Page 38 of Always You

“It’s kinda scary,” Hunters states. When I turn around, he’s slowly wandering my way, taking in my entire house.

I’ve never taken a boy home. I’ve always felt hesitant because no one was ever important enough, but also because I never really know what state my mother will be in. I’d expected to feel more uncomfortable, bringing Hunter into my house. But seeing him standing there, resting his shoulder against the wall with the moonlight illuminating his features, it just fits. It makes sense.

“What is?” I flick on the kitchen light.

“How our houses are identical from the inside. Just yours actually feels like a home.” My skin pebbles at his confession.

I throw my keys on the counter, placing my hands on the cold marble surface.

“You know you’ll have that one day, right?” My gaze locks with his as uncertainty washes over his face. Another deep breath makes his chest move slowly, gnawing on my insides.

“I don’t know.” He shrugs, shaking his head a little. “I’m not sure that’s in the cards for me, Charls. I’m not exactly husband material.Let alone dad material.”

He can’t hide the desire to be called dad one day, because it’s dripping from his expression. He wants it all. He just doesn’t think he can have it.

“Just because your mother doesn’t give a shit doesn’t mean that one day you won’t have a family of your own. You can. And you will always be a better parent to your own kids than your mother ever was to you.” My face is stern, and his eyes bore into mine, thinking over my words. With a heavy breath, I hold his gaze, thinking for just a second that his eyes are glistening with unshed tears.

He’s a tough one. He proved that tonight. Hunter Hansen is not easily cracked, but I hate that he’s willing to settle with his broken heart, not even trying to mend it a little.

Finally, he drags his hand over his face. “I guess.”

I bite my lip in frustration, swallowing the words about his mother that are on the tip of my tongue, because I don’t want to ruin his birthday. How dare his mother forget about him. I get that losing a loved one can tear you apart, and I know that even living with that idea is devastating, let alone actually experiencing it. But I hate the woman for forgetting the boy who is still alive.

“You will,” I blurt, conjuring a loving smile. “Why don’t you go outside, and I’ll grab us something to drink?”

“Alright, babe.” He disappears through the door that leads to the screened porch, and I watch him take a seat in the lounger before I open the fridge to find out what we have.

Glancing through it, I notice a bottle of rum laying on the top shelf, along with some ginger beers.

Perfect.

I pull two tumblers out of the cabinet, filling them with ice to the rim, splashing two fingers of rum in them, then topping them off with some ginger beer. I quickly grab a lime from the fruit basket to cut two wedges and throw them in for garnish.

Now Ijust need something that can pass as cake.

I peek my head into the storage closet, moving it from top to bottom, looking for anything suitable. An excited squeak leaves me when I notice a bag of Pink Snowballs next to a small package of birthday candles, and I quietly thank my mom for always having birthday candles in the house. Throwing them on the counter, I grab the two tumblers, carrying them onto the porch.

“What’s that?” His brows furrow together as he eyes me walking toward him with a big smirk on my face.

“A Dark ‘N’ Stormy. Duh.” I hand him one while putting mine on the table, then turn around to get back inside.

Reluctance showers his features, that polite and well-raised southern boy coming right out as he glances back inside, as if my mother will pop out any second.

“Babe, it’s my eighteenth birthday. Not my twenty-first. Plus, I don’t like what that does to my head.”

It’s cute how mannered he acts compared to the bad boy I know, and I twist my frame, pulling a face, calling bullshit.

“I know. And I’m not planning on getting drunk and manhandling you…”

An eyebrow quirks up at me. “You’re not? Because if that’s the promise, I’ll happily get drunk with you.”

“Don’t flirt!’ I bark out in command, a smile sneaking through, still holding out his drink. “One drink, Hunt. Have one drink with me.” He stays silent, and I pop a hip. “I know you don’t drink much, but you can’t bullshit me and tell you’ve never had a drink in your life.”

“Of course I have,” he hisses, “but not when your mother is around.”

“Relax, she doesn’t mind. Sit tight, I got one more thing.” I run back inside, putting the candle in the Pink Snowball, before Ireach into the drawer for some matches and light it. With my lips tugged up, I walk back outside as I start singing softly.

“Happy birthday to you.

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