Hunter flinched as the nurse stitched up the cut above his eye. Good thing they had a nurse on the premises, or Hunter would probably still be bleeding all over the gym mat.
“Feel better?”
Hunter glanced up and saw James leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed in front of his chest.
He turned back to the nurse. “Oh, I feel just perfect. Can’t you tell?”
James snorted. “Did it work?”
“Did what work?”
“Your plan.”
Hunter flinched again as the needle pierced his flesh. “What plan?”
“Your plan to let Scarlet punish you because you can’t do it yourself.”
“Don’t try to psychoanalyze me, Baxter.”
James walked closer. “That’s what you were trying to do, wasn’t it? Hoping that if she beats you up, it will lessen the guilt—the pain.”
The nurse placed a bandage over the cut, and Hunter got off the gurney. “I was giving her what she wanted, what she needed.”
“And what she needed was to beat your face to a pulp?”
“She needed to let out some of that rage, and I needed to feel pain. So we helped each other.”
Hunter brushed past James, and just as he was about to walk out of the infirmary, James called after him. “You love her?”
Hunter froze, and closed his eyes. Love her? He wasn’t even sure if that was possible. He was too fucked-up to love anyone. Besides, it seemed that whenever he felt something for someone, that person always ended up hurt…or dead.
He glanced over his shoulder. “People like us are incapable of loving.” And then he walked off, feeling heavy and defeated. He didn’t have the strength for Baxter’s psychoanalysis. He was tired. His head was pounding and his face felt like it was about to fall off.
When he walked up the stairs and stopped in front of the bedroom door, he steeled himself, not knowing what awaited him on the other side. He didn’t know if she would be angry or sad. But knowing Scarlet even if she was sad, she wouldn’t show it—not to him. She would hide her pain behind the mask of anger she always wore so well, too afraid to show weakness. He turned the doorknob and opened the door. Scarlet was walking from the bathroom over to the bed, patting the bandages around her hands. When she paused and looked up at him, their eyes met and for a brief moment Hunter wished he had the right to walk to her and take her in his arms. While they stared at each other, the air around them suddenly laden with both pain and desire, he noticed her suck in a breath.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice was soft, shaky. Every trace of the anger echoing through her voice as she yelled at him earlier was gone. Maybe his plan worked. Maybe by beating him she’d managed to let go just a little of her anger, of her pain.
He stepped further into the room. “I’m tired. I need some shuteye.”
“Here? There’s, like, ten other bedrooms you can stay in.”
“Like I told Riggs. Where you go, I go.” He took off his jacket and tossed it onto the chair in the corner.
“Hunter, you don’t have to stay. You don’t—”
“I know. But like I told you before, I made you a promise, and I intend to keep it.”
He walked to the bathroom door, and Scarlet turned to him.
“You don’t have to do this. You can leave. You don’t owe me anything.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Scar.”
He let his head hang down, not wanting to look into her beautiful blue eyes that would make him regret everything even more, and walked into the bathroom before closing the door behind him.
After taking a long shower, washing all the traces of Scarlet’s wrath off his body, Hunter stepped out into the bedroom. One of the bedside lamps was still on, and Scarlet was lying on the bed, her back turned to him.
He glanced at the couch in front of the window and saw she had left him a blanket and pillow. It was only when he walked closer that he noticed his chain had been placed there as well.
The metal was cold when he picked it up, heavy. Seven years. It had been seven years since she died, and still she completely ruled his life. Her death would always just be a heartbeat away, haunting him until his last breath.
Glancing at Scarlet, he caught her staring at him, but she turned around when their eyes met—again, shutting him out. It was something she was good at, shutting people out—just like him.
With a sigh and a heavy heart, Hunter took the chain and placed it around his neck. No matter how hard he tried, he would never be able to let go. Her ghost would follow him wherever he went.
That night, while Hunter struggled to sleep, he stared up at the ceiling, listening to Scarlet’s soft sobs. His heart ached for her. His body yearned for her. She probably thought he was sleeping, because she would never show weakness by crying while she knew he was listening. To show that she cared was not something she knew how to do.
More than anything he wanted to get into bed next to her, to hold her. He wished he could wipe the tears from her eyes, erase the hurt from her heart—but he couldn’t. Even though he would be trying to do the right thing, he would only make it worse. He always just made it worse. Scarlet was already fucked-up as it was, and Hunter had made it worse. He would never forgive himself for that, which was why he would only stick around until he was sure she was safe. She had been through enough, and he would be damned if he added anymore pain and torment to her life.
Hunter decided that the next morning he would corner Baxter, come up with a plan to sort this shit out as soon as possible. The sooner he left, removed himself from her life, the better. But he would not leave before he knew she was safe.
He owed her that.