Hunter doesn’t move, his body coiled with tension, so I gently tug him over to the seating area. “They’ll get to us when they can,” I soothe him. “And your mom has your cell number. She’d call if anything changed.”
Hunter sits beside me, restlessly tapping his foot. I reach over and take his hand, uncurling his fist to drop a kiss on his palm. “He’ll be fine,” I reassure him again. I know I don’t have any right to make these promises, but I’d say anything to make him feel better right now; anything to take this terrible panic away. “He’s never had problems like this before, right? I’m sure he’s getting the best care.”
Hunter jerks up to his feet and starts pacing. “I hate these places,” he mutters, looking around. “It just makes me remember, being stuck here, before…” He trails off, and I can see it in his eyes that he’s reliving every awful second of what happened that dark winter’s night three years ago.
I try to think of something to say, but my mind is blank. “I’m sorry,” I whisper helplessly. My heart aches to watch him like this, so full of bleak memories. “I wish I could make it all go away.”
Hunter closes his eyes, like he’s trying to block out the world. I get up and slip my arms around him, pulling him to me in a hug. I stand there, holding him, trying to take this burden he’s carrying and bear some of the weight on me.
I can’t believe how quickly everything’s changed.
Just a couple of hours ago, we were snuggled safe in each other’s arms, basking in the glorious afterglow of our night together. It was perfect, so peaceful and filled with joy, and now…
Now Hunter’s shoulder’s are hunched against my embrace, his body stiff and distant. I can tell, he’s a thousand miles away from me, like an invisible canyon has suddenly opened between us, pulling him into a private world of fear.
“Hunter, thank God!” A voice cuts through the waiting room, and I turn to find his mother, Camille, heading towards us, trailed by a cluster of doctors. “What took you so long? He’s been asking for you.”
“Dad’s awake?” Hunter clutches my hand.
“He’s recovering in his room.” Camille directs that last part at the staff. “I’ve been telling them for hours, that shoebox is an insult. You’d think that with all the money we raise for this hospital—”
“I’m sure it’s the best they’ve got.” Hunter placates her. “The room, mom. Where is he?”
She points down the hallway, and Hunter takes off without another word, leaving me standing here alone.
For the first time, Camille notices me.
“And you are…?” She arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow. Her expression is blank, despite the fact I spent half a dozen summers serving her sweet iced tea and plain grilled chicken sandwiches. But it’s been years now, and she’s clearly got plenty on her mind.
“Brit. Hi.” I swallow. Despite the crisis, Camille is perfectly dressed in a navy pantsuit and gold jewelry. She must be in her late fifties by now, but there’s not a line visible on her face, or a hint of grey in her sleek blonde bob. “I’m so sorry about your husband. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Thank you,” she answers with automatic politeness. “But we have it under control.” She looks me up and down for a moment. “I’m sorry, who did you say you were again, a friend of Hunter’s?”
“I… Yes.”
I fold my arms over my chest self-consciously. In the hurry to get dressed and on the road, I threw a shirt of Hunter’s over my tank-top and shorts; rolling up the sleeves and tying it around my waist. Now, it feels like a neon sign screaming, ‘I just screwed your son.’
“Well, thank you for… escorting Hunter here.” Camille gives a brisk nod, as if dismissing me. “You’ll understand, I have a lot to deal with right now. This room situation is impossible, and I need to talk to talk to someone about his medication.”
“Oh, of course!” I exclaim. “I’m sorry, I… go ahead.”
“It was nice to meet you.” Camille’s smile is empty as she turns and sweeps away, leaving me in the hallway alone.
The nurse at the station gives me a sympathetic look. “Room twenty-one.” She says. “Just that way.”
“Thanks.”
I catch my breath, then carefully venture in the other direction, following the way I saw Hunter go until I reach the room. I’m braced for the worst—intensive care wires and breathing tubes—but when I nervously step into the room, I find his father sitting up in bed, laughing along with Hunter, looking the picture of health.
Relief crashes over me, followed swiftly by confusion. Richard looks like he just stepped off the golf course, not suffered a major heart attack.
“Hey,” I knock awkwardly on the open door. Hunter turns.
“Brit!” He leaps up to greet me, smiling. “Come meet my dad. Dad, this is Brit. Brit, meet Richard.”
“Come on in,” Richard booms. He’s wearing a plush navy dressing gown over striped pajamas, a spread of empty deli wrappers on the bedside table. “Sorry there’s not much space, but my wife’s seeing to that. She’s on the war-path,” he adds conspiratorially. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they kick out half the ward to make more room.”
“Umm, hi.” I edge forwards and take the hand he offers. His handshake is firm and vigorous. “I’m glad you’re OK. When he got the call, we thought…”
“That I was banging at death’s door?” Richard finishes cheerfully. “False alarm, just a touch of angina. But you know your mother,” he adds in Hunter’s direction.
“Everything’s OK,” Hunter tells me, gripping my shoulder. I can feel the relief pouring off him in waves, the way his heart is racing with gratefulness. “He’ll be fine.” He exhales. “He just needs to watch his diet, and get more exercise—”
“Lord, not you too!” Richard protests. “I’ve already had an earful from the doctors. Tell me, if a grown man can’t enjoy a good steak from time to time, what’s the point of living at all?”
“I’ll certainly bear that in mind when I’m planning your funeral,” Camille’s voice comes, icy from the door. She walks past me to the bed, swiftly snatching a glass from his hand. “Tell me you didn’t drink this. Richard! You know these places are a breeding ground for infections.”
“It’s alright, dear. You’re not getting rid of me just yet.” Richard pats her hand, and Camille clutches it tightly, a look of deep affection passing between them.
Hunter’s arm slides around my waist, pulling me close. “It was nothing,” he murmurs to me, as if reassuring himself. “We shouldn’t have worried.”
His mother looks up sharply. “Angina is not nothing. The doctors said it’s a warning sign. And is it any wonder? Your father has been working himself to death, all alone at that company.”
“I have employees—” Richard tries to interrupt, but Camille won’t be stopped.
“And you, all the way off in the middle of nowhere,” she accuses Hunter. “What would have happened if it had been a real heart attack? By the time you got here, it would have been too late! It’s not right, all this stress you’ve left him with.” She plumps up the pillows with sharp motions, barely controlled. “He was never meant to run that place alone, it was supposed to be for you boys. Well, I hope you’re happy now.”
I feel Hunter’s sharp intake of breath beside me. I turn, waiting for him to defend himself against her crazy accusations, but he doesn’t say a word, just drops his head, staring at the floor.
“That’s enough,” Hunter’s father says, his voice quiet but firm. “We can talk about all of this later. Did you find someone to help you with the new room assignment?”
Camille collects herself. “It won’t be necessary, they’re releasing you. You’ll be home for dinner tonight.” She forces a smile. “I’ve already called ahead and told Marta to throw out all the butter. It’ll be steamed fish and vegetables from here on out.”
“Wonderful,” Richard sighs.
“You’ll be joining us.” Camille turns to Hunter. It’s not a question.
He looks thrown. “I don’t know, I have work at the ranch, and—”
“You can’t even take the time to have dinner with your family, after everything?” Camille glowers at him.
Hunter slumps, like a kid who’s being scolded. “Of course, I’m sorry.”
She gives a brisk nod. “I’ll have the maids make up your room. You can stay a few days, spend time with your father. I’m sure you have a lot to talk about.”
Again, I wait for Hunter to object, but he just hunches his shoulders and accepts her plan. There’s silence. Camille is studiously ignoring me, acting as if I’m not even in the room. I understand, I feel like an intruder here in the middle of all their family drama, but at the same time, I don’t want to leave Hunter’s side.
“Did you drive?” Camille finally turns to me.
“I... came up with Hunter,” I reply, self-conscious.
“I’ll have someone take you home,” she replies in a clipped tone.
I look to Hunter. “No, it’s OK, I can stay.”
“Nonsense,” Camille proclaims. “I’m sure you have plenty to be getting back to. I’ll call our driver now.” She pulls out her cellphone and moves to the corner of the room, murmuring instructions.
I feel a twist of doubt. “Hunter?” I prompt softly, tugging on his hand.
He finally looks up, into my eyes. My heart catches to see the expression on his face: blank with tired resignation. “Mom’s right,” he says, pushing his hair back, distracted. “You should get back. You have work.”
“Garrett will cover for me.” I look back at Camille, watching us like a hawk. “Come outside a sec,” I tug Hunter into the hallway, out of listening distance, then take both his hands, looking deep into his eyes.
“I’m staying with you, as long as you want. I’m here for you.”
Hunter looks away. “You don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do.” I hold his hands tighter. He’s not in this alone, I need him to understand. “You need me. That’s all that matters.”
“I’ll be fine.” Hunter lets go of me and takes a step back. “You don’t need to deal with this. I promise, I’ll be fine,” he adds with a weak smile. “It’s just a couple of days, to get everything straightened out with them. Mom’s right,” he sighs. “It’s been too long. We need to talk, all of us.”
I watch him, anxious, but helpless to argue. I have this terrible feeling now, like if I say goodbye, it’ll be for the last time. But that’s crazy, I remind myself. I’m just being insecure. It makes total sense for Hunter to go back and visit with his family, after everything they’ve just been through. It isn’t my place to stay and get in the way. “If you’re sure…”
Hunter nods. “Call me when you’re home.” He leans to press a kiss to my forehead, but I reach up and catch around his neck, pulling him down into a longer kiss. Our bodies melt together, his mouth sweet and searching against mine, and for a moment, everything goes away. It’s just us, suspended in our own private world, with no fears or drama or demands.
Perfect.
Hunter pulls back, his smile stronger now. He gently traces my cheek. “Thank you, for coming with me,” he murmurs. “For putting up with them.”
“Always,” I swear.
“There you are,” his mother interrupts, stalking out of the room. “Perkins is waiting for you downstairs, he’ll drive you home. Hunter, come help your father with his things. He needs a wheelchair.”
“I do not!” Richard’s voice calls.
Camille ignores him. “And see about his medications too. They say the prescription is for two pills a day, but I’m certain I read an article saying three was best.”
Hunter gives me a rueful look. “I’ll call you later.”
“OK.” I swallow. “Bye.”
I ride back to Beachwood Bay in the comfort of the Covington chauffeur-driven BMW, but despite the plush leather interior and gentle AC in the backseat, I can’t relax. Walking away from Hunter in the hospital felt all wrong: like the bad dreams I get some nights, when I’m walking the halls of a haunted house. My feet keep moving, taking me towards danger, but I can’t turn back, even when I know that nothing good lies ahead of me.
Miss you. I tap out a text, and then stop, my thumb hovering over the ‘send’ button.
No.
I hit ‘delete’ instead. Hunter has enough on his mind right now; the last thing he needs is me getting clingy and emotional. I’m not that girl. I’ve always hated those girls.
It’s just a few days, I tell myself, watching the coastal road sail past. It’s like I promised him, everything’s going to be OK.
Back home at the beach house, I say an awkward thanks to the driver then let myself in. I pause a moment in the doorway, looking around the empty house. Signs of Juliet and Emerson are everywhere, from the black-and-white photos she’s taken of Beachwood and her mom framed on the walls, to the old throw over the back of the sofa, passed down thought her family since when her grandparents lived here, years ago.