by Jamie Beck
Hunter slid a glance to Jenna, who’d been suspiciously quiet. He noticed mother and daughter exchange some kind of wordless glance that spoke volumes, stoking his fears about how Jenna might be interfering with the planned adoption.
That would devastate his wife.
He needed to nail down the plan sooner than later. “While we’re on the topic of the baby, let’s talk about formalizing our arrangement. I’ll pay for your lawyer so it doesn’t cost you anything.”
“Hunter, this can wait.” Sara’s panicked response didn’t help his case.
“Why? We might as well get the ball rolling. Who knows what kinds of things might come up in the next few months? It’s best to have everyone’s rights and obligations spelled out in advance.” He should’ve insisted on this from the start, before they’d started counting on Gentry.
“Don’t feel pressured by Hunter.” Jenna brushed some of Gentry’s stray hair back behind her ear. Possibly the first time he’d ever witnessed a gentle moment between those two. “He can’t force you to do anything.”
Force her? “That’s not what I’m doing. She came to us with this proposal, not the other way around. I’m just trying to finalize the details.” His dad had been the one who taught him to always paper every transaction, so he turned to him for support. “You agree with me, right?”
“If Gentry is absolutely certain of her plans, then yes, I agree.” His dad looked at his youngest child, a bit of sorrow in his eyes.
What was with “if”? She’d promised weeks ago. No one but him probably noticed the way Sara had gone still, her breath caught in her chest. He pinned Gentry with his gaze and swallowed hard. “Has something changed?”
“For God’s sake, Hunter, can’t we ever have one family gathering that doesn’t have an agenda?” Jenna dismissed the topic out of hand, effectively allowing Gentry to avoid the conversation. “I thought you came to visit your father.”
“Gentry—” he began, until Sara interjected.
“Hunter, please. As you yourself said the other day, we have months to prepare for the baby.” She flashed the phony smile she used to mask her anger. Why she was mad at him, he had no clue. He was only trying to secure the thing she most wanted.
His father jumped in, possibly sensing trouble. “Sara, Colby mentioned that you’ve gotten really involved in a local charity supported by her foundation, but I forget what it’s called.”
“The Angel House. I was very involved helping those women and kids get on their feet, but I’m redirecting my time now. Colby could use more support at the foundation.” She squeezed his dad’s hand again. “But did Hunter mention how he helped one of its residents?”
“No.” His dad eyed him with interest. “How so?”
“The shelter home can only accommodate people for about nine months because they want to make sure that other people get help, too. This week, a woman and toddler I’d become attached to had been moved into a miserable section-eight housing apartment. When Hunter saw how upset I was, he signed a short-term lease for them in a better neighborhood. Now, hopefully, they can save some money and get a fresh start without being in a high-crime area.”
“That’s mighty kind.” Jed smiled and leaned closer to Sara. “Something tells me this was your idea.”
“No! It was all his idea.”
For a moment, Hunter saw a glimmer of love in her eyes. Well, at least that was something.
He suspected she mentioned it to make him look like less of a bully in front of Jenna and Gentry. He was damn tired of being viewed as a bully. Bullies did things to make other people feel bad. That was never his motive—at least not with anyone other than Jenna.
He wasn’t a bully. He was a guy who solved problems—who got shit done without letting chaos and emotions overshadow reason and logic. How come no one got that about him? When had he become the bad guy who needed his wife’s brand of PR?
“No big deal.” A wave of emotional exhaustion pushed him onto a seat.
“Like I told you, all mush inside.” Gentry grinned, referring back to the time when she’d called him out on his soft spot for Sara. Wasn’t it ironic that, of all the people in the room, she was the only one who saw that?
“What can I say? I love my wife.” He drummed his hands on the table, uncomfortable being the subject of everyone’s scrutiny. “Have you made any decisions about the consulting idea we discussed?”
“Uh, no. Been kind of preoccupied.” Back to sarcasm, just like her mom.
Thank God Sara and Colby weren’t like those two, who falsely equated posturing with real strength.
“Okay, then.” He turned to his father. “I know you’ve been tired, but how about you let me get you out of here for a bit? We can take a drive down to the lake. Get some ice cream or something?”
“You two go on,” his dad said. “I’m not up to it.”
Defeated, Hunter stood, having been in Jenna’s presence for about as long as he could tolerate. Hugging his dad, he said, “We’ll let you rest, then. Let me know if you need anything, okay?”
“Go enjoy some time with your wife today. I’ve got plenty of people taking care of me.” He smiled at his wife and Gentry.
Hunter detested the envy that slid through him then. If his parents had stayed married, his dad would never have been in Connecticut and gotten bitten by a tick. Jenna wouldn’t have so much influence at CTC or on his dad. She’d ruined everything. Without her around, his dad would’ve been a bigger part of Hunter’s formative years and beyond. Life would’ve been simpler—better—in so many ways.
At least for him and Colby, anyway. Of course, then Gentry wouldn’t be in their lives, and even though she could drive him crazy, he did love her and appreciate the unique perspective she brought to the family dinner table.
“I’ll check in tomorrow.” He reached for Sara.
Normally, when they joined hands, a sense of contentment rippled through him. Today her cool touch did not soothe.
Once at home, Sara followed Hunter into his office. A large picture window afforded a pretty view of the surrounding forest. The massive desk and sleek walnut built-ins, with plenty of shelves, drawers, and nooks, enabled him to maintain a perfectly neat and orderly desk. His laptop sat in the center of the credenza behind that desk.
His space, where order and logic—and an absence of emotion—prevailed. But not for long if she had her way.
The frustration she’d been sitting on in the car bubbled inside like boiling water turning to steam. Right now she didn’t care if it blew and burned them both. “I asked you not to rock the boat with Gentry, then you brought up every uncomfortable topic you could think of.”
Wearing a blasé expression, he pulled out the refrigerator drawer and retrieved a bottle of water. He held it toward her like a damn butler. When she shook her head, he closed the door and cracked the bottle open for himself. “There’s no point in pussyfooting around those issues.”
“No. Better to try to control everyone by running them over like a bulldozer, right?”
“That’s not what I did. For God’s sake, I’m worried that my dad’s been misdiagnosed.” He tossed the cap in the trash and guzzled water. His long frame remained as taut as the tension between them. She watched him swallow; then he peered down his nose at her with those penetrating hazel eyes.
“It’s not what you say, Hunter. It’s how you say it.” She crossed her arms. “You’re not the boss of everyone and everything.”
“Don’t I know it!” He finished the water in another long gulp, then crushed the plastic in his hand. “I’m sick and tired of having to defend myself over and over. All I did today was look out for the people I love—you, my dad, Gentry.”
Honestly? “How exactly did you look out for me?”
“You mean aside from signing a lease for a woman I don’t know and shelling out a few thousand dollars?” He narrowed his gaze, which set her back a step.
She took a breath. He had done that, and she didn’t mea
n to be ungrateful. Yet once again, he’d used a grand gesture to compensate for the little ways in which he constantly edged her out and neglected—or blatantly ignored—her wishes. Still, it was quite a gesture. Besides, he’d only keep his defenses up if she argued. She relaxed her stance and continued. “You know I appreciate that with all my heart, Hunter, but it’s beside the point.”
“I want my dad to get second and third opinions. That’s for his sake, not mine. I want Gentry to sign some documents so she doesn’t flake out on this adoption. That’s to protect you.”
“I don’t need your protection, just your love and support. We should make decisions together instead of you always taking charge.” Her arms flailed from her sides until she reined them in.
He shook his head, his face tight with frustration. “What. Are. You. Talking. About.”
“I’m talking about how you ignored my wish to have a pleasant visit with your family. How you don’t trust me with your work secrets. How you keep distancing yourself and making me feel like you’re doing this adoption for me instead of with me.”
“Us. You. Me. Why do you always get hung up on the pronoun? Isn’t it all the same thing? We’re married. I see ‘us’ as one, no matter which word I use.”
“Easy to say, but it doesn’t make it true.”
“Stop second-guessing me.”
“I’m not. Look at your actions. If we disagree, you either manage me to go along or you ‘give in’ to shut me up. But we rarely make decisions together anymore.”
He blinked, staring at her in silence, then turned his back and went to the window—fists on his hips—leaving her standing in the middle of the room, waiting.
The moment stretched until she sensed, suddenly, that she’d run to the middle of a frozen pond only to realize that the ice was too thin. As her adrenaline ebbed, she steadied herself by holding on to the edge of his desk.
“Do you still love me?” He’d asked so quietly she almost hadn’t heard him.
“What?”
He turned around, arms now crossed, face a study in agony. “Do you still love me?”
His pain stole her breath. She went to him and placed her hands on his chest. “Of course. Why else would I fight so hard for us?”
He tipped his head and threw her own words back at her. “It doesn’t feel like it.”
“Hunter.” She ran her hands up to his shoulders. “All I ever ask for is more of a partnership. And more of your time.”
He didn’t soften or wrap his arms around her waist or do anything that he typically did when she touched him. “You harp on how I’m too focused on work, as if your focus these past two years hasn’t been almost exclusively on having babies, and now on Gentry’s baby.”
“Our baby.”
He shook his head. “Like it or not, Sara, it’s her baby until she signs off on the adoption. And even then, I’m pretty sure there are laws that give a mom some kind of right of rescission after the birth, just to make sure.”
She pushed away. Sara expected Gentry to have moments of doubt but ultimately believed she knew weeks ago that she’d made a good decision. “When you talk like that, so cold and detached, it makes me feel like you hope Gentry changes her mind.”
“No, but if she’s going to, let’s find out now. I’d rather not get invested—rather you not get more invested—until it’s certain. That’s all I was trying to do today at my dad’s. Hardly sabotage.”
She closed her eyes, unwilling to discuss the possibility that Gentry would renege on her promise. “To the extent I am focused on the baby, it’s for us, for our family. How can you use that as evidence that I don’t love you?”
He threw his arms wide open, but not to seek an embrace. “Maybe you love the idea of us, of a family. Maybe you’re too comfortable or too afraid to change the circumstances, so you’re clinging to the idea of a family like it will fulfill you in some way I don’t. I’m not sure. I just know that you don’t look at me like you used to. You don’t like the way I ‘manage’ things, even though it never used to bother you. You see me as some kind of bully. Nothing I do is right anymore, yet I’m not the one who has changed, Sara.”
His nostrils flared and his breathing had grown heavy, but those eyes never lost focus. He’d trapped her in a smug, self-righteous gaze, daring her to prove him right. To tell him that she didn’t love him. That she’d been too weak to leave.
He was wrong about all of it, though, but too arrogant or guarded to see the truth.
Her own frustration brimmed to the tipping point, and she launched forward and shoved at him with a grunt.
He captured her hands, and they wrestled for a second or two until, somehow, they were face-to-face, his one hand cupping her neck, the other clasping her wrist. Heartbeat to heartbeat, sharing each other’s breath, they were locked together in a tangle of limbs and emotion. Then, shockingly, he kissed her.
Not a gentle kiss. Not even a loving kiss. A fierce, harsh, possessive kiss. His way of reestablishing some kind of control, because God forbid he ever not be in control.
And yet, she didn’t push him away. She didn’t fight that angry kiss. She met it with equal force. Right there in the office that so often took him away from her. She wanted to have sex on every surface, like a brand, so he could never again come in here to hide from her. Everywhere he looked, she wanted him to have a memory of her.
She kissed him, ripping at his shirt. If it surprised him, he didn’t show it. He growled and lifted her onto his desk, yanking her shirt loose, pushing her skirt up, and tossing her panties. He’d barely shoved his own pants down his hips when he entered her, swift and hard.
She cried out as she wrapped her legs around his waist and anchored her arms around his neck, coming in bursts she couldn’t control. He thrust again and again, her name rough on his lips, his fingers marking her ribs. She bit his earlobe and sucked on the curve of his neck beneath, dragging her fingers through his hair.
Anger, love, betrayal, frustration—the cyclone slammed them together and ripped them apart until he cried out and began to shudder, laying her back on the desk as he spent himself.
They lay there, chests heaving. No tender kisses or words. No eye contact.
In fourteen years, they’d never done hate sex, angry sex, or makeup sex, and she didn’t like it. From the way he refused to meet her eyes, she doubted he did, either.
When he stood, his face was flushed. He glanced at her before gently helping her sit upright. “Are you okay?”
She paused. Her heart—her chest—ached, but that wasn’t what he meant. “Yes.”
He nodded and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, anyway.”
“Me too.”
He started to bend down to retrieve his pants, but she caught his hand and kept him there. “Hunter, are you okay?”
“Sure.”
An abrupt and insincere reply, running inward for cover like always. She released his hand. He put his pants on without saying anything, so she found her panties and straightened her own clothes, too.
The discomfort persisted. How had they gotten even further apart than before the argument started? Moments ago she’d been determined to create memories, but not these negative ones.
“Hunter, despite this rough patch—or whatever it is that we’re going through—I do love you. I just miss you.”
He held his hands out, face drained from exhaustion and defeat. “I’m right here, just like I’ve always been.”
Chapter Seventeen
“I’m kind of in a rush, Mom.” Hunter checked his watch, patience frayed by a restless, unpleasant weekend. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt more isolated and misunderstood. At least at work he was respected and productive.
Cortland was scheduled to call him about the projections for the bottling partnership today. Hunter didn’t want to miss the call or give Jenna a chance to snoop through his messages.
“Oh, settle down. It’s Monday. You’ve got all week to conquer
the world. Have some coffee and give your mom another minute.” She shoved the coffee mug at him with a smile. “Now hang tight. I have something for you.”
She patted his shoulder and then disappeared into her room, walking on her heels so that her YogaToes didn’t fall off. Her ancient tabby cat, Stitch, seemed to share Hunter’s skepticism about those things as he stared after her, meowing.
God love her, but his mom made him antsy. Ever since he was young, her odd habits and disorganized thoughts had embarrassed him. Yet at the same time, he now appreciated her unconditional love and loyalty, two things he hadn’t been able to count on with his dad.
While he waited, he glanced around the house where he’d grown up. The modest Craftsman had always been homey, and each room held memories of his childhood here with Colby. His mom hadn’t been a neatnik, preferring to spend time outdoors and embroiled in activities with him and his sister. This formerly warm, noisy home was now empty (aside from Stitch), quiet, and clean.
He guessed his mom must get lonely with no kids and no job. Now that he had an inkling of how awful loneliness felt, he realized he should spend more time with her—just not this morning.
She returned with a tiny amber spray bottle labeled Lyme Nosode. “I swear I don’t understand Jenna any better than you, so for your dad’s sake, let’s ignore her. Slip this to him. Two to three sprays under the tongue three times per day.”
Hunter turned the bottle over in his hand. “What the hell is it?”
“Watch your mouth.” She tapped his cheek. “I read about this when researching homeopathic sites and recommendations for Lyme.”
“I can’t just throw this down his throat. It could react badly with his other medication.” He twirled the bottle in his hands, squinting to read the tiny print. “What kind of weird medicine gets sprayed under the tongue?”
“I thought you wanted to explore all options.” She frowned. “Don’t dismiss it just because it doesn’t immediately make sense to you. You don’t know everything about everything. Something unconventional might work. There’s an entire movement behind homeopathic remedies.”