Anything For Love (The Hunter Brothers Book 1)

by Lola StVil

  “I take it she’s not fragile?”

  “Are you kidding? That lady could easily take any of us on. She is fit and in perfect health. She just likes making us feel guilty. But she puts up with so much because of our line of work, we get it.”

  “And you said you’d quit for her but she said no?”

  “Yeah, she did. It was hard for her. I know it was. But in the end, she loved me enough to allow me to do what I do. What I need to know is where you stand on that. I know it was hard to sit and watch that story play out. And baby, I am sorry it freaks you out. But I need to know, is this something you can live with?”

  “Before I answer that”—she stops midsentence and flares her arms out as if she’s about to make a grand announcement—“how do you feel about the wide, wondrous world of …accounting!”

  I throw my head back and chuckle as I grab her and place her on my lap. I hold her tightly against me and lean her head to the side so I can have access to the nape of her neck. I squeeze her firmly and kiss up and down her neck.

  God, I love this woman.

  “Babe, I know it’s not easy being with a cop. But I need to know that you’re up for it. Are you?”

  She inhales deeply and looks at me. “Yes, I am. I am up for it. But no matter what happens, you make sure you bring your ass home to me, every night. Got it?” she says. I suppress a smile. Damn, she’s sexy as fuck when she takes that tone.

  "Do you understand, Mr. Hunt? You will make it home safe every night, right?”

  “Damn right.”

  A few days have passed since Wyatt was shot. He keeps reminding me that it was just a graze. He thinks it will make me feel better—not gonna happen. But I am grateful that it wasn’t worse. And while I hate that he is on such close terms with danger, I couldn’t picture taking that away. It’s so easy to tell that he loves what he does. Still, waiting to hear if he was okay that night after the club was pure torture.

  The next day, I begged him to call out of work. He did but only so that I would see he was just fine. We spent the day looking for funding online and taking turns being on hold with the insurance company. He made lunch and we actually got some downtime. We had Bree and Jana over for dinner. Bree wasn’t the least bit remorseful about what she did in the alley. She was, however, ready to go back home and hold Lily in her arms. I think she just needed to be wild and crazy for a night. Wyatt had to leave dinner early when Decker came by and picked him up so they could go to the memorial service for the cop who died in the warehouse. I could have sworn I saw a weird look between Jana and Decker when he first entered the apartment but I may be wrong.

  I would love to remind Wyatt that he agreed to let me be bait because I don’t want him to drag his feet on this. But today is not the day for that. Today is Rose’s birthday and we are headed to the gravesite. I laid out his clothes for him, a dark suit with a blue tie, which brings out his eyes. I step back and look him over.

  “You look very handsome, Mr. Hunter.”

  “Well, you look even better,” He says as he kisses my temple. I’m wearing a sensible black dress with low heels. I hope it’s okay for the occasion. His family is having a driver pick us up and take us to the mausoleum where she’s buried. Wyatt gets a text letting him know that the car has arrived.

  “I guess we better go,” he says nervously.

  “Let’s go wish your sister a happy birthday.”

  “Baby, I don’t…I don’t know if I can do this,” he says, suddenly standing still on the way to the door. I place my hand on either side of his face and look into his eyes.

  “I’m gonna be there the whole time. And I won’t let go of your hand. Promise. Come, let’s go see the girl that ruled over you five boys,” I tease.

  He laughs. “Yeah, she sure did rule over us.” He takes a deep breath and we are once again on our way.

  ***

  The town car pulls up to a large, vast, and beautifully decorated cemetery. Although it’s cold out, it’s bright and the sun above is gleaming. The driver lets us out just as another town car pulls up behind us. Wyatt takes my hand and we walk over to the car. He opens the door for the woman I’m guessing is his mother.

  Wow…

  Wyatt was right; his mom is in perfect shape. Her body is toned and her posture is impeccable. She’s stunning. She’s in her sixties but looks more like she’s in her late forties. Her porcelain skin has very few wrinkles, her heart-shaped lips have a natural rosy hue to them, and her hair is pinned in a sophisticated ponytail. She’s wearing a flowing silky cream-colored dress with red roses stitched into its hem. It could easily have just come off the runway. She has a Hermes crocodile handbag that I’m sure cost more than my car.

  He embraces his mother and she holds on tightly to her youngest son. She’s already in tears. When she pulls away, she takes tissues out of her purse and confesses that she thought he wouldn’t actually show up.

  “No, Mom. I’m here. Thanks to my girl. Winter, this is my mom,” he says as he clears the path for us to shake hands.

  She doesn’t extend her hand. Instead she pulls me in and hugs me. She whispers in my ear, “Thank you for bringing him.” I nod and smile back at her. She looks like she would be the perfect well-dressed villain in a movie. But she’s not. There’s warmth in her voice and in her demeanor.

  “It’s this way, son,” she says as she guides us towards her daughter’s burial place. We enter a garden with an archway, and just beyond that lies a small building that looks like a mini steeple. There are white marble benches on either side of the sacred entrance.

  “This place is really beautiful, Mom,” he says, taking her hand.

  “Do you like it?” she says desperately.

  “Yes, it’s perfect,” he replies.

  She laughs and cries at the same time. “I just knew it would work because there’s so much sunlight in this part of the yard. She loved being surrounded by sunlight,” Mrs. Hunter says.

  “When she was little, she hated nighttime. She used to have like three or four night-lights on,” he explains to me.

  “No, I think she had five. She found that hideous toad light at some garage sale, remember?” Mrs. Hunter asks.

  “Yes! I can’t believe I forgot about that. Babe, it was truly the ugliest thing you ever laid your eyes on. It was chipped, discolored, and the tongue of the frog had to be yanked in order to turn the light on,” he explains as the two of them share a laugh.

  “Why was she so in love with it?” I ask.

  “She said it seemed lonely and it needed her,” Mrs. Hunter replies with wonder in her voice.

  “She called it Mr. Awesome,” he tells me. “And if we ever did anything to her and had to say we were sorry, she wouldn’t accept it unless we said sorry to Mr. Awesome too,” he says, shaking his head.

  “Winter, you should see this man right here trying to get forgiveness from a chipped toad light,” his mom teases.

  “I had to, babe. If Mr. Awesome didn’t ‘accept’ my apology, she’d run and tell Mom. And we’d get grounded,” he adds.

  “What were you saying sorry for?” I ask.

  “Oh, those boys thought of a thousand ways to torture her. They would scare her with fake bugs in the bed, they’d tell her ghost stories so she couldn’t sleep at night, you name it and those boys did it to her. But my baby was tough. She got good at giving it back. My boys taught her to be strong because God knows she’d need to be,” Mrs. Hunter says as the laughter dies in her voice.

  “Are you ready to go in, Mom?”

  “Why don’t you go first? I’ll wait out here,” she says as she takes a seat on the bench alongside the entrance. He leans over and kisses his mom on the cheek and takes my hand. And together we enter the marble hallway and find the large plaque bearing his sister’s name. He runs his fingers over the etched words on the wall.

  “Rose Mary Elisabeth Hunter: Beloved daughter, sister, friend, and all around badass.”

  He smiles when he sees the last part
of the engraving; I guess he didn’t know it was there. But he tells me that he’s glad because it reminds him of how crazy and outlandish she was.

  “Hi, Rosy…I’m sorry it took so long to come see you. You know I suck with things like this. The only one who could get me here was this woman next to me. But I have a feeling you know that already…”

  As he begins to talk to her, I slowly let go of his hand. I think he’s going to be okay. And I really want him to get a chance to say all the things he’s wanted to say without an audience. So I squeeze his hand and then quietly slip out. It’s only right that I give him and Rose time alone. I step outside and go check on Mrs. Hunter.

  “Are you cold? Maybe there’s a place you can warm up,” I suggest as I look around.

  “No, not at all. The weather is rather mild considering what it could be this time of year,” she replies.

  “That’s true, this time last week, it was insanely cold.”

  “Come over and sit next to me,” she says. I do as she asks.

  “I don’t know if it’s the right time but I really love your handbag,” I admit, unable to stop myself.

  “It’s always the right time to talk handbags. And don’t forget the shoes. I got this little number in Paris,” she says, sticking out her foot so I could see her stylish heels.

  “Very nice,” I admit.

  “People in my position, my…tax bracket so to speak, they tend to be…narrow-minded. I never wanted that for my kids. I wanted them to know fine things like a good bottle of wine or a trip to Italy. But I also wanted them to know about the important things—things that couldn’t be purchased in a store—like love and kindness.”

  “You’ve done a great job. Wyatt is so sweet and he’s just…a really great guy,” I reply.

  “Yes, I think his father and I have done well enough.”

  “Is his dad coming?” I ask.

  “No, he comes to see Rose on the day she died. I prefer to come on her birthday. Everyone has their own way in which they like to remember. Now, tell me, how is my son?”

  “He’s doing okay in there. I think talking to Rose will really help him.”

  “Oh, I’m sure of it. He just needed someone to get him here. And that someone was you. Thank you.”

  “I’m happy to help.”

  “My son doesn’t open up to anyone. But he seems to have taken to you—very quickly.”

  “Yeah, kind of,” I reply, not sure where this is going.

  “Now please don’t take offense to what I’m about to say,” she begins.

  Crap.

  “I’m sure you can understand, my family is very important to me. When they are serious about someone, I like to have them checked out. It’s the world we live in now. And having said that, my team found a video of you and some young man, taking part in some rather unexpected behavior.”

  Ohmygod…kill me. Kill me. Now.

  “How did you…I can’t believe…it’s not what you think…” I stand up and I can’t seem to catch my breath.

  “Youth is such a fragile thing. Relax, Winter. I look into anyone who enters my family. And in addition to the video of you, I found out about your company and all the hard work you’ve put into your program. You were in foster care, no doubt lost and afraid of the world. And once you found a home, you went back to help others in the same position. I’m very impressed. And I don’t care about the video.”

  “Then why did you bring it up?” I ask.

  “Before I met Wyatt’s father I was in love with a snake. He would get his teeth into me and drain all my sense of self, my sense of worth. He was a parasite. And I vowed never to get involved with anyone again because it just hurt too much. But Wyatt’s dad didn’t give up on me, even when I turned him down—repeatedly.

  “But in the end, it wasn’t Wyatt’s dad who saved me from being alone forever or from being swallowed up by bitterness. In the end, it was me. I saved myself by letting go and letting him love me. Now, I don’t know all the details of the video or vile creature who made it. But something tells me it wasn’t with your consent. Am I right?”

  “Yes,” I mumble miserably.

  She picks my head up and speaks in a sincere tone. “My dear, the world is full of men who would move to break you. But whether they are successful depends solely on you.”

  “I’m trying, I am. And Wyatt is more than I could have hoped for. He’s done everything he can to take me into his heart. I just wish I was…less broken. He’s good to me, he tells me he loves me, and he cooks for me, which seems to always shock—”

  She burst into tears, right there without any warning.

  Oh shit, I broke Wyatt’s mother!

  “Mrs. Hunter, what is it? Whatever I said, I’m sorry,” I beg as I search for the pack of tissues I placed in my purse earlier. I try to console her; thankfully it doesn’t take long. Soon her tears turn to laughter. She looks relieved and blissfully happy. And me, well, I’m lost.

  ***

  “Can you please tell me why that’s a big deal?” I beg a few moments later.

  “He didn’t tell you about his history with cooking?” she asks.

  “No, not really,” I confess.

  “Well, I guess I can understand that…” she says.

  “He told me that he and Rose used to cook together but I have a feeling it’s more than that. I can’t really get it out of him. I was wondering if you’d tell me—if it’s not an imposition. I’d just really like to know as much as I can about him,” I admit.

  “What exactly did he reveal?” she asks.

  “He said that he cooked for her and that she got really sick and so he didn’t cook again.”

  “It’s more than that, so much more…” she says, sounding distant.

  “Mrs. Hunter, if you don’t want to talk about it—”

  “No, I will talk about it with you because of what you mean to him.”

  “Thank you,” I reply softly.

  “Cooking became something that connected them in a way that no one in the family could have predicted. When you are gravely ill, the whole world boils down to your illness. But when the two of them were in the kitchen together, it was about so much more. It’s like the two of them found a world where she wasn’t sick. She was a chef. They didn’t talk about medicine and pain; they talked about measurements and mixing spices. They could go on for hours cooking these amazing dishes. In the beginning it was awful but over time, they got very good at it.

  “When she found that cookbook with dishes from around the world, they became obsessed with that thing. It was their escape. But even more than that, my son found a talent. A joy he never had before. It helped him not only connect to Rose but to black out some of the ugliness that came with his job. Sometimes I’d stand in the doorway of the kitchen and watch them cook together. It was like they were floating. My kids found a way to live above the harsh reality of life, even if it was for only a few hours.

  “Sometimes life can be cruel, it gives just to take away. Rose began to get sicker and sicker. Soon she couldn’t stand up on her own. We knew it was just a matter of time but we just couldn’t face it. Wyatt would pick out a dish for her to make knowing she wouldn’t be able to get out of bed. He’d keep hoping but at the end of the day, he had to make it himself and give it to her. Soon, she had to go back to the hospital to stay and we knew she’d most likely never come back to the house.

  “Wyatt stood in her room and I could see his heart breaking. I could almost hear it. He missed so much; he could not stand to be near her things. And going into the kitchen to cook was out of the question. He lied to her and said that he was still cooking and continuing to follow the dishes from the cookbook but she knew it wasn’t true. She knew he’d stopped cooking; he’d stopped living. He was just trapped in the middle of some kind of mind-numbing pain. And she begged him to get back to the kitchen. She pleaded with him but it was too hard. He couldn’t take being there without her.

  “One day, she had us bring him i
nto her hospital room and she told him she was coming home because she wanted him to cook her favorite meal—spinach and goat cheese ravioli. She loved that dish. She could eat it every day and never get tired of it. That day that she asked to come home was the best day of our lives. She was renewed somehow. My baby had a brand-new light in her eyes. She was better. I don’t know how else to explain it. She was stronger and she was absolutely glowing. Even the nurses said so.

  “Wyatt was beside himself, he was so happy. He went out and shopped like crazy to make her meal. She didn’t want to be in her old room, she wanted to be in the living room, where she had the perfect view of her brother cooking just for her. So, we set up her bed, and she watched with a smile on her face as Wyatt worked his magic in the kitchen.

  “When he was done, he set the tray before her. She took one bite and smiled. She told him that she loved him and she asked for the salt. It was strange because he always put just the right amount of seasoning; it was always to her liking. But he said okay and he went back into the kitchen to fetch her the salt. When we came back, her eyes were closed.

  “He knew she was gone. He realized then that it wasn’t about him making her favorite meal; it was about making her last meal. My baby knew that day was going to be her last. She sent him into the kitchen because she didn’t want him to see her close her eyes for the last time. I came into the living room to find him holding her body, sobbing and pleading, ‘Please, Rosy, not yet. Not yet.’

  “We came together as a family to say goodbye to our Rose; all five of my boys were broken but it hit Wyatt the hardest. It destroyed him. And a few days later, we got a recording she had made for us. We never knew about it until we were gathered at the house and a friend of the family admitted he recorded it for her as a favor. He played the recording for us.