Page 29 of Hunter Moon

“Completely,” I told her, without hesitation. Nothing had ever changed, could ever change, my love for Brook.

“Are you going to fucking abandon us again?”

And that, well, that was harder, wasn’t it? “Unless Lin makes me leave, or the navy makes me go back, I don’t plan to ever leave Grovetown again.”

She seemed surprised, and her scowl deepened. “So what, the navy can just call you back whenever?”

“It’s complicated, but it could be a year.”

“And then you’re never leaving again, for sure.” She poked my palm, disarraying the flower petals. “Never.”

“Never,” I agreed. “Not unless Lin tells me I have to.”

She snorted and waved dismissively. “First, you have to tell Brook this navy thing. Youcannotjust disappear again.” I nodded like a kid being scolded by his teacher, and she went on. “You should buy stock in a fucking flower company, Aspen. You better make sure Brook’s always got some. Because he’s right. If you abandon him again, if those flowers die, that’s it. It’s over. Got me?”

I hadn’t stopped nodding, so I just continued.

“You hurt him so much. You hurt all of us. We trusted you. We needed you. You taught me how to drive, and then you weren’t there to help me pick a car. It still hurtsme, Aspen. Imagine how Brook feels.” Her giant blue eyes filled with tears, and it was a stab in the gut. It was too easy to imagine exactly how Brook felt.

One at a time, Shiloh closed my fingers over the damaged flower petals. She stared into my eyes as she spoke. “I will fucking kill you myself, with my own hands, if you pull this shit again.”

When I nodded one last time, she returned the gesture, then spun and marched off. I watched her go, feeling a little like I’d just survived a hurricane.

That was when my eye caught on the one thing that had changed on the grass in front of the barn. When had Grovetown gotten a realtor?

16

Brook

The next morning, I woke up late. I didn’t have to go into the garage that day, and I had a splitting headache from crying.

It was all too tempting to throw my blanket over my head and not get out of bed again, maybe ever. But eventually, Mom or Shiloh or Harmony would come in and try to get me up. Things were just easier if I did it my own damn self and didn’t bother them about it.

I dragged my ass out of bed and even showered, but there was no freaking way I was wearing real clothes. It was sweatpants and a hoodie for me, maybe a cheese quesadilla for lunch—basically, anything sufficiently cozy and mopey would do.

I was just crunching into my melty cheese circle when the doorbell rang. Shiloh must’ve been at work, but I didn’t hear Mom or Harmony move to get it either, so I dragged my feet across the living room.

There on the front stoop stood Becca Tartt, holding a bouquet of jewel-toned daisies just like the ones wilting on my bookshelf.

She beamed at me, lifting up the vase. “Aspen Grove bought these for you. Asked if we had anyone that could bring them over, and Dad volunteered me. Here ya go!”

Stunned, I took them and blinked past the blossoms at her. She had her dad’s milk-chocolate hair and warm brown eyes, and there was a pink flush high in her cheeks.

“He’s cute, right? Aspen, I mean. I’ve always liked guys with tattoos, anyway.” She scratched the back of her neck, laughing awkwardly.

Becca was only a couple of years older than Harmony, and truth was, I suspected she didn’t have much reason to stay up to date on who Aspen had been dating before he left or how serious it was. For her, this could just be a nice thing with no past heaviness to drag it down.

Strange thing was, the way my heart raced when I looked at the flowers, it kind of felt like she was right.

“He’s cute,” I agreed, not sure if it was butterflies or queasiness rushing around in my stomach.

“Well, enjoy the flowers!” She turned and left, and I closed the door after her, staring down into the arrangement.

Aspen had gotten me flowers. And once upon a time, it’d been the exact wrong thing to get me. Or, well, it wouldn’t have been a disaster or anything, but I wouldn’t have cared much for them.

Now, I knew that Shiloh had talked to him about my breakdown the night before, and he was trying to ease that crushing sense of abandonment rushing just under the surface of my thoughts. It should have been embarrassing, gutting even, to know they’d talked about me and how hurt I was.

Instead, it was like—like two people who cared about me had come together to try and help. And sure, I wasn’t going to talk to either of them directly about it ever, but I wasn’t as mad or as horrified as I would have been if Shiloh had asked permission first.

---