Page 81 of Oathbreaker

“No, Hunter. Tell me everything. You owe me that much,” she rushes out. Her anger grows, lacing each word and lashing me like a whip.

I take a deep breath. I do owe her that much.

“You told me that you knew that Adam was up for parole. He wasn’t going to receive it, but then my father found out about us. He knew about us well before the country club.” Her knuckles blanch as her hold tightens on her arms.

I continue, “He met with the parole commissioner and bribed him. That’s why Adam was released.”

She breathes in. She breathes out. Once more, a set of each.

Then she says, “Wow.”

I’m silent for a moment. “I can understand you being angry about this, Sunb?—”

“You think I’m angry, Hunter?” Rushed, tense words spill from her mouth.

“You have to be,” I reply. I knock my head back against the door.

“Angry. Angry?” She starts to pace. “Yes, I’m fucking angry. I’m—” She whips her hand across the nightstand, rocketing the ceramic lamp and picture frames to the floor. Shards of porcelain and glass scatter at her feet.

Kitty runs under the bed, hiding.

Winter screams and drops to the floor. Her roar is deep, pained. This is the sound of her grief.

I rush to her, intent on pulling her into my arms. And she lets me—but only for a second. She pushes at me, clawing at me as tears and snot mix on her face.

“I hate you,” she screams, her enraged words clanging in the space between my ears. “You and your fucked-up family did this to me!” She pushes me again, falling back on the broken glass of the picture frames and accents as she does.

“Winter, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—” My face is dry, but inside, I’m raging alongside her.

I did this. I didn’t protect her. I did this. I did this.

“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” She sobs, backing away from me in a crab walk until she huddles in the corner.

“Winter, you’re bleeding, baby,” I say, unwilling to accept her “I hate yous.” I reach for her hand, which still grips a piece of broken glass.

She grips it tighter, pulling further into herself as her sobs turn into hiccups. Her eyes are bloodshot. She raises her hand, staring at the cut on her palm like she’s never seen anything like it before.

I silently crouch down in front of her. Without looking at me, she says with stunning clarity, “I wish I never met you, Hunter Brigham.”

I swallow down the bile rising in my throat. “I don’t think you really mean that, Sunbeam.”

Seconds tick on. Then she says, “I really, really do. I want to leave. I want you out of my life.”

My heart breaks. But that’s not anything I can ever accept. I’ll give her space. But let her go?

Never.

“Okay, baby,” I say. I stand, moving back to the door.

“Where are you going, Hunter?” she asks. She looks dazed.

“I’m giving you space, and then we’re going to talk about this later.”

She sniffs. “No, I just want to go home,” she says.

“This is your home, Winter.”

“No! I want to go back to my apartment.”

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