Me, too.”
“Good night, friend. And thank you.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know. Sharing yourself with me.”
Though she was certain she was getting the better end of that deal, Julie went to bed with those words in her mind, and a smile on her face.
CHAPTER THIRTY
HUNTER HAD A couple of hours on Sunday, between a morning golf outing and an evening tribute he’d been hired to coordinate in Santa Barbara at a private antebellum-style home. The evening event wasn’t a fund-raiser but a sort of memorial paid for by the deceased’s estate as designated in his will. He’d been a stand-up comic, and the one thing he’d wanted for his funeral was a grand party in his own home. His last party.
Hunter had managed to get a well-known LA comic to deliver the tribute free of charge. He’d offered to pay. The comic had refused the money.
The event wasn’t due to start until six that evening, which left him from one until about three to do as he wished.
He wished to see Julie.
To have lunch with her, if possible.
He’d talked to her the night before. They’d decided together that until either of them came up with a reason he shouldn’t call her every night, he would do so.
But they hadn’t said anything about eating together on Sunday. Or seeing each other at all.
He called as he pulled out of the golf course parking lot. She was just getting ready to make herself a salad. Colin and Chantel were at the little apartment across town.
And he said, “You feel like slumming, too?”
“With you?”
“Of course.”
“Where?” She wanted to. He’d heard it in her voice. But she was Julie. She was always going to be cautious. And that was turning out to be one of the things he loved about her.
Whoa! He didn’t love her. Did he? A fast check assured him he didn’t. He just loved things about her. It was an expression, that was all.
“I was thinking my place,” he told her. No big brother in another wing. No one anyplace.
Maybe he wanted her to say no.
Or needed her to say yes.
“What are you fixing?” she asked.
“No clue.”
“What do you have that I can fix?” Clearly his plan needed more thought. He was happy to stop at a fast-food drive-through.
She wouldn’t be.
“I’m not sure,” he told her. There was some stuff in the freezer.
“How about if I bring my salad and share it with you?”
He almost rammed into the vehicle in front of him. A two-ton pickup that would not have been kind to his Escalade.
“You’re really going to come over?”
At the most, he’d hoped for an invitation to share lunch at her place.
“Do you really want me to?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you to.”
“Then, yeah, I’ll come over. I want to see this den you sit in when you talk to me at night.”
Shit. The den. He’d left last night’s empty beer cans on the table. Because he’d fallen asleep in the chair. Spent the night there.
And had to be out of the house by five that morning.
Hunter sped the rest of the way home, counting himself lucky that he made it without a cop behind him.
* * *
SHE HAD AN escape plan. Her car. And she’d called Chantel and Colin to let them know where she was. They’d be texting. And if she didn’t answer, Chantel and Colin would be hot on her trail.
Even though it was broad daylight.
And if she started to panic, she’d breathe. She knew how to handle that part.
With everything in hand, she was smiling for real as she approached Hunter’s front door, carrying a disposable container filled with salad, half an hour after she’d spoken to him.
In jeans and a white blouse, with white tennis shoes, she felt...young. And with her hair down...free.
Thinking about whether she should knock or ring the bell when she got onto the porch, she kind of liked the flutters in her stomach.
Not quite a feeling of all-out joy, but pretty darn close.
As it turned out, she didn’t have to make a choice. Hunter had the door open before she got to it.
The table was set, with paper plates, napkins and stainless steel forks that would’ve looked fine with her china. He’d poured a couple of glasses of tea, hers with lemon and a squeeze of lime. Just as she’d taken it during one of their early meetings for the gala.
She should’ve been nervous as she took her seat next to him at the big wooden table. She wasn’t.
“I like this place,” she said, gazing around. Big enough for a sizable family, his little place, as he’d called it, was anything but little. It was nicely painted, had art on the walls, and comfortable-looking, good-quality furniture.
Once again Hunter Rafferty had underestimated himself.
“You have a pool,” she said, as she glanced up and saw the pool outside the window she was facing. That seemed so typical for him; rather than a place to swim laps, his pool was kidney-shaped with a hoop at one end, and would be shallow enough to play basketball.
“It’s a tub,” he told her when he saw her looking at it. But he grinned, too. “I’m quite fond of my home,” he said. “Proud of it, actually. Bought and paid for it myself. It’s just not what you’re used to.”
“Colin loves spending time at Chantel’s apartment,” she pointed out to him. “And that really is a little place.”
Almost as though her sister-in-law had heard her speak, Julie’s phone buzzed with a text. She took a moment to answer. Just a quick smile emoticon.
“I’m surprised they still keep that place,” Hunter said, bringing bread over to the table to go with the salad and dressing she’d brought. “I would’ve thought the lease would be up by now. Didn’t you say they’ve been married more than a year?”
“Yep. She actually bought the place. She says she needs it to keep herself conscious of who she is. She was afraid that in marrying Colin, she’d lose her own identity.”
“And he’s good with that.”
“Of course. It’s what people do when they care about each other. They deal with their issues...”
Her words trailed off as she looked up at him, afraid he’d think she was implying something about the two of them.
That she was implying they could do the same thing.
“Don’t worry.” He met her gaze. Stuck his tongue out at her. “I’m not getting any ideas.”
She stuck her tongue out back at him. Remembering a gross joke she’d played to bug Colin as a kid, Julie said, “You’re lucky I didn’t have any food in my mouth or you’d be having seefood.”
“Ha, ha. Well, you’d be getting it right back, and I have to warn you, when it comes to playing with food, I’m the best there is.”
Remembering his pancakes, she conceded the round to him with a smile.
* * *
HUNTER WAS HORNY as hell. Having Julie in his house might not have been the brightest idea he’d had that week. The more time he spent with her, the more time he wanted to spend with her. And the more he did that, the more he wanted to have sex with her.
He wasn’t going to let it be a problem. But it did make him think—a lot—about the fact that Julie couldn’t feel even a hint of desire. That she had no idea how incredible an orgasm could be.
Or how satisfying and sweet slow lovemaking usually was.
�
��You wanted honesty.” He blurted the words as they sat over the empty paper plates at his table. They had another hour together. He wanted to claim every second of it.
“Yes.” For the first time since she’d arrived, he saw her frown.
And saw her texting again. “You did that the other night when we were together. Kept texting someone. Who is it?”
None of his business, that was who.
His clock was ticking.
And he was the one wasting the seconds, not her.
“It’s Chantel,” she told him.
“Does she know you’re here?”
“Of course.” And then it hit him.
“She’s your safety valve. If you don’t answer, she’ll come running.”
“Something like that. Or she could just call for a squad car that happens to be in the area to do a welfare check.”
Maybe he should be offended. Or put out. Hell, he was the party guy. He grinned. “Impressive,” he said.
He was relieved that she really did take care of herself. Down to the smallest detail.
He wasn’t going to be able to hurt her or let her down. She had everything covered.
Except, perhaps, for one thing.
“I’ve been thinking about something,” he told her. Tick tock. Tick tock.
“What’s that?”
“Ways to show you how your body can experience pleasure without making you feel scared or threatened or panicked, or like you want to run and hide.”
“This conversation pretty much just took me there. Into panic mode.”
“No, it didn’t. You aren’t fidgeting with your hands.”
“Well, that’s because I know you’re not serious.”
“Oh, but I am. Say, for instance, some time you put on a swimsuit in broad daylight, at your house, with your brother and sister-in-law home, and let me touch your back.” He’d had a dream about that one. It had been damned hot.
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