Page 87 of His to Hunt

I’m already texting Saul the name of the realtor and the address. This place means something to my mate. We don’t have to live here, but it should be hers. I’m sure her grandmother expected her uncle to do more than just sell it. I’m sure she also expected him to do more for Taryn, too. Instead, he acted like a fucking snake before he had the good sense to die.

We get out of the Land Rover and walk up the gravel path that leads from the road to the house. Taryn seems to be both excited and somber. When we get to the door and she peers in a window, excitement seems to win out.

“What? It doesn’t look like anything has changed,” she exclaims, then she moves to a window near the door, cupping her hands. “No! All the furniture and everything else is exactly the same!”

“Your uncle didn’t even take the personal stuff?” I ask incredulously, walking up to the door and looking in the window. What an asshole that guy was.

“He took all her jewelry and everything valuable,” she says. “I watched him do that. I never saw this place again after that. He said he sold it, and… didn’t really mention her things. I didn’t ask.”

“If he sold it to a developer, they must have changed their mind,” I say, shrugging slightly. “It’s been years. This place is out of the way, but someone’s taking care of the property.”

The lawn has been cut. The garden doesn’t have any weeds. They haven’t painted the house or done anything to fix it up recently that I can see, and it could use some repairs, but they aren’t letting it rot.

“One second, Saul is calling me,” I excuse myself, walking away as I slide my finger across the screen. “Hey, find out anything?”

“I offered double the asking price if the realtor faxed me the contract within five minutes. I’m faxing it back to her right now,” he says. “I’m going to text you the code to the lockbox.”

“Damn! Thanks Saul. I didn’t expect you to do that. I would have bought it!” Classic Saul.

“I know. I just saved you a step,” he chuckles. “Realtor said they’ve been trying to get rid of it for years. They bought it as-is, but the seller didn’t tell them about a lot of the issues it has. It was too expensive to flip.”

“Good,” I say. “I’ll transfer you the money.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he retorts.

When I turn back around, Taryn has moved further down along the side of house. She’s trying to look in every single window. I get the text from Saul, so I step up and open the lockbox. There’s a set of keys inside and I have the door open less than a minute later.

I walk through the house until I spot Taryn peering through a window and walk up to it. I can’t help smiling when she jumps back with shock.

“What the hell?” she yells.

“Come inside,” I call back, holding up the keys.

She stares at the keys for a moment before dashing around the house. I meet her at the door to see a very confused look on her face. I’m actually smiling. She’s making me smile more than ever. Maybe that’s just part of having a mate. Part of being… happy?

“Where did you get the keys?” she shrieks incredulously, looking at the door. “You opened the realtor box thing?”

“Yeah, I used the code Saul got after he bought the property,” I say nonchalantly, tossing her the keys. She barely catches them. “It’s yours now, Taryn. You can do whatever you want with it.”

She looks at the keys, then up at me. “Victor,” she whispers, eyes welling as she shakes her head. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to. Now you can come back anytime you want. But first, why don’t you give me the grand tour? Show me what I bought you.”

“The grand tour? This place is smaller than the hotel penthouse,” she laughs, squeezing the keys tight in her hand. Tears dampen her lashes. “Thank you. Seriously, thank you. I don’t know what happened, or why everything is still here, but…”

“Your uncle was a lying asshole. Apparently, this place needs a lot of repairs; too many for a flipper.” I shrug. “Doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“No,” she sighs, walking toward me. She looks down, smiles and takes my hand. “Okay, let me show you around.”

Her uncle didn’t just abandon everything he couldn’t sell; he didn’t even bother to take the pictures off the wall. I get to see Taryn grow up, one photo at a time as we walk down the hallway.

It’s a small house. There’s a living room where Taryn used to watch television with her grandmother. Two tiny bedrooms. One bathroom that I’d never be able to use comfortably with a shower so small I’d rather just be dirty than ever have to use it.

“This is my room,” Taryn says, swallowing hard as she walks inside. “Was my room, I guess.”

“Is. Was. Is again,” I remind her, following her inside.

Taryn’s grandmother died when she was sixteen, and the room looks like a time capsule of her life at that age. The bed is still tossed from the last time she got up, probably not knowing she’d never sleep in that bed again. There are posters on the wall of boy bands and faraway places. A large mirror with snapshots of her and her friends tucked all around it. The closets and dressers are open, and all the clothes are gone. At least she got to take something with her.