Page 40 of The Huntress and Her Hound

“That’s rough for a small altercation.”

“Well,” Cher diverts her eyes. “He needed eight stitches...and I broke his nose.”

So much context is missing from this story—or Cher really flew off the handle. But it’s something from her, and anything that’s even remotely close to the truth is a fucking miracle. “Why didn’t you tell Henry about it?”

Her mouth tightens. “Can you imagine what he would’ve done?”

I shrug. “I don’t know what he would’ve done. It seems like this Ben guy lost his shot at a decent career, too.”

“Yeah, but he deserved it.”

“For flirting with you?” I blurt it out before I can stop myself, and she shoots me a glare with the kind of heat that could light a wet match.

“It was more than that,” she snaps at me, folding her arms across her chest. “He was trying to touch me. You weren’t there.”

“No, I wasn’t. Maybe I would’ve hit him with the paperweight instead.”

An annoyed expression crosses her face, but her body relaxes. “I just...I keep things from my brother because he’s worked so hard to give me a certain type of life, and I don’t want to disappoint him.” The way the volume of her voice drops causes my heart to follow. I know what it’s like to be living under familial pressure.

“I don’t think you could disappoint Henry, even if you hit someone with a paperweight.” I chuckle. “He probably would’ve laughed, and then hired someone to help you fight the allegations or whatever.”

“Right, coming to my rescue as per usual.”

“He’s never had to come to your rescue, Cher.”

“Well, there was my...um, stepdad.” Her eyes drop to the floor. “I’m sure you know that story though.”

“I’ve never heard your story,” I tell her softly, my hands sweating with an eagerness to reach out and touch her. “I’d like to.”

She drags her black nails down her biceps and blows out a light breath. “I don’t really remember, to be honest. I remember thinking that he was scary, and that he’d try to come in my room at night—but Henry was there. He always kept him away.” Cher pauses, and then walks over to the bed, taking a seat on the edge of it. Her knees rest inches from mine as I turn to face her.

“The night everything happened is a blur for me. I didn’t see anything. I know our stepdad was cruel to our mom, but that’s not how I remember her. I never knew she was broken. She was kind and sweet and she read to me every night...” Her voice trails off as her eyes drop to her hands. “But I don’t remember much other than that, so maybe that’s why I have a different image of her—or maybe Henry just shielded me from all of it.”

“Our mind sometimes shields us from the pain of the past,” I reason. I have no idea why Cher is sitting in my room spilling this after I crossed a line and tried to kiss her, but...I don’t want her to leave.

“Maybe,” she says as she meets my gaze. “I think mine tortures me.” A stilted laugh follows her words, and she shakes her head. “Anyway, I just didn’t tell Henry about what happened at work, because he worked so hard to get me where I was—and then I let him down. One stupid day ruined my career.”

“I don’t think you could let Henry down. You could do anything, and he’d still think you were God’s gift to the earth.”

“Yeah...” She bites down on her lip, hesitating and shifting on the bed. “But sometimes, I wish I would’ve seen what happened that night—when he killed my stepdad. All I knew was him scooping me up, the smell of the gasoline and fire, and then just running right into the dark. I don’t have an excuse to be a fuck-up.”

“I don’t think seeing something that violent at your age would’ve been a good thing...” My words fail me past that, even as Cher nods. I don’t know what to say to her, but I wish like hell I did.

“I had a normal childhood.” She nearly whispers it, and I can’t decide who in the room she’s trying to convince. “But anyway,” Cher clears her throat and stands to her feet. “I just thought I’d clarify what happened with Ben.”

“You don’t have to justify anything to me.”

She pauses, her brow furrowing. “You were clearly disgusted when Ben mentioned what happened.”

“No,” I shoot back at her. “It was just at that moment I knew I’d probably have to beat his ass—and that’s not something I do often.”

Cher studies me for a few beats, her eyes covering every feature of my face. “You know, my brother always made you out to be something entirely different than what you are.”

I shrug. “I’ve done a lot of changing.”

She stands to her feet and then moves toward the door. “Why?”

My gaze doesn’t falter. “Because I was sick of myself.”

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