Page 55 of Because I Liked A Boy
“Ten,” I correct. “With barbecue sauce. Don’t you dare swap it for sweet and sour.”
“Noted,” he says, typing fast, eyes glinting.
“They remind me of Nathan,” I admit quietly, the name slipping out. “We used to sneak them after… things. He’d make a whole production out of ordering two apple pies just to see if he could get the server to laugh.”
My throat tightens. Hunter doesn’t comment, doesn’t tease. Just nods once and keeps typing, as if holding that memory safe.
His grin softens. “Then McDonald’s it is.”
Hours later, wrappers litter the table. Hunter sprawls on the floor, cheeseburger in hand, smirking up at me.
“This,” he says, mouth full, “is real friendship. Forget wine and candlelight—show me a girl who downs nuggets, and I’ll show you true love.”
“Shut up.” I toss a fry. He pops it in his mouth.
For the first time all night, my chest feels lighter.
The grease slicks my fingers. When I reach for a napkin, Hunter beats me to it. He wipes my hand himself, slow and deliberate. My throat tightens at the intimacy—so ordinary, so soft, yet it burns hotter than the kiss under the stars.
Without thinking, I brush at the smear of oil on his forearm, my thumb lingering a second too long. The contact jolts us both.
His smirk fades, gaze steadying on mine.
“You ready to talk about it now?”
His voice is steady, but there’s something else underneath it. A dare. A promise.
My stomach twists. And just like that, the night shifts.
Into the Unknown
My chest tightens. I should look away, but his gaze anchors me, pulling the words to my throat.
“It was the night everything broke,” I whisper, fingers twisting the hem of my t-shirt. “My dad’s gala. All glitter and orchids and lies. That’s where it started.”
Hunter doesn’t interrupt. He just leans forward, forearms braced on his knees, like he’s willing to hold the silence as long as it takes.
“My brother, Nathan he saw her that night. Sofia. One of Dad’s assistants, except she wasn’t just that. She walked in wearing silk and diamonds, holding the hand of a girl. Fifteen years old. Penelope. His daughter. My… half-sister.”
The word still feels poisoned in my mouth.
Hunter’s jaw ticks, but he doesn’t speak. His stillness tells me to keep going.
“Nathan lost it. In front of everyone—investors, board members, Mum. He called Dad out, said he wouldn’t stay silent anymore.” My throat burns. “I’ve never seen him so angry. And when he stormed out, I followed.”
The memory crashes back, marble floors, whispered gasps, the cold slap ofnight air.
“He was drunk,” I force the words through the tightness in my chest. “Too much whisky. He wanted to drive, but I wouldn’t let him. I made him give me the keys. Told him if he wanted to leave, fine but not like that.”
My hands shake. I tuck them under my thighs, but it doesn’t stop the tremor.
“I thought I was doing the right thing.” The words are jagged, raw. “But the brakes—they weren’t right. I felt it the second we pulled away. Too soft. Too slow.”
Hunter’s brows draw tight, but he stays quiet, letting me bleed it out.
“And then—” My voice splinters. The fox frozen in the headlights, the slam of the pedal dropping uselessly beneath my foot. “I tried to stop. I couldn’t. The wheel went. The world just—” My hand jerks through the air, helpless.
The memories pile one on top of the other until my chest feels like it’s caving in. “There were sirens. People shouting. I remember the glass cutting into my skin, the taste of blood in my mouth. I remember them pulling me out, strapping me to a gurney.” My throat cracks. “And Nathan… Nathan was still in the car.”
