Page 72 of Theirs to Hunt
All the way.
Chapter sixty
Reagan, Sunday 11:15 a.m.
Ireach for my mimosa and freeze.
It’s not the one the server brought earlier. The glass is different. The color too. I don’t know why it feels off until I taste it. More orange juice. Less champagne. Exactly how I like it. And I’ve never said a word. Not here. Not ever.
I glance up. Brooks is in the middle of some wild story with Bobbie, arms moving like he’s trying to act out the whole damn scene. Grayson’s only half-listening, eyes sweeping the room, cataloguing, filing, tracking. Neither of them is looking at me.
I sip again. Still perfect. My stomach flips. It shouldn’t matter. But it does. I’ve fought for the big things all my life. The small ones? I let those go. Easier to stop noticing when they disappeared. But they noticed. They fixed it. Not because I asked. Because I mattered enough to notice.
Grayson’s hand squeezes mine once, brief but steady. His attention doesn’t break from the room. But somewhere in that split focus is me.
I blink fast, bite my lip. Bobbie catches my eyes across the table. I nudge her foot. “Bathroom?”
She nods. “Absolutely.”
We don’t make it to the bathroom. The little hallway off the kitchen is quiet enough. We stop there, backs to the wall, still holding our drinks.
“It’s fast,” I blurt.
Bobbie shrugs. “Yeah. So?”
“I know how it looks. A few nights, a brunch, and suddenly I’m here. Feeling this.”
She doesn’t interrupt. Just waits.
“I know what people would say. Too much. Too soon. Confusing safety for love.”
Bobbie smirks. “Instagram therapists strike again.”
“But I don’t want careful,” I whisper. “I want this. I’ve always wanted this. Not fairy tales. Not Prince Charming. Survival. Obsession. Men who don’t flinch when shit gets dark.”
Her voice is low. “You wanted to be the one they couldn’t walk away from.”
My chest tightens. “I wanted to be seen. Not fixed. Kept. The reason someone burns the world down.”
Bobbie lets me have the silence.
“Brooks is… warmth that doesn’t make me feel weak. He feels big, and he lets me feel big too.”
“That’s the magic,” she murmurs.
“And Grayson? He’s the architect. Obsessed, precise, but steady. He doesn’t love in halves.”
Her smile curves. “He builds the fortress. Brooks keeps the lights on inside.”
“Exactly.” My throat tightens. “And they do the little things. Not as a show. Quiet. My drink. The playlist. Hell,” my laugh breaks wet in my throat, “they bought my toothpaste.”
Bobbie laughs too, softer than usual. “Yeah. They would.”
I breathe out. “I’m not scared it’s too fast. I’m scared I’ll screw it up trying to pretend I don’t want it.”
She clinks her glass to mine without hesitation.
“Then don’t.”
