by J. D. Dexter
“She’s been charged with attempted second-degree murder,” Brent says matter-of-factly. He sounds like he’s reading a headline in the Wichita Eagle.
I can tell he’s still upset that all of these changes have started because of what Aunt Cynthia did to me. He’s not as peppy, his shoulders a little droopier. His face gaining a couple more lines than he had before. He looks tired, both physically and mentally.
“She’s not been granted bail at this time, so for now she’s staying in jail,” Brian adds tonelessly.
I’m not worried that even if Cynthia got out of jail on bail that she would come for me; I can barely believe she shot me in the first place. It seems like the boys are torn over where their loyalties should lie. I’m not sure how I would handle that kind of thing…if my mom were the one to have shot one of the boys.
“I’m sorry you’re going through this right now, guys,” I tell them. I would never want to know or experience a similar situation.
“I still can’t believe she did it.” Mark shakes his head, his eyes welling with tears.
“Well, she did do it, Dad. She needs to pay the price for shooting at someone and trying to kill her.” He points a stiff finger in my direction. “For trying to kill Finley!” Brian’s rage flares out, his hands clenched, his face red. His chest pumping up and down with his rapid breathing, he looks like he’s about to go Hulk Smash on something.
“I’m just upset she can’t be charged with hurting Josh, too. But we can’t share that since Finley healed him before the ambulance and police arrived,” Brent sounds a little hollow.
Everyone is quiet and tense. What are we supposed to say? There’s really nothing to say to make it any better, only worse.
I close my eyes, cutting off the morose and angry looks on the faces of people I love. I cuddle into Hunter, turning slightly, burying my nose in his chest. I slide my feet off of Dad’s lap, and curl around Hunter’s body as much as possible. His arms wrap around me tightly, his chin resting on the top of my head.
The awkward silence is broken by a muffled groan of anguish. Turning quickly, I watch Brent’s chest hitch right before the sobbing starts. Shuffling noises fill the room, as Brian, Mark, and Josh all wrap him in a huge hug.
I feel my own tears track silently down my cheeks, soaking into Hunter’s shirt. He pulls me in even tighter. I try to breathe slowly so as not to bring any more attention to myself; I don’t want to interrupt Brent’s, Brian’s, and Mark’s grief. I think this the first time they’ve allowed themselves to break down in front of others. And to have that breakdown be in front of the people their mom and wife wronged can only add to the anguish.
My tears are for the hurting my boys are going through. How do you sit back and let a family member go to prison, knowing what they did was wrong, but that it almost killed two other loved ones? My heart breaks for them.
Mom’s familiar hand caresses my back, slow circles of comfort in the midst of a horror that she can’t prevent or decrease. Dad’s warm hand rubs slowly up and down my leg. Both of my parents almost lost their only child because of Cynthia. For that alone, I might hate her.
My parents have never been anything but supportive, loving, and caring to both Mark and Cynthia, and she almost took away the one thing they loved most: their child.
I don’t have a lot of fond memories of Cynthia, but I’ve never once wanted to cause her pain or terror. I wouldn’t want to take one of the boys from her life just because they were creepy or different. Why she thought it should be her to make decisions for everyone is beyond me.
My tears finally subside. I stay wrapped around Hunter’s body, waiting for a lull in the storm of men on the other side of the room.
“Better?” Hunter whispers to me.
I nod into his chest.
“I’m glad. Need a tissue or do I need to wash my shirt?” He jokes with me.
“Both?” I tell him, a smile creasing my face, even though he can’t see it.
“Here you go, baby.” Mom pushes a tissue into the tiny sliver of space between my face and Hunter’s chest.
“Thanks, Mom.” My words are muffled by said tissue attacking my open mouth.
We sit in slightly uncomfortable silence as the guys across the room begin murmuring to each other. While it usually kills me to be left out of their lives, I restrain myself. I’ll let them come to me if they want, but I won’t force them to confront any of that with me. I’m not that pushy or heartless.
I’m content in my Hunter-pod, just being held, when I hear noses being blown on the other side of the room. The floor vibrates under the footsteps of four large men moving around the space.
I feel new hands on my back and head. They’re almost as familiar as Mom’s, Dad’s, or Josh’s. Brent turns me from Hunter’s chest, sits down in the space created by my curled legs and crushes me against him in a bone-crushing hug.
His face disappears into my neck, his face damp. “I’m so sorry, Finley. So sorry,” he just repeats this over and over. His body shivering in my arms.
I rub his back in soothing circles, just like my mom did for me. I shush him, telling him that I’m okay, that I’m here with him. He doesn’t seem to hear me, but squeezes me until I struggle to breathe.
I guess my distress is clear on my face, because Brian comes over and loosens Brent’s arms. “You’re hurting her, brother. Ease up a bit. She needs some air,” he says gently. Brent’s arms relax by the slightest degree. But it’s enough to let me breathe easily again.
Dad and Brian switch places. Brian’s long arms wrap around his brother and me at the same time. He kisses my forehead gently before laying his head on top of mine. We sit like that for minutes on end, Brent’s grief drenching the front of my sweatshirt.
After about half an hour, Brent’s tears begin to slow, his breathing starts to even out. His arms fall slack around my hips, his forehead resting on my upper chest. Brian leans back, pulling his sleeping brother’s body back against him, wrapping his arms securely around Brent’s leaner body.
“You okay?” I mouth the words to Brian.
He just nods, his own face lined with sorrow and fatigue. He leans his head back against the back of the couch. It looks really uncomfortable, so I grab the blanket I had been using and bunch it up into a small roll before pushing it under his head.
He gives me a groggy smile before escaping into sleep as well.
The rest of us leave the sleeping boys on the couch and move into the kitchen. It’s a little cramped, but that’s okay since we’re trying to keep our voices down.
“I had no idea they were carrying so much of this.” Mark’s sounds close to tears once again.
I don’t think I can handle any more Hastings men’s tears. I step into him, wrapping my arms around his tall body. He squeezes me tight, holding me for a couple of moments, before letting his arms drop. I start to move back to stand beside Hunter, who’s bookended by my parents. Josh steals a hug before I make it all the way back to Hunter’s side.
I feel Josh kiss my head, his shirt damp from tears as well. I lean back, looking into his beloved face. His eyes and nose are red from crying. He doesn’t look as downtrodden as the other boys, though. For that, I’m so very thankful. I give his cheek a quick peck before making it back to Hunter, who drapes one of his arms over my shoulder.
Looking up at him, his hair is the tamest I’ve seen the blond locks. I guess holding me has kept his hands out of his hair. He presses his lips to my forehead, tucking me under his shoulder.
“I knew they were struggling with everything, but not this badly,” Josh says, watching Hunter and I with a slight smile.
“I don’t know what to do for them. I feel awful about all of this. I know it’s not my fault, but I still feel guilty,” I confess.
“You have absolutely nothing to feel guilty for, nugget. Cynthia made a very bad decision, and just like your mother and I taught you as a kid, she needs to pay the consequences of that choice,” Dad says sternly.
<
br /> Turning to Mark, he says, “I’m sorry if that sounds harsh, Mark. But I can’t just forgive Cynthia for shooting at Finley, or Josh. I almost lost my baby girl because of her. I know this has ripped your family apart, and for that I’m truly, deeply sorry. I’m just so glad my nugget is as special as she is.” His own eyes glimmer with tears, his throat working double time.
Mom’s choked sob sounds beside me.
I’m pulled from Hunter’s side once again and enveloped between my mom and dad. Dad’s tears drench my hair as Mom’s soak into my sweatshirt. Dad reaches back and pulls Josh into our family hug. I’m surrounded by love and pain: a heart wrenching combination.
Dad even pulls Mark into the love huddle. Mark stands stiff for a couple of seconds before wrapping his arms around Mom’s and Dad’s shoulders. Mom sobs one more time before pulling Hunter in. His big body moves against mine as Mom shuffles back to give him room beside me.
As much trauma that has touched my family in recent weeks, we’re still a strong unit. We have some cracks to mend and patch, but we can do that. Together.
Our love huddle eventually breaks up, everyone moving back to their respective places in the small kitchen. Wiping tears and blowing noses quietly so as not to wake the boys a handful of feet away on the couch.
“I’m going to order some dinner in; I think everyone could use some normalcy right now,” Mom whispers. She’s moving into the living room to get her phone, then she turns and walks down the short hallway, lifting the phone to her ear.
“I’m going to go change.” I pull at the soaked front of my sweatshirt. I look at the damp spot in the middle of Hunter’s shirt. His tear puddle is about the size of a basketball. It looks really uncomfortable.
“I have some of the guys’ clothing here. Do you want to change really quick as well?” I offer to him.
He looks down, looks back at me. “Yeah, that would be nice.”
I take his hand, leading him to my room.
“I feel so illicit, having you in my room with Mom and Dad in the house at the same time. And, we’re going to be taking clothes off,” I whisper to him. I give him an exaggerated eyebrow wiggle. I can feel bubbles and butterflies zinging around in my stomach at the thought of getting to see some of his skin.
He laughs out loud, the sound booming into the room. I shush him quickly, not wanting to disturb the boys’ sleeping. I close the door to my bedroom behind us hurriedly. He looks like a naughty little boy who knows he won’t be punished.
He lifts his shirt up and over his body, revealing his abs and Adonis line. All laughter dries up in my throat as lust takes a strong hold.
His body is perfection wrapped in light bronze skin. Everything about him looks utterly kissable. His skin with the white golden hair on his arms and chest glinting in the overhead lights makes me lick my bottom lip. Setting off the contours of his abs, he actually has tiny shadows outlining each muscle of his abdominals.
His lower abdomen invites caresses and nibbling, the flat plane drawing the eye with the slightly darker golden happy trail narrowing before dropping below his waist band.
I hope I’m not drooling.
“You sure know how to make a man feel appreciated,” he says, just this side of shaky, with smoke and a deepening heat filtering through his tone.
“Sorry for staring.” I hurry to meet his eyes with my own. I feel a little dazed. “I’ve never been a big body admirer, mostly because of my job, but, Hunter, your body is beautiful,” I say. It’s one of the most beautiful male bodies I’ve ever seen. I have to trap my hands behind my back to keep from touching everything my eyes have glimpsed.
I stand there like an idiot. His roguish smile sends tingles and zings through my body. I can feel my body reacting to the heat and proximity of his.
“Do I get to repay the favor?” he asks, smoke in his voice.
I almost swallow my tongue. I just nod like a simpleton, no words currently able to make it from my brain to my mouth.
I start to pull my own saturated top off. Of course, because I’m trying for sexy, the shirt gets stuck on my boobs. My arms are trapped in the sleeves with the bottom fabric caught under my boobs. My face is covered in wet sweatshirt, and breathing is a getting a little difficult. I flail my arms, trying to get ahold of the shirt once again.
Boobs!!! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!
As much as I whine about my boobs, I do like my body. I like how I feel in it, how well it works for the job I have, and, while I do despise my boobs sometimes, I pretty happy with them too. I don’t really fit conventional models of sexy, especially in today’s society since I have enough meat on my bones to grab onto. But I like me.
I manage to get my shirt unstuck, and whip the sodden mess over my head. My hair is flying all around my head, I sound like I’ve just run a race, and I can feel the heat sliding up to my cheeks.
I’m freaking the eff out hoping Hunter likes my body too. I can feel my heart racing with nerves. I gather my courage, let the clothing fall to the floor, and wait. I haven’t felt this insecure about things in a long time. The last time I felt this awkward about my body, it ended in trauma and pain. I’ve worked hard to move past that experience.
It’s been a very long time since I’ve been this undressed in front of a guy. I’m not promiscuous, and I’ve been so busy concentrating on finishing school and setting up my businesses to worry about my single status.
Not that I think my body would repulse him or anything, but it’s really important to me for him to find me sexy. As sexy as I find him. My breath backs up in lungs, my palms start to sweat, my heart beat fills my ears, and I feel like I’m not getting enough oxygen into my lungs.
Screwing up the courage, I finally look up at Hunter. His slack-jawed look is a good start. At least he doesn’t look like he’s smelled something disgusting, or seen something disgusting. My next breath comes a little easier.
His gaze travels up and down my body, leaving touches of heat with every shift of his eyes. I arch my back just the slightest bit, showing the girls off to best advantage.
The awkwardness of the whole situation suddenly invades my brain, throwing ice on the heat that was suffusing my body.
I burst out laughing.
I slap a hand over my mouth as soon as the sound passes my lips.
Hunter’s startled eyes lose their glazed look. “What?”
The heat in his eyes and smoky voice begin to melt the ice.
“This has got to be the weirdest ‘unveiling’ I’ve ever seen, participated in, or heard of,” I get out between my giggles.
Hunter’s eyes glaze over once again, fixated on my boobs. They do tend to jiggle when I laugh. I don’t know if he heard me or not.
“Hunter?” I ask him.
No answer. I wave a hand in front of his face. Nothing.
“Hunter?” I call his name a little louder.
Still nothing.
“They’re just boobs, Hunter. I’m sure you’ve seen a million by now,” I snark at him.
I bounce on my feet; his eyes eagerly follow the movement of the girls.
I tap my palm against his face, not slapping him, but just trying to get his attention.
He looks like he’s coming out of a trance. He shakes his head like a dog shedding water. “Holy crap, Finley.” He swallows. He clenches his eyes closed for a second, tips his head back and stares at the ceiling, and just stands there in silence, breathing deeply.
“They’re just boobs,” I repeat, amused at his reaction.
He chokes on a snort, his head still tipped back. “Those,” he wags a finger between the ladies, “are not ‘just’ anything.” His head dips suddenly as he swallows, his Adam’s Apple sliding up and down the column of his strong throat.
“Well, mostly they’re annoying. Does that help you out any?” I ask playfully.
“Nope. Got anything else?” he asks. His head tips back to examine the ceiling once again.
I tip my own head back, maybe I’
ve missed something cool on my own ceiling.
Nope, just a ceiling. Although I should probably dust more often.
I lower my chin slightly to look at him again. “Are you going to look at me again, anytime soon?” I ask him. His reaction is cracking me up.
“Considering your parents are in the same house, along with some emotionally vulnerable guys whom you consider family, that answer is a big, fat, long no. And yes, that is a pun.” He adjusts the fit of his jeans, drawing my eyes to the ‘no’ he just mentioned.
His terms are not even remotely adequate for describing his ‘no.’
All of the saliva in my mouth evaporates. “I don’t know if that’s going to fit.” The words slip out with no direction from my brain.
His pained chuckle pulls my attention back up to his face. He’s got twinkles in his eyes as he meets mine.
“Well, we’ll just have to spend a lot of time making sure it does.” His voice is like velvet against my skin—rough and silky at the same time.
Decadent flames erupt in my bod, heat pools between my thighs, peaks my nipples, and brings on a languid heaviness to every other part of my body.
“Crap.” His lips form the word around his groan. He backs up, turns around quickly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to hit the ‘start engine’ button.” He squeaks out, his voice several octaves higher than usual.
I turn around too. If we can’t do anything about our current states, then we need to get covered and get back out to everyone else. Fast.
I leap into my closet around the corner from my bathroom. I yank on another sweatshirt. I pull one of the guys’ leftover t-shirts from the top shelf, and make it back out to the bedroom to find Hunter leaning over at the waist doing deep breathing exercises.
I toss his borrowed shirt over the end of the bed. “Shirt’s on the bed.”
I wonder if I’m going to need to do any clean up or nipple projection protection. I give myself a quick pat down. Nope, the ladies’ hats have been removed. I give a quick wiggle in my jeans.
Eh, could go either way. I turn back into the bathroom, closing the door, and do a little freshening up.
