Page 21 of Reclaim Me

Of course.

Of course, the one thing he needs is the one thing I’m not comfortable giving. I consider denying him once more. What Aaron is asking for is private. It’s Hunter’s and mine. It doesn’t belong to him; it barely belongs to us, and it frustrates me that Aaron wants to own this part of me as well, that the things I’ve given up for him already aren’t enough.

Pushing out a long, steadying breath, I prepare myself to give again because I know that if I don’t, nothing will get better. And I need things to get better. I move over to the couch in the corner of Aaron’s office and pat the cushion beside me, silently asking Aaron to come over. My stomach is in knots, but I breathe through the discomfort, telling myself I’ll feel better once it’s all out in the open, even though I know I won’t.

“The night I met Hunter Drake, he was planning on killing himself…”

9

HUNTER

Now

There’s a rhythm to the gym.

It’s the crash and slap of padded gloves. Strained breathing and exerted grunts that are layered on top of the sound of bodies being slammed into mats. It’s a melody I’ve grown accustomed to, one I depend on to keep me grounded when things outside of these doors are all flipped around.

I’m leaning on the metal railing that lines the lofted space I use to keep an eye on things when that rhythm changes. When the air turns thick and everything goes quiet because all of my senses have tuned into the woman striding into my gym like she owns the place.

Not the place, just me.

At first, I think my eyes are playing tricks on me, but then she looks up, using her hard-earned knowledge of my favorite hiding place in the gym to scope me out. When our eyes meet, she’s not at all surprised to find that I’m looking at her, and I’m not shocked by the fact that being held in her gaze for more than a second takes my breath away.

We meet at the bottom of the stairs, and even though she sought me out, she seems thrown off by my proximity. Not uncomfortable, per se, but not fully settled in my space. It reminds me of the way strangers deal with me. The way all of their movements are slow and cautious, like their entire body is preparing for the moment when I decide to use my strength and size against them. Rae slides her hands into the back pockets of the jeans that are clinging to her long legs and toned thighs like a second skin. She’s paired them with a buttery soft sweater and a pair of ballet flats. The corners of my mouth quirk, remembering a time when I would pester her about the irony of being a ballerina in ballet flats.

“Don’t,” she warns me, her eyes narrowed.

“I wasn’t.”

Silence settles between us, loud and uncomfortable. I don’t know why she’s here, and I don’t know how to ask her, so I just wait for her to say something else. Instead of speaking, she looks around, marking the changes I’ve made over the years. I don’t call them improvements. I never do because every updated mat or fresh coat of paint takes this place further away from what I built with her at my side.

“It looks really different in here,” she says, finally, turning those eyes back on me. They’re a luscious brown, deep and earthy like wild clay pulled from the bed of a winding river, and I’ve missed them so fucking much.

“Do you want a tour?”

Suddenly, all I want is to give her one. To walk her through the changes I’ve made to the gym in the hopes that it’ll lead to a conversation about the changes I’ve made in me. I’d lead her through the five thousand square foot addition at the back of the warehouse and tell her we use the open space in the middle for everything from Zumba classes to goat yoga and that the rooms around the perimeter are rented out to content creators who specialize in fitness and want somewhere safe and comfortable to record their workouts.

I’d take her to my office and let her see that nothing much has changed in there because I won’t let it. She’d see that my desk is still the same, a relic of our past, of a time when she’d perch on the edge and distract me from paperwork with nothing more than her smile. She’d see that the ceiling tile with the messy, lopsided, black heart with our initials in the center is still there, too.

She’d see everything, and maybe it’d mean nothing to her, but she’d still know there hasn’t been a single day that’s gone by where I haven’t tried to find a way to hold on to her, to us, even though she let me go.

“No, that’s okay.” She tucks a curl behind her ear, and I remember what it was like to feel the delicate coils slip between my fingertips. “I wasn’t planning on staying long.”

“I’m surprised you came by in the first place.”

“Why?”

“Because of the way you burned rubber to get away from me at the cemetery yesterday.”

“Right.” Her tongue darts out of her mouth, skating across her bottom lip before being replaced with the blunt edges of her teeth. “That’s actually what I came to talk to you about.”

I’m not quite sure where this conversation is going, so I forgo a verbal response, opting for a dip of my chin that tells her to continue. Rae gazes heavenward, taking time to gather her words, which is how I know I’m not going to be a fan of what she has to say.

“I need you to stay away from me,” she blurts, catching me completely off guard. My head snaps back as if I’ve been struck, and a laugh spills past my lips.

She needs me to stay away from her?

Still laughing, I turn my head to the left and then the right, double-checking our surroundings before I respond. “You realize you’re standing in my gym, right? That you came here and sought me out, not the other way around?”

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