“You didn’t have to bring me a plate. I could have gotten it for myself,” Hunt growls, the rumble vibrating in his chest, travelling up my ear pressed to his shoulder.
“Bloody hell, when are you going to let me help you?” I suck in a breath, hoping I didn’t jostle Matty too much for him to wake up. “I brought you a plate of food. I didn’t tell anyone you were diabetic – not that it fraking matters.”
“It matters to me,” he says. The words fall between us like bricks forming a wall, even though we’re touching and I’ve never felt safer in my life.“And your fucking hand is broken because of me.”
I mad-whisper back, “How do you think this was about you? Tommy was being a dick to me, I hit him because he’s a giant asshole.”
“That fucker wouldn’t’ve made that comment if I didn’t need food. Or if he didn’t want to get into your pants.”
I snort. “Right. Tommy wants to get into my pants. Like that makes sense.” I snort again, thinking about it. “He’s just like that –always.”
“With everyone?”
“Uh...yeah.”
“Only with you, right? Not with your girl, Katie. He wouldn’t dare say something like that in front of her man, now would he?”
“Katie doesn’t have a man at the moment, so your argument is invalid.”
I can feel him smiling, cheek pressed to the top of my head.
“I was the trigger. You got embarrassed because of me.”
I take a deep breath, hold it, and push it all out. “I got embarrassed because you were there. I didn’t want them to presume something that hasn’t happened.”
“How does that translate into you bringing me a plate of food?”
“I don’t know if you get this, but all our parents are immigrants – we’re first generation Montrealers. Means that there are certain rules and traditions we’re all trying to break free of. The guys, they like to pull ‘the woman stays in the kitchen’ card, I think because it drives me up the wall, and I seriously think about places to hide bodies whenever they bring it up.” I snuggle closer to him. “I don’t bring them plates of food – like, ever. They make a kitchen comment, or how whatever I bake or cook is not up to scratch I get downright bitch-tastic. So, surprise, surprise I bring you a plate without any coercion.”
“So it’s the presumption that bothers you.”
I nod. “Exactly. I don’t mind bringing you a plate of food – you don’t expect that from me, and you appreciated it, even if you couldn’t tell me. I punched Tommy because he implied that what I did for you was relegated to a good roll in the sack. He belittled what you needed from me – and that’s what made me punch him and ruined a perfect Saturday night.”
“Looks like I’m going to have to show you how to throw a punch.”
“I don’t think I’m going to punch anyone ever again for as long as I live.” Matty lets out a sleepy snuffle, and burrows his head deeper into my neck. My heart just melts at the cuteness of it all.
“Just so you know, I don’t think women belong in the kitchen. You’ve met my mom – the lady has never stepped foot in a kitchen for other than a glass of wine her entire life. Neither did my sister. My life would have been a lot different otherwise.”
“You have a sister?”
“Yeah, I did, baby. She was sweet, and good, but she could be fucked up. I...I wasn’t a good brother to her.”
“I don’t think that’s true, Hunt.” I totally caught the past verb tense. Shit.
He keeps quiet for a time, and my eyes start to get heavy.
“Still believe I’m amazing?”
For as long as we both shall live. God, kill me now if I said that out loud. When the silence continues, I know it’s okay to speak. “Yeah, I do.”
“Keep believing that, okay, baby? No matter what happens.”
I frown, feeling him wrap me tighter to his side, closer to his beating heart.
“I can’t make that promise, Hunt.”
“Try. For me.” The words are short and harsh, like bullet casings falling to the ground. My throat gets thick, and I hate him a little bit, for ruining the moment. But everyone has a past they wish they could hide – and even if to me, it seems trivial – it doesn’t make his pain any less real, or any easier for him to endure.
“Okay.”
He kisses the top of my head, and my heart expands and contracts, like a pulsing star on the verge of supernova, waiting to burst into a show of light that touches everything with it.
“Thank you. Close your eyes, I’ll wake you when they call you.”