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Nick eventually had to go back in the house.
Hunter was messing around in the kitchen. Nick had no idea what he was doing. He didn’t want to face him, but his stomach was in knots wondering if Hunter had texted anything to his brothers. Sitting in his room waiting for them to come home was a little too much like sitting on death row.
He found his shirt on his bedroom floor and went back downstairs.
But once he was there, he couldn’t walk down the hallway.
He sat at the bottom of the steps and put his head in his hands.
He didn’t want to cry, but apparently his emotions didn’t give a crap about what he wanted.
He’d f**ked this up with Adam. He didn’t even know how to fix it.
He didn’t even know if he could.
You’re going to break my heart. I can feel it.
Yeah, he’d sure lived up to that.
He wished he could talk to Quinn, but he’d f**ked that up, too.
The air told him Hunter was in the hallway before he heard him.
Nice. Why couldn’t the air have told him Hunter was coming into his frigging bedroom?
You might’ve been distracted by Adam’s hand down your pants.
Nick couldn’t look at Hunter. He swiped the last tears off his cheeks. This was so humiliating. All he needed now was for Gabriel to walk through the door.
Hunter stopped beside the staircase bannister. He didn’t say anything for a long moment.
Nick stared at his shoes and waited, ready for mockery. Derision. Anger. Disgust. Something.
“I made you a cup of coffee,” said Hunter.
Surprised, Nick looked up, but only halfway, to see that Hunter carried two mugs.
Coffee. So unexpected that it hit Nick like a fist to the face.
Honestly, a real fist to the face would have been less surprising.
He was so on edge that he was ready for Hunter to say Just kidding and dump it in his lap.
“If you want,” Hunter said. “I thought you might need some.”
No malice in his voice, but Nick still couldn’t look at him. He reached out and wrapped his hands around the mug, inhaling the steam. “Thanks.”
“Can I sit down?”
Nick nodded.
Hunter eased onto the step beside him. “That—that sucked.”
Nick stared at his coffee. Was Hunter looking for an apology? Or offering one? Tension crawled across his shoulders and dug in its claws.
“I’m really sorry,” Hunter said quietly. He was staring at his own mug. “I am really, really—”
“It’s not your fault.” He should have closed the door. Or hung a sign.
