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“Okay, hon,” the nurse said.
The world seemed to gray around the edges, leaving just Hunter’s gaze and mine in sharp focus with the sensation of time slipping away.
The nurse pressed her fingertip on my palm, ensuring it was numb.
“I’m going to start the stitches now.”
When I bit my lower lip nervously to keep myself from trembling, Hunter seemed to notice this and cleared his throat.
“My dad was murdered,” he said.
At this, the nurse practitioner stilled for a moment.
His voice, deliberately casual amid the clinical setting, rocketed my attention away from the impending needles and into the atmosphere of Hunter Lockwood.
Even before he told me about his dad’s death during the car ride, I knew his father had passed; it was how the four Lockwood brothers had come into their inheritance. But I always assumed his dad must’ve died of a heart attack or car accident or something.
“He was murdered?” I asked.
“You want to prove your dad is innocent. And I want to find my dad’s killer,” Hunter said. “Guess we both have a Moby Dick we’re chasing.”
“They never caught the killer?”
Hunter shook his head. “Unsolved, to this day.”
“I had no idea,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
Come to think of it, my best friend, Sean, who was a true crime podcaster, mentioned something about a tragedy that befell the Lockwoods. When he’d brought it up, I shut him down because I didn’t want to hear it; any sympathy I might gain for Hunter risked me losing my edge against him in court.
“It was a long time ago.” Hunter’s smile held a fragile edge, his eyes dimming just slightly, a cloud passing over them.
“My dad was accused of killing a kid,” I said. Again, the nurse practitioner stilled. “A teenager.” Not sure why I said that. To assure him there was no way my dad could’ve been his father’s killer, maybe?
Or to get the most heinous accusation out in the open before he continued to look at me like this—like I was the only being worthy of his coveted attention. Because when he looked at me like this, Hunter Lockwood pulled me higher into his orbit, where I feared I would never come back down to earth.
But he didn’t look away. Instead, he tightened his grip on my hand, his eyes deepening with silent empathy, as if trying to fathom how hard that must have been on me, growing up.
Because, yes, it was bad enough to have your father accused of murder. It was a whole new horror level for him to be an accusedchildkiller—the victim only seventeen years old.
“All done,” Jennifer said.
My focus snapped back, the room and Jennifer’s voice suddenly sharp.
“It’s over?”
“Until the sedative wears off, you’ll be unsteady on your feet. You’ll need to be careful.”
I sat up.
Holy hell, she’s not kidding.The room tilted slightly, my head trying to detach and float away. But my hand…my non-injured hand was steady, still locked in Hunter’s grasp, his other hand now on my shoulder, holding me in place when I started to sway.
I never imagined that in my time of need, it would be Hunter Lockwood who would see me through the crisis. Earlier at the courthouse, helping me get out of bloodstained clothes, driving me to the emergency room, literally holding my hand throughout the procedure.
But mostly, baring his soul, if only to help my mind escape my fear of needles.
Maybe this was why so many women were desperate for him. Maybe they knew that underneath the model-level looks, sinfully sexy gaze, money, and power was a kind and gentle man.
His features tightened, a mix of fury and worry etching across them.
