Page 5 of Merritt and Her Childhood Crush
I shrug. “I didn’t bring much. My apartment in the city was half this size. Plus, I’m not staying long.”
“Of course. You’ll be out of here the first chance you get. Back to big city life.” His jaw tightens, and he spins around. “Let me get you some ice.”
“I can get my own.”
It’s true, even if it would involve painful hobbling.
Hunter only grunts at this and roots around in the kitchen, tossing his work gloves on the counter. I think about his words, the ones he threw like spears—that I’ll be gone the first chance I get.Back to big city life.
The problem is that I don’t have a big city life anymore. I quit my job. Sublet my apartment. Ran for the hills—er, the island. And though being on Oakley feels like trying to fit into the same shoe size I wore in eighth grade, I actually have no plans to leave.
Because I have nowhere to go.
My big city life went POOF! And the whole fraud realization has me questioning everything. The truth is—I’m not sure I know what I want, much less who I am anymore.
Hence the careless running on the beach leading to an emotional breakdown and a probably sprained ankle. Even if I won’t admit any of these things out loud.
I watch Hunter because I just can’t help it. He’s really grown into himself. Exactly who he was, just bigger. Older. Better looking. The boy I knew never would have snapped at me, but I’ve given him every reason to.
Back then and again today.
I’mthe only one who’s changed into this hard, unrecognizable version of myself—striving for perfection to the point of total exhaustion. Which is something I only realized when things fell apart. If I’m being honest—and Gran’s voice in my head is pretty much demanding it at this point—I hate the woman I’ve become.
Or … the one I’ve been pretending to be. The fraud. New York Merritt.
“Really, Hunter. I don’t need you.”
I don’t realize how harsh the words sound, how much meaning they convey, until they spill out of me.
Hunter pauses, one hand scooping ice out of the freezer. His deep brown eyes meet mine and hold.
“I know you don’t.”
He goes back to gathering ice.
I need something to do that isn’t staring at him, so I examine my ankle. I can’t really tell how bad it is, and I won’t until I get my sock and shoe off, but the ache seems to have subsided.
Or maybe it just feels better compared to the deep ache in my chest.
Hunter is there suddenly, kneeling by my feet. “Let me.”
I should protest—Ireallyshould—but I know he won’t let me.
And is it so wrong to want his touch as much as I want to push him away? I allow myself this one small thing even as I remind my heart that this man belongs to someone else.
I don’t fight as he oh-so-gently lifts my foot. I try to focus on the pain rather than his deft fingers pulling off my shoe. I hiss as he slides the sock down my ankle.
“I’m sorry,” he says. And when his eyes meet mine, his words carry much more weight.Yearsof it.
I drop my gaze, searching for some kind of appropriate answer when I realize something. The kind of something that freezes me in place.
Why isn’t Hunter wearing his wedding ring?
TWO
Merritt
If I weren’t half-hopping,half-wobbling on my stupid ankle, then wandering the aisles of Oakley Island’s one grocery store might actually be soothing. The wide aisles (so different from the cramped corner store closest to my apartment in New York). The neatly organized options. The uniquely Southern offerings I haven’t enjoyed since I was a kid—things like stone ground grits, Carolina Gold barbecue sauce, Moon Pies.
