Page 45 of Dolls & Daggers
“I don’t know for sure,” Hunter murmurs. “There were signs. It was a big accusation, and I didn’t want to say anything to my parents without proof.” He props his chin between his thumb and index finger, his leg bouncing. “When I confronted Wrenley, he denied it. I mean, vehemently denied it. I think he was embarrassed. And I tried–” He breaks off, exhaling sharply before continuing. “I tried to let him know I was there for him. That he didn’t have to suffer through it anymore.”
I take a shaky breath. How could Wren comfort me when he was carrying something just as heavy? Is that why he’s so obsessed with the Doll?
Men aren’t the only ones who abuse children.
I remember his words at the police department. A tear escapes, then another, clinging to my lashes.
“They were gone by the end of the week,” Hunter concludes. “She packed them up and moved to California to live with her new boyfriend, according to Wren. We tried to keep in touch, but eventually stopped talking. Then we reconnected after college, and he seemed fine, so I never brought it up again.”
“You think she sexually abused him?” The words taste bitter. What I went through was horrific, but if what Hunter is saying is true… what Wren went through is unimaginable.
And if I look like her… No wonder he hated me so much when we met.
I can’t imagine kissing someone who looks like my abuser. It’s no wonder he reacted the way he did when I tried to take things further.
Hunter shakes his head. “I don’t know. Like I said, I have my suspicions. She clung to him harder than a koala to a eucalyptus branch and was overly—and I meanoverly—affectionate. It was uncomfortable at times.”
“Did he ever seem like she madehimuncomfortable?”But I already know the answer. I did the same thing for years with Freddy. At first, because I felt special, and when I didn’t anymore… Why would anyone believe a girl who let it happen for so long?
“He hid it well. Wren is nothing if not good at hiding his true feelings.” Hunter steals a glance at me, his sharp features softening when he sees my tears. “You can’t say anything to him, Dove.”
“I won’t.” I rub under my eyes, careful not to smear my makeup. “Thank you for telling me.”
“He likes you. He doesn’t want to, but he does. Be patient with him.”
Giving him a knowing look, I laugh. “Pot, meet kettle.”
“Hey, if there’s one thing I excel at, it’s patience.” He sighs. “Speaking of that—tell me one thing.”
Sniffing, I reach for the roll of paper towels in the middle of the island and tear one off, dabbing my eyes. “What’s that?”
“Am I wasting my time?” He fidgets nervously, rhythmically tapping his fingers to a tune only he can hear.
I don’t need him to explain what he means or what he’s talking about.
“Wasting your time? I suppose that depends. What exactly are you expecting from her?”
“Nothing,” he breathes out with a shake of hishead. “I don’t expect a damn thing from her other than to just let me in.”
“She has let you in, Hunter. Believe it or not—aside from me—you’re the closest thing she has to a real friend. You’ve been there for her for years. Don’t give up on her now.”
“I’m not giving up on her. But it’s like every time I take a step forward, she takes two back. I just…” He pounds his fist on the island. Not in anger, but in frustration with his situation with Bunny. “I just want her to let me love her.”
Bunny deserves that. She deserves a man who wants to take care of her and who will accept her just as she is. Especially after her husband tried to turn her into a Stepford housewife.
I know she wants that with Hunter more than anything. But I also know she’s afraid, and I’m honestly not sure she’ll be able to give him what he wants.
“My best advice is to take yourownadvice. Be patient. When her husband died, Bunny found out he had a pretty hefty life insurance policy.” I nod my head along with my words, willing him to read between the lines.
He doesn’t. He stares at me with notched brows like he doesn’t know what that has to do with the conversation.
Sweet, sweet, Detective Dick—so pretty, but so simple.
“She’s set for life, Hunter. She doesn’t have to work if she doesn’t want to. But she went back for areason.” I don’t flat-out tell him she went back because she missed him. Bunny hasn’t even admitted that to me yet. I just know it’s the truth.
Slipping from the stool, I press a hand to his shoulder and peer up at him with the most serious expression I can muster. “Bunny wants to be loved. She just doesn’t know how because everyone she’s ever loved has hurt her. Don’t hurt her, Hunter. Or I’ll have to kill you.”
Two days.That’s all it takes—two days of Dove calling out from work for personal reasons, and I turn into a stage-five clinger of epic proportions.
