Page 89 of Because I Liked A Boy
The sun was dipping low, painting Maplewood in burnt orange when I dragged my last bag out to the car. The trunk slammed shut with a hollow thud that rattled through me.
Ruby leaned against the hood, arms crossed, trying to look steady even though her eyes were glassy. “You text me the second you get there,” she said firmly. “And Belle, if he—” She broke off, jaw tight. “If anyone tries anything, you call me.”
I nodded, gripping the strap of my bag like it could anchor me. “I will.”
She hugged me one last time, her hand clutching the back of my head like she didn’t want to let go. “Text me when you’re on the train,” she whispered fiercely. “Promise me, Belle.”
I nodded, my throat tight. “I promise.”
She pulled away reluctantly, then climbed into her car. The tail lights flared, then faded down the road, leaving me standing alone by my own car, keys cold in my shaking hands.
I’d just hauled my bag into the backseat when headlights swept across the driveway. My stomach dropped before I even turned.
The truck.
Hunter killed the engine and was out in seconds, his boots crunching against the gravel. His eyes locked on me immediately, stormy, desperate.
“Where are you going?” His voice was rough, frantic.
I swallowed hard, gripping the car door like it might hold me upright. “Home. London.”
His jaw tightened, his steps quickening until he was standing a few feet away. “Don’t please, just give me a chance. I need to explain before you leave.”
I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. “Explain? Hunter, there’s nothing you can say—”
“Ten minutes.” His voice cracked as he cut me off, hands flexing at his sides. “Just… ten minutes. If you still want to go after, I’ll let you.”
My heart pounded so hard I thought it might crack my ribs. For a long moment, I stared at him, weighing the ache in my chest against the rage clawing up my throat.
Finally, I lifted my chin. “You want me to hear you out? Fine. Talk. You’ve got ten minutes.”
Hunter exhaled like I’d just handed him the world, dragging a hand through his hair before meeting my eyes again. His voice was rough, low.
“Your father called me.”
The words slammed into me, but I stayed still, my grip on the car door white-knuckled.
“I was broke. Barely scraping by,” he said quickly, like he knew time wasrunning out. “Then he offers me more money than I’d ever seen to keep an eye on you. To report back. I told myself it was just business. Not personal.”
My chest ached, but I didn’t move.
“Then I met you,” he went on, his voice breaking. “And suddenly, it wasn’t a job anymore. It was you. Stubborn, sharp, impossible not to notice. And I—fuck, I couldn’t stop myself. I stopped sending him details, stopped taking his calls. I didn’t care about the money anymore. I only cared about you.”
A bitter laugh clawed out of me. “You cared? You cared while you cashed the check with my name on it?”
His jaw tightened. “I cared enough to walk away from it. Too late, yeah, but I did. You changed everything for me, Isabella.”
My throat closed, my tears hot and blinding. “And you ruined everything for me.”
Silence crashed down, thick and suffocating. He looked gutted, like every word I spoke sliced him deeper, but I didn’t let myself waver.
I shoved the car door open wider, my voice breaking as I forced the words out. “Your ten minutes are up.”
His lips parted, desperate, but he didn’t move closer. His eyes burned into me, storm-dark and raw. “I never wanted to be the reason you stopped believing in love.”
I slammed the door before he could say another word. The sound echoed like a gunshot.
And I drove away.
