Page 77 of Hunter

Or it was.

My breath catches as his gaze turns toward the window, feeling as though he can see me in the shadows. But then he turns back to his work again.

I pull out my phone and open our text thread.

My thumbs are clumsy, the screen swimming. I type anyway, the words spilling out before I can stop them.

Me: I’m sorry. I fucked up. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in years, and I ruined it like I ruin everything. I miss you. I’m outside your building right now like a fucking creep because I can’t stay away. I’m sorry.

I hit send before I can delete it.

I watch him.

Charlie stops drawing. He reaches for his phone on the table beside the easel. His face changes when he reads it—the small furrow between his brows deepens. He chews on his lower lip, that familiar nervous habit, thumb hovering over the screen like he’s debating whether to reply. His gaze goes to the window again, searching the darkness.

My heart pounds so hard it hurts.

Answer me. Please answer me.

Then he stares at the phone for a long moment, slowly sets it face-down on the table. He gets up, walks to the windows, and pulls the curtains shut with a quick, decisive motion. The warm light disappears. The view is gone.

I stand there for a second, swaying, the bottle dangling from my fingers. Then the need takes over. I cross the street, stumble up the steps to his floor, and pound on his door with my fist.

The sound echoes in the hallway. I don’t stop. I keep knocking, harder, until the door finally cracks open.

Charlie stands there in the doorway. He looks exhausted. Hurt. And still so fucking beautiful it hurts.

“Charlie,” I start, voice slurred. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to⁠—”

He cuts me off.

“Are you drunk?” he asks, the words flat.

I try to straighten up, try to look sober. “No. I’m fine. I just… I needed to see you.”

Charlie snorts softly, the sound tired and sad. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed tight over his chest.

“I can smell it on you, Hunter.”

I open my mouth to deny it, but nothing comes out. The lie won’t form. I just stand there, swaying slightly, the bottle still heavy in my jacket pocket like evidence.

Charlie’s eyes flick down to the slight bulge, then back up to my face. “Come back when you’re sober. I can’t do this right now.”

The door closes in my face with a soft, final click.

Chapter 31

Charlie

For a second, all I can do is stare at the closed door, a war going on inside of me. Open it. Let him in. Take care of him. Keep it shut. Stop trying to fix broken men who can’t be fixed.

If asking him to leave last night has him drunk at my door today, then obviously he’s not the sort of broken love can heal.

Love. Shit. I’m in love with him.

I turn my back to the door and slide down the wood, my heart in my throat. Pressing my ear against the door, I listen for any sound on the other side.

His breathing is ragged. I can hear it—uneven, heavy, like he’s fighting to stay upright. For a moment, I think he might knock again. Part of me hopes he does. The rest of me is terrified he will.