I Think I Love You

by Layne, Lauren

  She pursed her lips. “Not really.”

  Hunter smiled, more than used to Taylor’s bluntness. He also knew the circumstances of Aidan’s conception—not planned but welcomed all the same.

  Hunter glanced over at Brit and the baby, waiting for the expected surge of terror at the thought that that could happen to them. Whatever they were, they weren’t on the baby track. Not even close, and yet . . .

  Brit murmured something unintelligible against the baby’s head, her finger stroking softly over Aidan’s cheek, and he felt something twist inside him.

  Not a twist of fear, but a twist of longing. A vision, almost, of Brit holding a baby, except it wasn’t Taylor and Nick’s son but their own, a little boy or girl . . .

  Hunter gave a quick shake of his head to clear the mental image that was suddenly entirely too compelling. They’d only been doing whatever it was they were doing for a couple of weeks. Weeks spent with them keeping it professional at work (well, except for that one time), but nights and weekends were for them. For dinners. Brunch. Movies. Sex. Lots of sex . . .

  It was too soon to be thinking in that direction, and even if it wasn’t, there was always the looming knowledge that eventually Hunter would have to choose. Between a life here with Brit, and a life at home near his family.

  Unless . . .

  No. He wasn’t even going there. Not yet.

  Aidan began to stir, making fussy little noises, his tiny fist gently thumping against Brit’s chest.

  “That’s his poop dance,” Taylor announced.

  “And, it’s my turn,” Nick said, setting his wineglass aside and standing. “Brit, can I rid you of the little stink pile?”

  “Only if you bring him back when you’re done,” Brit said, reluctantly handing over the increasingly fretting baby.

  Brit stood as Nick took his son into the bedroom, the dog racing after them with a squeaky toy in his snout.

  “Pardon me while I powder my nose,” she said.

  Taylor waited until Brit had disappeared into the bathroom before fixing her icy-blue gaze on Hunter. “What’s your plan, Cross?”

  He didn’t play dumb. Taylor had always been a straight shooter, and avoiding her questions only made her more persistent.

  “It’s like Brit said. We’re not putting labels on it.”

  “So, you sleep with her, date her, work with her, and yet she’s not worthy of being your girlfriend.”

  Hunter sat up a little straighter, his easygoing mood turning sharp. “Not what I said.”

  “So she is your girlfriend.”

  “Well, now, I don’t know, are we in high school? Should I ask her to go steady?”

  “I don’t know,” Taylor said with a deceptively sweet smile. “Should you?”

  “I’m not boyfriend material,” he said quietly.

  “No, definitely not.” Her voice was sarcastic. “Steadily employed at a cushy job, recently renovated apartment. Holds doors for women, loves his mom . . . yeah, no, you’re right. Who’d want to date you?”

  “I’m just not in the market for anything serious right now.”

  “Does Brit know that?”

  “Yes.” At least, he was pretty sure.

  Taylor refused to let up. “Do you love her?”

  Hunter froze in the process of pouring himself more wine from the bottle on the table.

  Love.

  He wasn’t one of those guys who got freaked out by the word. He loved his family. Loved his friends. And, yeah, that included Brit, obviously.

  But that wasn’t what Taylor was asking. . . .

  The bathroom door opened, and Brit’s reappearance saved Hunter from having to respond.

  Taylor’s warning glance told him that the discussion wasn’t over yet, but he was more than grateful for the reprieve. He didn’t know how he’d answer that question for Taylor.

  Wasn’t sure he could even answer it for himself.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The following morning, Hunter was making slow but steady progress through the slog in his email inbox.

  One of his employees wanted next Friday off and could he approve it. Another wanted to work from home next Tuesday to be present when the cable company came by. Cassidy wanted him to send over a proposal for their March Madness microsite. There were expense reports to complete, ass-kissing emails to write, team territory wars to mitigate. . . .

  Hunter took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. He liked his job, he did, but he was also a little . . . tired.

  Oxford was a huge magazine, and while he was proud to be a part of it, there was also a corporate big business aspect to his job that didn’t particularly excite him.

  He much preferred the rare occasions when he could meet with a couple of employees at a time, brainstorming, streamlining processes. Instead, he supervised the people that did all of that.

  It paid well, he liked his colleagues, his team, and yet if he was honest, he was sometimes a little bored with all the paper-pushing process crap.

  He glanced at the clock, hoping it would be close enough for a lunch break. Preferably with Brit.

  Preferably someplace where nobody from work would see them so he could feel her up under the table.

  He closed his eyes and slumped in his chair. Not only was it not even ten, but the whole lunch-with-Brit longing was yet another thing on his mind. He may not know how to define what he and Brit were on a personal level, but he did know what they were on a professional level.

  He was her boss. And he was sleeping with her. It wasn’t right, and if it continued, there’d have to be some changes. For her sake, for the sake of his other employees . . .

  He didn’t know how the hell to resolve it, but . . . Cassidy might. God knew the man had some experience with employees hooking up. Or he could go to Cole and Penelope directly, though that was different. They were peers. They both reported to Cassidy, neither to the other.

  Hunter’s cell buzzed and he grabbed for it, grateful for a distraction from his thoughts.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  There was a too-long pause, and when his mother responded, there was a definite wobble to her voice. “Hi, honey. How are you?”

  He immediately sat up straighter. “What’s wrong?

  “You sound upset,” he said, keeping his voice gentle when she didn’t immediately reply.

  When she did reply, it was with a sob.

  Hunter’s stomach dropped. “Is it Dad? Did something fall through with the Malik papers?”

  She sucked in a hiccup breath, as though trying to pull herself together. “It’s Blake. Have you spoken with him?”

  “Sure,” Hunter said slowly. Blake was his oldest brother. They weren’t quite as close as Hunter and Dustin, who was closer in age, but they checked in every couple of weeks or so.

  “Recently?”

  Hunter thought back. “Last weekend? Maybe the week before. I called to wish Bridget a happy birthday. Why?”

  “He hasn’t been feeling well lately, and Jana made him go to the doctor, just to be on the safe side. They ran some tests. . . .”

  Shakily, Hunter set an elbow on the desk, rested his head in his hand as he braced for the worst.

  “He has cancer, Hunter. His thyroid . . .”

  Hunter felt his ears ringing as he tried to process this. Cancer. His brother was barely forty, for God’s sake. . . .”

  “What’s the prognosis?” he asked nervously.

  “They caught it early, but it’s . . . well, it’s cancer, sweetie. They want to start treatment as soon as next week.”

  Fuck. So not a slow-growing we’ll get to it cancer, but the real deal.

  “Jesus,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face. “How’s he handling it?”

  “Oh, you know him. Stubborn, insisting he’ll beat it, but I’m sure he’s terrified. Jana and the girls too. Everyone’s thinking positive, but we’ve got a long journey ahead of us.”

  Yes. They did. As a family and . . .

&
nbsp; The company. Blake was their father’s right-hand man. He’d been groomed to take over the company someday, and Hunter knew that Blake and their father had been in discussion about transition as Dennis approached retirement.

  Hell, for that matter, it was Blake who was always jokingly-but-not-jokingly telling Hunter to get his ass back to Kansas City and fix their website already.

  “Blake wanted to tell you himself, and I’m sure he’ll call you soon,” his mom was saying, “but he and Jana took the kids to the lake house for a couple days while they all come to grips with everything. . . .”

  “Sure, yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Mom. What can I do?”

  “Oh, nothing, honey. It’s up to prayers and medicine.”

  It wasn’t the whole truth, and they both knew it. He might not be able to fight his brother’s cancer. But he could do his brother’s job. Parts of it, anyway.

  His mom made a frazzled sound, as though she was barely hanging on. “Hunter, honey, I have to go. Your sister’s calling on the other line. Your father and I are going to meet her and Dustin for lunch, so we can tell them in person.”

  “Right, sure,” he said, suddenly feeling a million miles away from his family. Hell, he might as well be. He wasn’t there.

  “Your dad and I will call you later, okay? I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  Hunter hung up the phone, feeling numb and yet also . . . clear. Clear on what he needed to do.

  No, what he wanted to do. What, on some level, he’d wanted to do for a long time but had been waiting for the right time to do.

  Now was that time.

  He felt a fierce rush of longing for Brit. For his best friend to hug him and tell him it would be okay, because Brit wouldn’t lie to him. If she said it would be okay, then it would.

  But telling her about Blake would also mean he’d have to tell her everything.

  He didn’t know if he could bear the goodbye. Not just yet.

  Instead, he slowly pushed back his chair and stood. He walked down the hall to Cassidy’s office, relieved to see that his boss was behind his desk.

  Hunter knocked on the door. “Hey, boss. You got a minute?”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Hunter was acting weird.

  No, not entirely accurate. Hunter had been acting weird for days. Brit had given him space, knowing her best friend well enough to know that he was a thinker.

  He sorted things out by chewing on them in his brain for days, not by talking them out. But eventually he would talk. He’d say what was bothering him, and she’d be there for him.

  It had been the way they’d done things for their entire friendship, and she was coming to learn that his mysterious, brooding silences were a lot more unnerving now that they were in a relationship, or whatever the heck they were doing.

  And she wished like hell that she knew. They’d agreed not to put labels on it; she knew that. She was fine with that. It made things easier, actually, especially on the work front. Though she was confident she and Hunter had been as professional as possible while in the office, it was becoming increasingly uncomfortable to have to talk to him in meetings, to stand side by side at presentations. Pretending to be just colleagues when they knew each other naked.

  Even more uncomfortable were Hunter’s staff meetings. She was pretty sure he didn’t treat her any differently, but what happened if they ended things?

  Or took things to another level?

  Or when her peers found out? They’d all been cool about her and Hunter’s friendship over the years, but a romantic relationship was different.

  What happened when Brit was up for promotion and got it? Would it be on merit?

  Because she was the girlfriend?

  Was she the girlfriend?

  The whole thing made her head hurt. For that matter, she wondered if that was what was bugging him. He’d been talking to Cassidy more than usual the past couple of days.

  Were they talking about transferring her? Or transferring Hunter?

  He’d been all but silent throughout dinner, leaving Brit to carry the conversation. Which she didn’t mind, and yet she was increasingly concerned.

  He might not want to talk about whatever was on his mind, but he needed to. She could tell by the dark circles under his eyes, the distracted silences that said he was past the point of processing and had entered the dwelling stage.

  They opted to walk home after dinner rather than cab the few blocks. Maybe not their best decision, as the night was unseasonably cold, even by New York–winter standards, and she hugged his arm to her as they walked in silence back toward his apartment.

  Hunter didn’t notice.

  He hadn’t invited her to come home with him and in fact seemed a bit tenser with every step, which only made her more concerned.

  She let him have his quiet for now, but once they were back at his place, she was going to do some gentle prying. It had been three days of this. She didn’t know what the heck had happened in between their dinner party at Taylor and Nick’s and now, but something was haunting him.

  He was more or less normal at work, at least to everyone else, but she knew better. His smile didn’t reach his eyes and, most telling of all, his office door was always closed.

  Even to her.

  They entered his apartment building, walking up the stairs in silence. Outside his door, Brit waited as he pulled the key from his pocket.

  Hunter hesitated before sliding the key into the lock, and instead of opening it, he turned toward her.

  For the first time in days, he seemed to really see her, and what she saw on his face terrified her.

  Fear. Pain. Regret.

  He set a hand to her cheek. “Brit.”

  She lifted a hand to his wrist, wrapped her fingers around it, trying however she could to offer comfort.

  “Brit,” he said again, his eyes closing for a moment, looking unbearably tired.

  “What is it?” she asked softly.

  His eyes opened again, locking on hers. “You know that you mean everything to me.”

  She smiled. “Those words would be a little less scary if you hadn’t been avoiding me for the past couple days. What’s going on?”

  He took a deep breath and stepped back. Instead of answering her question, Hunter pushed the door open but didn’t move.

  Giving him a puzzled look, Brit stepped into his apartment and turned on the light. She froze.

  There were . . .

  Moving boxes. Everywhere.

  This couldn’t be right, she thought, increasingly panicked. Maybe he was just purging, donating some stuff to Goodwill . . .

  Then she saw a stack of boxes near the bathroom, already labeled. KITCHEN. BATHROOM. CLOSET. BOOKS.

  These weren’t things he was giving away. They were things he was moving.

  “Hunter?” she questioned him, her voice shaky.

  She turned toward him, but he didn’t meet her eyes as he dropped his keys on the counter and shut the door.

  “Hunter.” Her voice was sharper this time. “What is this?”

  Finally he looked at her, and the resigned determination on his face made her chest tighten.

  “I’m moving, Brit.”

  She shook her head, not understanding. Not wanting to understand.

  “Moving? Where?” Brit asked. Her voice was steady, but her hands were not. She felt like her knees could buckle at any time.

  “Home. Back to Kansas City.”

  She took a deep breath. Okay. Okay. She couldn’t say she hadn’t known this would probably happen someday, but this . . . the already-packed boxes, the TV on the floor instead of mounted on the wall, the empty feeling . . .

  This wasn’t someday, this was . . . it seemed soon.

  “When?” she asked, looking back at him.

  Hunter’s eyes pleaded with her to understand. “Next week.”

  Her knees that had been threatening to buckle? They did just that.

  Chapter Twenty-
Five

  “Brit!” Hunter’s throat knotted in fear as he saw his best friend sink slowly to the ground, as though her legs would no longer support her.

  He crouched beside her, and she stared up at him with eyes so full of hurt and confusion that the knot in his throat turned into a lump. This was exactly what he’d been avoiding. Putting off.

  Hurting her.

  And he realized too late, too stupidly, that by putting it off he’d been protecting himself and hurting her worse.

  “What do you mean, you’re moving next week?” she whispered.

  His head fell forward in his crouched position, and he stared at his hands, clasped loosely between his knees. “It’s my brother. Blake. He’s got thyroid cancer.”

  Brit made a sound of dismay, her hands immediately reaching out to clasp his in comfort. “Oh, Hunter. Hunter.”

  He pulled back and stood, not at all sure he deserved her comfort.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, pushing to her feet. She looked like she wanted to step toward him, but she kept a wary distance. “Is he . . . do they know his chances?”

  “They caught it early,” he said, “but he starts chemo and all that shit next week, so they’re not fucking around.”

  “You’re going to help out with the company,” she said, understanding immediately, because of course she would. “To be there for them.”

  He shrugged. “For them. With them. I belong there, Brit.”

  She flinched slightly, though she nodded, then suddenly she went still.

  “Wait . . .” Her eyes scanned the room, and this time when she looked back there was anger in her gaze as well. “This is more than a few hours’ worth of packing.”

  He swallowed. “Yeah.”

  “When did you find out?” she asked, enunciating each word as though it pained her, but she had to get them all out.

  He bit the inside of his cheek, relishing the pain. Deserving it. “Tuesday.”

  “Tuesday,” she said softly. “And today is Friday. You’ve known for three days that your brother has cancer and you didn’t tell me? Why?”

  He shoved his fingers into his hair and pulled lightly. “I don’t know. Because I’m an idiot.” “But, Hunter”—she waved her arm at the boxes—“you can’t just up and leave. Cassidy will understand, but you still need to tell him—”