by Marnee Blake
As she placed all of the incidents on her timeline, it became clear that she’d only started to run across trouble when she started spending time with him.
This creepy monster of a drug dealer had been watching her—or having his minions watch her—for weeks.
A sudden wave of nausea washed over her. “I think I might be sick.”
With his signature quick reflexes, he pressed the nurse’s call button and reached for the barf pan. She tried to turn to the side, to shield him, but she couldn’t, not with the stitches. It didn’t end up mattering, anyway. There wasn’t anything in her stomach to throw up. Instead, she dry heaved in painful spasms.
As the reflex settled, her brain spun. What was she supposed to do with this information?
Hunter patted her back, rubbing her spine. “I’m so sorry. You have no idea how incredibly sorry I am for dragging you into this.”
“You didn’t do it.” That was the real problem. He was as much a victim here, watching her suffer, as she was. “Where is this drug dealer, Santillo?”
He exhaled a heavy breath. “They don’t know yet. But now that they have a direction to look for him, they can issue a search warrant, bring him in. Question people. Someone is going to want to flip on him. It’s only a matter of time.”
“What’s going to happen to me, in that time?” She hated to sound selfish, but she was already hurt. “Now what?”
“They are going to increase your security. The cop I talked to said that they would put someone at your door here while you’re in the hospital. And they’ll reevaluate when you’re discharged.”
Except if this guy wanted to kill her, he had already proved he had henchmen at his beck and call, willing to go to whatever lengths necessary to accomplish the task.
“I really am sorry, Charlie.” Hunter reached for her fingers again, squeezing them tightly. “I’m going to stay here, with you, as long as you want. I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe. I’ve had some self-defense training. I’ll watch over you while you’re hurt.”
Except then he would be in danger, too. What was the point of both of them being where this madman could find them? But if she told him that, he’d insist on staying. He would think of her first.
She wasn’t about to let that happen. So while everything inside her wanted to scream for him to stay, she squeezed his hand and shook her head.
“I think I’d rather be alone for a little while, Hunter. This is a lot to take in. I know this wasn’t anything you wanted, but I’d like a few days. To process.” The words tasted gritty, and she had to swallow after they left her mouth. Because it was a lie. This wasn’t his fault. But it was for his own safety. Otherwise, he wouldn’t leave her side. She might not have known him long, but she knew he was that stubborn. Though all she wanted was to lean on him, to not be alone, she could never live with herself if something happened to him while he tried to protect her.
She’d leave, too, spend time with her parents until they could drag this Santillo guy in. Maybe when this was over she could explain. Apologize. But even as she hoped for the future, she wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive her for this.
She wasn’t sure she’d forgive herself.
He shifted back in his seat, pulling away from her. Her heart ached, right along with all of the other pains in her. She wanted to take it back, this distance she had put between them. But she refused to do that if it meant exposing him in additional danger.
She waited, saying nothing. She wasn’t sure she could say anything right now anyway. The words were lodged in her throat, along with her heart.
Finally, he pushed his chair back, standing. He patted her hand. “I understand.”
She had no idea what he understood. Nothing about this made any sense, especially how much she wanted to keep him next to her. Worse, she could only guess at the ways he was beating himself up right now, how much he must be hurting, too.
At the door, he paused, smiling at her. “Take care, okay?”
She nodded. If she spoke, she’d say something she’d regret.
Then he was gone, and she let the tears slip down her face.
Chapter Eighteen
“She’s getting better, since you asked.” Lance stepped behind Hunter’s head to spot his bench press.
Hunter pushed the dumbbell up with more force than necessary before he answered. “I’m glad.”
He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear anything about how Charlie was doing. Well, he did. But hearing only made it harder. Meg was there, watching over her. So he was sure she was fine. Hearing about how fine she was, though…
No.
“You didn’t ask.” Lance spotted him through his last rep and then helped him set the bar on the stand.
He swung his legs over the bench, reaching for the towel to wipe off his brow. “Because I want to ask too damn much.”
“That doesn’t make a jack lick of sense.”
“She said she needed space, Lance. She’s in there because of me. I didn’t stab her, but I might as well have. Put yourself in my position. If that was Meg in that hospital, would you want to give her space?”
“I don’t think I would give her space. I’m kind of an asshole like that.”
Hunter couldn’t argue with that. Lance had never been known for his subtlety. “Meg’s with her. There are policemen at her door. If she doesn’t want to see my face, I can’t say I blame her.”
This morning, they’d picked up the dealer, Runt. Of course, he didn’t know where his boss was, where he lived, anything. Because Johnny was a pro. He wasn’t going to tell a two-bit dealer where he was. Dealers were caught constantly. The less they knew, the better for their bosses.
“That’s a giant pile of shit. If you don’t know that, you’re a bigger idiot than I always thought you were.” Lance crossed his arms over his chest. “And at times I’ve thought you were a huge idiot.”
Hunter smirked at his friend. “Did I tell you her name isn’t really Charlie Jones? It’s Charlie Michaelson. She had to change it when she moved here to feel safe again after an old boyfriend beat her up.”
Lance’s usually easygoing expression fled and his face darkened. “What?”
“Yeah, some dickwad in Chicago. She pressed charges and he went to jail, though he’s out now. Said he found Jesus or some shit, so now he’s in some seminary or theological program or something.” He snorted. “But what I’m saying is she’s already been hurt by one guy she dated. And now here I am, screwing up her life.”
“You didn’t make Johnny Santillo target her, you moron. He did that on his own.”
“I know. But she doesn’t know him. I do.”
Lance glared at him. But Hunter had been ignoring those glares for his entire life. When Lance spoke, his earlier frustration was gone. “This is your problem, man. You carry all this around all the time.” Lance poked him in the chest. “In here. This guilt.”
Hunter could only stare at him.
“You are wracked with it, and I don’t understand it. But it’s hurting you. And it’s hurting her.”
The words rang so clearly though him that Hunter had to look away. He was too raw right now to see the pain in his friend’s face. Especially because he was right. There wasn’t a morning over the past year that he hadn’t looked in the mirror and put a mask on so he could keep his family and friends—the whole world—from seeing how much he was struggling. His mom and Meg? They worried about him too much already. His friends felt bad for him, and the rest of the world was watching him for any sign that he was breaking so they could drag him and his loved ones through hell again.
Because of him.
It had been hard, sure. It had been hard on all of them.
“The worst part,” he whispered, “is that we can’t find him anywhere. Santillo. He’s nowhere, Lance.” He slammed his palms on the bench next to him, shak
ing his head. “I have no way to keep her from getting hurt. I’m completely helpless.”
That was what had kept him up last night. He hadn’t put it together—that Santillo was behind it—until after she was injured. Even then, he had no idea how to track down Santillo. There were so many things that had already gone wrong.
So many things that could still go wrong.
He’d come so far, doing so much to put his life back together. But now, with Charlie in the hospital, it was as if he was back at the beginning, with everything out of his control.
The familiar tightness crept into his chest. But while often he could tamp down on the panic, today it rode through him. He couldn’t breathe, and he gasped, staring wide-eyed at his friend.
This was it. He was going to die. His heart was going to give out. It couldn’t race this fast without him having a heart attack, could it?
As he stood, pacing away from Lance, he pressed his palm against his chest, trying to calm his breathing, trying to focus on breaking the cycle.
“Hey, man. You okay?” Lance stood next to him, studying him. “What’s going on?”
“Can’t. Breathe,” he gasped out.
“I’m getting a paramedic.”
He stopped him, placing his hand on his arm. “No. Wait.” Shaking his head, he held on to Lance’s arm as the waves of panic washed over him. His friend humored him, standing next to him and shielding him from other eyes as he waited it out.
The long moments ticked by, and eventually Hunter’s breathing returned to normal and he didn’t vibrate with the beating of his heart.
“What the hell is going on?” Lance whispered, when Hunter finally got everything under control and sank down into a nearby chair.
“Panic attack.” The words alone were damning. He hadn’t said anything to anyone about the panic attacks. In the light of his friend’s eyes, he could see that was a mistake. He hadn’t been hiding them, though. Not really. He’d figured they’d go away, once he figured out whatever was causing them. He hadn’t believed they were a big deal.
He hadn’t wanted them to be a big deal.
Except they hadn’t stopped. He had suspected they were caused by the jumps, the return to parachuting. But apparently not. He hadn’t wanted to admit he didn’t understand what was causing them.
“How long?” Lance asked.
“Months. Not often, but here and there.” That was true enough. Most of the time, he could stop them, catch himself.
“You talk to anyone?”
Hunter shook his head.
Shouts rent the air as the signal for a fire went out. He stood. He was on the jump list. He was scheduled to go. As he headed for his equipment, Lance stopped him. “Listen. You need to talk to someone.”
“Lance…”
“I’m serious. When we get back. You need to tell Mitch.”
They held each other’s gazes, and Hunter was reminded of stare-downs in elementary school. “Fine. When we get back.”
Lance nodded, heading off to prepare for their jump.
Damn it. He didn’t need to deal with this right now. Except he couldn’t pretend that Lance wasn’t onto something. He’d been ignoring the attacks, hoping they would go away.
Had he been in denial?
Shaking his head, he pushed the whole situation into the back of his mind. Lance was right. It was time he got to the bottom of it, when he got back. Right now, he was needed.
He trailed after Lance, hurrying to catch up.
* * * *
Meg sat in the chair next to Charlie’s bed, her face a mixture of frustration and “are you crazy?”
Not that Charlie hadn’t expected that response. She’d been wondering if she was crazy all day. When her friend sat down and demanded to know what she’d done to her brother, Charlie had confessed.
Now, she squirmed under Meg’s glare.
“You let Hunter believe he was responsible for your injury so he would stay out of harm’s way?” Meg’s brow wrinkled, and she spoke slowly. As if the painkillers had impaired Charlie in some neurological way. “Do you know what that is going to do to him?”
“Yes. I mean, no. That’s not exactly how it worked, Meg.” She was making it sound worse than it was. “I was worried about him.”
“I’m here, Char. You’re not worried about my safety?”
“Of course I am.” Charlie shifted, trying to get comfortable. Her stitches had started to ache today, but it wasn’t time yet for another dose of painkillers. “But this drug dealer wants to get back at him, not you.”
“I’m his sister.”
“And you probably shouldn’t be here either.” The words were snappish, and Charlie sighed. “I’m sorry. I know you’re worried about me.”
“We all are.” Meg reached out to hold her hand. “But while you’d rather push everyone away and run and hide when things get hard, that’s not how I work.”
Charlie stiffened. “I’m not pushing you away.”
“You absolutely are. Pushing and then running. And it sounds like you have some practice.”
“What? I told you that I left Chicago—”
“Oh, I get Chicago, hon. I do. If I’d needed to feel safe after something like that, I’d have left as well. No, I mean everything else.”
Charlie glared at her. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Your family moved around, didn’t they? A lot.”
“All the time. My parents liked trying out new places and experiences.”
“So tell me about making friends. Did you have a lot of friends?”
“It’s hard to make friends when you never stay in one place for longer than a year.” She stiffened. She didn’t want to relive how hard those times could be.
“I know you.” Meg squeezed her hand, her eyes soft. “You don’t have a hard time making friends. But you do have a hard time opening up to them.”
That was so true that she couldn’t even respond. Letting people in was not her forte. She had learned that if she got people to talk about themselves, she made friends more easily. Everyone liked to talk about themselves. And she was a good listener. Rarely, especially when she was a child or in high school, did her friends notice that she hardly said anything about herself.
At first, it was because she didn’t want to talk about her weird family life. It wasn’t strange to her, but she hated the questions people asked about her parents’ nomadic lifestyle. About how they worked odd jobs and lived in hotels or short-term rentals. If it bothered her that her parents were often more concerned with what they wanted than whether she was making friends, she tried to keep that to herself.
She loved her parents. Watching her friends judge them had been difficult. So she stopped opening her life up for scrutiny.
Somewhere along the line it became a habit.
Meg’s blue eyes didn’t waver, appearing to see through her. Charlie squeezed her hand. “I never meant to hide anything from you. You’re my closest friend.” Her eyes stung. She hadn’t meant to exclude Meg, to make it seem as if she didn’t trust her with her past.
Maybe Meg was right. Maybe she’d been hiding.
“Can you hug me?” she asked, her voice small. “I would do it myself, but bending up might pull my stitches.”
Her friend laughed, leaning forward and folding her in a gentle embrace, careful not to jostle her too much as the tension was broken.
“I’ll do better,” she whispered. “At least I’ll try.” As Meg pulled away, though, Charlie searched her face. “But I still think it would be smart to leave for a while. Give the cops a chance to find this guy. It’ll be better for everyone if I’m not around. Especially Hunter.”
“Does Hunter get a say in that?” Her friend’s brows lifted. “You do know that if you aren’t here, Santillo might go into hiding until you return, right
? Not only that, but if you leave, you’ll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of time. The cops know what’s going on. Why don’t you stay, keep your pepper spray close, and let them protect you? Let them do their job? And let the people who care about you watch out for you, too.”
It was tempting to think about standing her ground, staring into the danger and saying that she wouldn’t be pushed around anymore.
She’d always prided herself on living in the moment. She wanted this life, the life she was living right now. She wanted to stay in Oregon, buy into the physical therapy practice. She wanted to stay with her friends.
Stay with Hunter.
His face sprang to mind, and the pang at leaving him struck her hard in the stomach. Could she do that?
She loved him.
Wasn’t that supposed to make her stronger, somehow?
“I’ll think about it.” She offered Meg a cautious smile. “I promise.”
“That’s all I can ask.” Meg stood, squeezing her hand one more time. “But either way, you should come clean with Hunter. He’s been through a lot already. He deserves the truth from you.”
Unable to speak, Charlie swallowed and nodded as Meg left.
She wasn’t sure if she agreed with everything else Meg had said, but that was the truth. Hunter had been amazing to her. She owed him an explanation, no matter what she decided.
* * * *
Hunter had been told that the first fire he jumped would be special. His colleagues were right.
As he got his tap on the shoulder, the sound of the plane’s roar loud in his ear, he tossed himself out of the door and into the open sky.
The few moments before his parachute opened, free-falling toward the earth, his priorities reevaluated, crystallizing into the most important things.
He needed to talk with his sister, about his panic attacks, about how the last year of rehabilitation had deeply affected him. He’d hidden most of the difficult times from her, not wanting to tell her how hard things were. He could still remember the concern and pain that had been burned on his mother’s and Meg’s faces when he woke up after the accident. They’d been destroyed, worried, and he’d never wanted to see that kind of agony again.