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One part of him wished she’d wake up so they could get moving.
The other part of him hoped she’d keep sleeping since they had nowhere to go.
This sucked.
He’d moved the jeep to the spot where the grass gave way to sand and then played the radio for a while, trying to catch the news, but he didn’t learn anything he didn’t already know. Eventually, he worried he’d run the battery down, so he turned the car off and returned to Kate’s side.
When the door to the house slid open, Hunter sprang to his feet—but it was just Bill carrying two canvas bags, the kind you get at the grocery store.
“I figured you hadn’t eaten in a while.” Bill paused, cleared his throat. “There are some clothes in there, too. Stuff I had around here for Becca, but . . . well . . .”
“Thanks.” Hunter took the bags and set them beside the blanket, though it was taking everything he had not to tear through them looking for food.
Bill reached out a hand and touched Hunter on the chin. Hunter wondered if he had a new bruise to add to the collection.
“Sorry I hit you,” Bill said.
Hunter was sorry about that, too. It had hurt like a bitch and reminded him a little too thoroughly of the fight with his grandfather that had started this mess.
He didn’t say anything.
“I did a lot to make sure Becca wouldn’t have to deal with this kind of disaster,” Bill said. “I know what she thinks of me, but I had my reason for keeping my distance.” He paused. “It’s just not very nice to have that thrown in my face.”
Hunter wondered how much could be resolved if Bill would just say those same words to Becca.
“I’m sorry,” Hunter said. He didn’t entirely mean it, but he felt like he should offer something in exchange for the food and supplies.
“Did you hate your father?”
The words hit Hunter so hard that he felt like he needed to take a step back. “No,” he said, his voice rough. “No, never. He—I just never knew where I stood with him.”
Bill smiled a little at that: a small smile, a sad one. “Really?”
Hunter couldn’t interpret that expression. “Yeah, really.”
“I’d say you stood in pretty high regard. Your dad went to some lengths to keep you a secret.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I knew your dad. And he never breathed a word about you.”
Hunter scowled—but something about this was meshing with what Silver had said when he came after him and Kate at the Merrick house. Or what Calla Dean had said at the carnival.
Had his father kept him a secret?
But . . . why?
His head was overfull with confusion, and he couldn’t take one more thing to second guess. “Maybe it means he just didn’t give a crap.”
“That’s not how being a father works, kid.” Bill gestured to the bags. “There should be enough food for tonight and tomorrow.”
So Bill expected them to sleep out here, on the beach. It was October, and the night air was already growing cold. Hunter glanced at the back door and deliberated for a long moment before swallowing his pride. “Any way we can crash on your floor?”
“Not an option.” Bill’s voice was hard again.
Hunter was too tired to argue. “Fine. We’ll sleep in the sand.” At least they had blankets.
“Sometimes decisions are about picking the lesser evil.”
