Page 30 of Reverie
“No, he’s just controlling to a fault. He locked you away. Twice! He got you knocked up and did so knowing that you were in a vulnerable state.”
The shocking accusation causes me to sputter as I formulate a response. “He isn’t—he didn’t manipulate me into getting pregnant. I was a willing participant in that.”
“Were you really, Winter?” She blinks at me.
“I—I,” I stammer. I’m going to throw up again. “I want my baby. I want this,” I reply.
Veronica’s face softens. “Of course you do, Winter. And I love them already. But Hunter’s making life choices for all of us, and to be completely frank, I’m not related to him, nor am I fucking him, so…” Veronica shrugs to communicate the silent part of her rant: She’s not going to let Hunter Brigham get her or her daughter killed.
“What do you suggest then?” I say. A headache blooms behind my eyelids.
She switches Summer to the other side, using the same skills to keep her breast covered.
“We need to go to the top. The scary Russian?—”
“Ukrainian,” I correct.
“Ukrainian. We need to go to him to figure out what the fuck is going on. Then we need to bypass Hunter and decide the safest option forus.”
Her plan makes sense. It really does, but….
“Let me talk to him. He’s just agitated right now. I did just get shot, and his son was drugged and nearly abducted. I can get him to be a team player.”
I think.
Veronica stares at me in silence. After several long blinks that communicate many different messages, she speaks.
“You have one shot, and then I’m gonna do what I do. Because I love you so much, Winter, but I’ve got to look out for myself and Summer.”
She delivers the words with no heat. I don’t blame her because she’s right. She has to look after herself and her child.
And so do I.
“Right,” I mumble.
The IV pump whirrs as we sit without talking, so when the curtain slides back, I jump.
“All right, one Hunter Brigham comin’ right up,” Luna drawls, opening the fabric wide.
Hunter rounds the corner, taking slow steps into the room. He’s changed clothes since I last saw him, and he wears a plain T-shirt and jeans. It’s such a casual look that I want to cry all over again.
“Sunbeam.” The word makes my muscles unclench, and I fully collapse into the bed.
He looks normal, while I must look like a mess.
I feel like a mess.
Our last major conversation resulted in him locking me in the bedroomagainand me stonewalling him to punish him for his high-handed ways.
We were both wrong: Him for making me a prisoner in our home, me for ignoring him like a child.
Stonewalling. And you know that’s a death knell for relationships.
Hunter moves to the sink on the far wall, turning on the taps and lathering soap over his palms with a slow calm that I feel borders on shock.
I tell myself to breathe in and out to the count of three.
One.