The Hunter

“Just out of curiosity, how many arms have you been draped on?” I murmured into the shell of her ear, entertained by the goose bumps prickling her flesh.

“One,” she whispered. “I’m looking at him right now.”

“That takes the sting out of the compliment.” I laughed.

“Take the compliment, Hunter.”

“Take your clothes off, prey.”

We strolled into the dining hall, which grew louder and livelier with noise and laughter as we ambled in. When we stopped at the edge of the double doors, we noticed the room was filled with our loved ones.

Mom, Da, Cillian, Aisling, Troy, Sparrow, Sam, the Penrose sisters, and all the servants of the estate.

My parents turned to face us in unison, sensing my presence before I announced myself. Mom jumped out of her recliner like her ass was on fire, collecting Sailor and me into a greedy hug. The room went quiet as she let out a guttural shriek full of relief.

“You’re here. Oh my goodness, you’re really here. Thank you so much for convincing him to come, Sailor.”

“My pleasure, Jane. Hunter’s, too.” Sailor elbowed me pointedly, maneuvering out of the very awkward hug and leaving me to actually hug my mother for the first time in a decade.

I patted her back, and she stepped away, cupping my cheeks. She scanned my face, taking inventory. Her eyes were full of unshed tears, hope, and love—so much love, its weight nearly suffocated me. I wondered how I’d never seen it before. But the answer was clear: I’d never loved someone myself to know what love looked like.

Not truly.

Not until Sailor.

I placed one of my hands on my mother’s, squeezing it against my cheek. “Sorry I was an asshole.”

She shook her head. “No, Hunter. I’m the one who’s sorry. All I want is a chance to make it right.”

“You have it,” I answered. If I got a second chance not to be B-grade gigolo, why couldn’t she?

“Son,” Da called from the depths of the room, sitting on a golden recliner in the center of the dining hall. “Come sit. We have something to discuss.”

Cillian was seated to his right. Troy and Sam to his left. Sparrow sat so close to Troy, she was practically on his lap. There were two empty chairs in front of him, which I guessed were reserved for Sailor and me. The Fitzpatricks preferred to conduct their business privately, so this was out of character. We usually liked our encounters like we did our steaks: rare and without any add-ons.

I took Sailor’s palm in mine and led her to sit down in front of them.

“Thank you for coming, ceann beag.” Da bowed his head, letting out a ragged, relieved breath. He looked pained—humbled, almost.

Cillian tapped his hand impatiently, bringing him back to the moment.

Troy Brennan surprised me by being the first to talk.

“Sorry to interrupt your little Dr. Phil moment. Since some of us have real jobs to get back to, I guess I should do the talking. I met my wife, Sparrow, in quite unnatural circumstances. I married her because I felt inclined to, not because I was particularly in the mood for nuptials.” He took Sparrow’s hand. “Frankly, I didn’t think I had a good fit. I was a lone wolf, which suited me well, or so I thought. Turned out, all I needed was a good kick in the ass. Sometimes, what we want and what we need are two vastly different things. I learned that the unexpected way. So when Gerald came to me with a seven-digit business proposal, in which my daughter’s happiness could be enhanced, I took it.”

Sailor and I exchanged expressions. I could feel her pulse thrumming on her wrist against mine. We turned our gaze to my father.

That motherfucker…

“It is true.” Gerald sat back, pinching his lips together.

Everyone in the room held their breath. The air was thick with bittersweet agony.

Da continued, “I met Sailor Brennan months ago, while taking an archery class with a client, after years of not seeing her. Sailor’s trainer, Junsu, conducted the class for us. She came for her own practice when we were about to leave. We decided to stay and watch her. Her precision and care were compulsive, divine; after she was done, we congratulated her. We were standing in the parking lot, talking, when a thief snatched an elderly woman’s purse on the street. Sailor went after him like lightning when no one else did. She chased him across the street, jumped on him, brought him down, grabbed the purse, and hit him across the head with it for good measure. She returned the purse, walked back to us, smiled politely, and asked Junsu if she could come train earlier the next day. I thought to myself, this is the kind of kid who should be influencing Hunter—not the degenerate, nouveau riche Kardashian-style clowns he associated himself with in southern California. She had feisty Irish blood running through her veins, and I wanted you, Hunter, to remember that you were made of the same stuff—sturdy, rough, and capable. I admit I set you up for failure twice. One, I required you not to touch her for six months, knowing you would fail, because she had the fire you’ve been looking for your whole life. And two, I did not help you solve the Sylvester case. But only because I knew you were capable of doing that yourself. I wasn’t proving a point to me, son. That wasn’t the test. I was proving it to you, showing you that you could do it. This was not an audition for you to re-enter the family. You were always a part of us. I wanted you to unveil your own greatness. Guess what? You did.”