Page 86 of Oathbreaker

“No.” He walks closer to me. His crisp button-down shirt is open at the collar, his tie long gone.

“H. Hunter?—”

“Do you remember what I said that night, Sunbeam?”

He doesn’t have to say which night. I know he’s talking about the night we made love, real love, back at the country club. I close my eyes as tears continue to rush forward. I nod, and a tear drops onto my chest.

“You think you can end this?” he whispers.

Only a foot separates us. I squeeze the strap of my backpack to anchor myself to this moment, and with all the strength I have left in my soul-worn body, I open my eyes and face him.

With every second that passes, his resolve firms in his gaze. He stands taller. Hunter Brigham—the one who is dominant and assured and loving and gentle—is back. And he’s focusing all that energy on saving me. Saving us.

“Even when we are both deep in the ground, dead for centuries, our children’s children will talk about our love. I love you, Winter.” He puts my hand on his chest. His heart races, but his face is like stone.

“H, you know this isn’t healthy.” My lips tremble.

“We’ll get healthy together, my love.” He steps closer, his lips whispering over mine. There is an edge of desperation in his breath. “What we do, we do it together. Your pain, your suffering, is all for me to carry. Your happiness, your joy...you will experience all that again. And because I’m a selfish motherfucker, I want to be there when you do. My soul needs to be right beside you,” he says.

He presses me against his body as if his hands can’t help but trap me close to him. He kisses my neck, pressing his face close to my skin.

In this embrace, I feel like I can breathe for the first time in months.

“Forgive me, Winter,” he whispers, pressing into my neck. He leans back and grabs my face in both of his hands. “Forgive me,” he insists. His embrace is gentle, but his eyes blaze.

I shake my head, and the tears continue to fall, one racing after the other.

“Hunter,” I say. “I don’t know if love is enough.” The words make me nauseous.

“Please,” he whispers. He presses us so close together it’s as if our heartbeats and breaths could merge into one.

“Please, Sunbeam.”

He presses kisses on my closed eyelids, my cheeks, but when he hovers his lips over mine, barely an inch between us as he waits, I say, “Help me, H.”

I release the shuddering breath that I’ve been holding since the moment I looked at Hunter in that diner outside of Asheville. “Help me, H. I’m so, so hurt.”

His lips crash against mine, understanding what I mean, even though I can’t voice it.

We’re all hands, lips, and tongues then. He lifts me, and I wrap my legs around his waist. I bounce a little when he drops me onto the couch across from where I sat all those months ago with Ella.

We’re in the front sitting room where Ella first interviewed me.

This feels like a perfect circle. It’s fitting.

One last time, Winter. One last time.

I rip my sweatshirt off, taking my sports bra with it. My breasts bounce, and Hunter groans when he sees them.

Unbuttoning his shirt all the way, he loses patience and rips the wrists free.

“I need to be inside you again, Sunbeam,” he says, and I almost lose my composure at the cracked way he says the endearment.

“I need you inside me too,” I say. Lust thickens my voice, as does the grief of us ending.

He leans over me, kissing me roughly, and I push my leggings down, and then I’m naked. I reach for his belt buckle, undoing everything in an instant. I drop to my knees.

“Not right now, baby. I’m too angry at you right now to be gentle with your throat.”

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