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“You okay?”
“Yeah.” I smile. “I was just getting a little twitchy in there, but I’m okay now.”
Using his other hand, he tips my chin up and drops his head, laying his lips softly against mine.
“Hunter? Cat?”
We both look over when our names are called. I smile when I see Jimmy Simons approaching. Hunter tucks me under his arm as we face him.
“How are you, Jimmy?” I ask.
“Never better.” He grins.
Every time I see Jimmy, he always has a smile on his face. Being a marine for ten years, injured, discharged from the military because of the injury, having no family, and ending up on the streets, you’d think he’d be more bitter and not the happy man he is today. I’m not exactly sure how it happened, but apparently, a few years ago, Hunter helped him get back on his feet.
“That’s great.” I say with a big grin. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen you. Why don’t you come over for dinner soon? ”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” He gives me a sly grin. “So long as you make your delicious apple turnovers.”
I can’t help but laugh. Last time we had Jimmy over for dinner, I thought he would fight Hunter for the last apple turnover. “You got it. I’ll even make an extra for you to take home.”
He raises his hand to his chest. “A woman after my own heart.” He flashes his teeth at Hunter. “I tell you, Hunter, if she weren’t so attached to you, I’d try to steal her away.”
Hunter laughs, his arm around my waist flexing, pulling me closer. “Get your own woman.”
One cheek pokes out more than the other when he smirks. “I’m working on it.”
“Now that sounds interesting,” I say, laying my hand on Hunter’s lower stomach. “Do tell.”
“Maybe over dinner. Don’t want to jinx it.” He winks. “I’ll let you two get going.” He holds out his hand for Hunter to shake. “Call me about that dinner invite, Hunter.”
“See you later, Jimmy.”
Jimmy walks in the opposite direction from us. I stay tucked into Hunter’s side as we make our way to his SUV. Fatigue from a restless night leaves my limbs sluggish, so I’m grateful for the added support.
Soon after, we pull into our driveway beside my car. The sun has already set and the temperature has dropped several degrees. A chilled shiver races down my spine as we walk up the steps to the front door.
My phone pings in my purse, so I pull it out while Hunter unlocks the door. It’s a text from my sister telling me she’ll drop off her boys at two in the afternoon on Friday. I’m babysitting the rugrats for her while she goes to a doctor’s appointment.
While I type my reply, I follow Hunter into the house, barely registering the beep of the alarm as he disarms and resets it.
A harsh curse pulls my attention away from my phone. At first, I’m confused as to why Hunter is standing so stiffly in front of me. But then I notice the pictures on the walls. Pictures I’ve never seen before. Or rather, pictures I haven’t seen in years and pretend they don’t exist.
Except, these pictures aren’t the same. They’ve been altered.
I walk to the one closest to me. Hunter tries to stop me, but I shake off his hand. It’s a big picture, set in an elegant gray frame. Hunter and I are sitting on a bench in what appears to be a public park. One of his arms is wrapped around my shoulders. My eyes well up with tears when I see his other arm wrapped around the shoulders of a young girl. My gaze moves to my lap, where I’m holding a baby boy. I don’t need to guess the kids’ ages or names. Ryder was just over a year old when this was taken, and Eliana was eleven.
In the distance, Hunter yells my name, but I’m too absorbed in the picture. A low buzz starts, ramping up in volume in my ears, as I take in what was done to the faces of the two beautiful children.Mybeautiful children.
Their faces have been gouged out, and red marks replace them.
A sob forces its way up my throat and through my dry lips.
As I move to the next picture, I feel Hunter’s presence just behind me.
This picture is of me in the hospital right after I delivered Ryder. Hunter lies squished up on the bed beside me, half of his body hanging off the side. In my arms is a newborn Ryder, wrapped in a blue checkered baby blanket. What’s supposed to be his little scrunched up face is scratched out with red.
Another low cry creeps past my lips.
