Page 11 of Heart of Stone
“I’m good. Let me get dressed. Then I’ll take you up on the offer of helping me close up.”
SEVEN
AMY
We’d done a shabby job closing up, and I wanted to kick myself for it. I was sure I’d get a good scolding from Jack in the morning. And he’d been good to me, so I hated letting him down, especially when he wasn’t feeling great. But I hadn’t been able to work up the energy or enthusiasm I needed to clean the place up right. Hunter had helped, but something told me I would have done a better job without his large, hard to ignore presence. I was definitely sure I would have done a better job if I hadn’t caved almost the second the man walked into the bar. When it came to Hunter Stone, I had about as much willpower as a kid in an everything-is-free candy shop.
We climbed into the car. My silence and dark mood made it obvious that I hadn’t come out of the south end of our passion scene feeling any better about our relationship than I had going into it. Going into it. Hell,going indidn’t cover it. I’d nearly jumped the man. Now the bitter ache of regret tugged at every muscle in my body. I could still feel the delicious tenderness in my pussy and it made me that much sadder. It was there to remind me that I was justa fuck to him. There wasn’t ever going to be more than that between us. Like he’d told me many times, that was all he had to give.
I turned up the radio to avoid conversation, but by the time I pulled out onto the street to head home, he’d turned it back down. He stared straight ahead. “Talk to me, Street.” Right as he said it, his phone buzzed. He pulled it out and checked it, then pushed it back into his pocket. “What’s wrong?” he continued.
“That.” I waved my hand toward his pocket. “That’s all of it right there in a fucking nutshell.”
“I’m not following.” I could hear the irritation rise in his voice.
“Which girl was that? Or has it gotten to the point where you can’t even match faces to names?”
“What the hell does it matter? There’sthemand there’syou. You’re the onlyyou. Everyone else is just filler.”
“Filler? You mean insulation. Seal up your heart. That way nothing real ever has to happen between us.”
He looked over at me. “Nothing real? What the fuck was that back there? Felt pretty goddamn real to me.”
I squeezed the steering wheel, but what I really wanted to do was pound him like I had earlier. “You’re such an ass. You know exactly what I mean.”
“Nothing’s changed between us. Why can’t it just stay like this?”
“Nope. I’m done with it. Time to grow up, and I guess that means the two of us growing apart.” Even as I said it, I felt a cold tremor of heartache rush through me. Just being without him for three days had produced such an urge to betouched by him, I’d ignored all reason tonight. I had to steel myself against him or lose myself completely. “I’ve figured this all out. Us, I mean.”
“Yeah, what have you figured?”
“When we’re together, you know, messing around, everything works. When I’m with you, naked and wanting everything you can give— and you do give it well, asshole or not, you know how to please— I’m willing to be completely yours in those erotic moments. You own me when you’re between my thighs. But when it’s over, I want control back. I want to be independent to do what I think is right and not be watched over. Your possessiveness needs to end when I’m out of your bed. But it doesn’t. You have the freedom to do whatever you like but I don’t. And I’m tired of it. I have no fucking clue why it took me so long to realize it, but I know it’s not working for me anymore.”
Hunter faced forward and slumped down in the seat. He had to bend his long, thick legs to make room for them in my small car. I glanced over at him. He closed his eyes, but I knew he wasn’t sleepy.
My throat felt as if someone’s hand was wrapped around it. “You just need to let go of the damn leash, Hunter. You’re free to see whoever you like, and I want that too. No more scaring guys off.”
He didn’t open his eyes, but his Adam’s apple moved up and down along his throat as he swallowed. Deep down, I hoped he was swallowing back regret, swallowing back whatever it was that was keeping him from ever letting himself love me. I had always been confident that he would eventually come around, but tonight, as I was cradled in his arms, feeling every bit his and yet knowing that he wasn’tmine, I realized that I’d been kidding myself all along.
We were silent the rest of the ride home. I pulled into my driveway. He climbed out, walked across to his house and never looked back. I had no more of myself to give to him. I was going to grow that same hard outer shell he was so damn famous for and keep my feelings about him locked up for good.
He waited on his porch, and I knew he was waiting for me to get safely inside. It was those small, protective gestures that kept me hoping that he’d eventually come around. But now I realized they’d been just that, small, protective gestures, residual habits of our terrible childhoods when we’d all learned to look out for each other, and nothing more.
The house was quiet, but Mom had left the kitchen light on. Fortunately, my mom’s lack of interest in housekeeping had left our kitchen cupboards too greasy for the masking tape to adhere to. Most of it was falling off in long, dust covered strips, making the small, dingy room look slightly ridiculous.
A funny aroma greeted me as I stepped around the corner. An even more unusual sight met me in the kitchen, and it had nothing to do with the masking tape decor. A mixing bowl, cookie trays and a plate of what appeared to be homemade cookies sat on the kitchen counter. I hadn’t been able to place the aroma, but I hadn’t expected cookies. Of course, it had been so long since I’d seen a plate of homemade cookies in our kitchen, I might have forgotten what they smelled like. They appeared to be sugar cookies. My mom must have had a good, clear-headed night and momentarily lapsed back into reality.
It had been a long night of work, and the after-hoursactivityhad left me exhausted and hungry. It was almost comical to think how excited I was to be standing in front of a plate of homemade cookies. A brief, nostalgic memory of standing at the kitchen counter rolling out sugar cookies for Christmas passed through my weary head. I smiled thinking about my mom’s face being covered with flour and my fingers sticky with icing. I always made sure to sneak some out to the brothers. I was never allowed to invite them inside. My dad had told me having them in the house was like locking wild animals in a tiny box. He’d never had any compassion for anyone, and he had been only one step behind Hank Stone on the asshole chain. My mom had been one of the people to look the other way when it came to her neighbors, the Stones. She knew their father was a monster, but we were dealing with our own version of monster right in our own home.
I went to the refrigerator and pulled out the milk. My stomach growled as I poured myself a glass. I picked up a cookie off the plate and dipped it in the milk. The cookie was a little too solid to absorb the milk, but I wasn’t going to complain. My mom was out of practice, after all. In fact, our oven was out of practice too. I heard Mom’s footsteps coming down the hall as I put the cookie in my mouth and bit. A horrid, bitter taste filled my mouth.
“Amy, no! Don’t eat those!”
I spit the cookie bite out all over the counter and drank some milk fast to wash away the awful taste. I stared at my mom over the rim of the glass as I swallowed the soothing liquid. I lowered the glass and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Mom, what did I just eat?”
She looked even more distressed than usual as she stared down at the milky crumbs. “Did you swallow any?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe. It was awful, so I spit it out pretty fast.”
