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They were leaving him alone this afternoon, too, which was nice—though he’d probably earned it by being such a dick that no one wanted to mess with him. When he’d grown up, it had always been three people in the house, with his uncle sometimes thrown in for variety. They lived too far from grandparents for anything more than an occasional visit. Even when he’d moved here with his mom, the dinner table had never been occupied by more than four people.
When he finally ventured downstairs, the Merrick kitchen was practically packed.
The four brothers. Becca and Quinn. Layne and her little brother Simon. Hannah and James.
Hunter made eleven. It brought new meaning to the phrase odd man out.
They had about ten buckets and boxes from KFC. Hannah’s little boy appeared to be eating nothing but macaroni and potato wedges—and half of those were being fed to Casper, who was sitting under the table. The noise and energy in the room was almost enough to send Hunter back up the stairs.
But the smell was holding him right here. He’d never eaten lunch.
Becca appeared in front of him, taking his hand, pulling him into the kitchen. “I was worried about you,” she said quietly.
“Careful,” he said. “That’s catching.”
“Did you fall asleep?”
He’d spent the afternoon reading through the folders, but she’d given him the perfect out. “Yeah. I was knocked out.”
“Well, come eat.”
She dragged him toward the table, and Chris glared at the way her hand was still attached to Hunter’s, so he left it there, actually using it to pull her a bit closer and speak low, under the noise in the room.
“Sorry I ignored you earlier. Long day.”
Becca looked up at him. This close, he could catch her scent over the chicken, something with vanilla and almonds. “It’s okay,” she said. “I know you’ve got a lot going on.”
There was true empathy in her eyes, and it softened something inside him. “Thanks for trying to help.” He paused, thinking of all the warnings about trusting the Merricks. Thinking of the folders upstairs. He pushed the hair back from his face and sighed. “Maybe later I could get your opinion on something—”
A hand shoved him back, and Chris said, “Maybe later you could remember that she’s not your girlfriend.”
“Hey,” Becca started. “It’s fine.”
Hunter smiled, but there was nothing friendly about it. Chris’s aggression made his decision about Kate much easier to consider. “Maybe later you could remember that Becca has a mind of her own.”
Chris gave him another shove, a little more violently. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing here—”
“Hey!” said James, his little boy voice carrying over everything else. “Use words, not hands.” Then he glanced at Hannah.
“Right, Mom?”
“Absolutely right,” she said, completely unfazed, pulling another piece of chicken from a bucket.
But Chris backed off.
Hunter smiled more broadly. “Funny. I can think of two words right off.” But Becca was already pulling Chris to the other side of the table.
“Words, not hands,” said Layne. She poked Gabriel with her fork. “I think you need a T-shirt that says that.”
He leaned in close. “Give me five minutes and I bet I can change your mind.”
“Ugh,” said Quinn, spearing a piece of chicken with her fork. “Spare us.”
Michael glanced over at Hannah. “I told you you’d regret staying for dinner.”
“Are you kidding? You should see dinner at the firehouse.”
Hunter grabbed a paper plate and a piece of chicken, then dropped into one of the folding chairs that had been added to make enough seats. He was smashed between Nick and Simon and barely had enough room to put his plate down.
