“HUNTER!”
I knew who it was before my eyes snapped open. Within seconds I was out of his hold, out of his bed, and out of his house. “Shit shit shit.” I didn’t have time to see Hannah’s reaction, and I sure as hell didn’t want to be there to witness the aftermath. What the hell was I thinking? “Shit,” I said, louder this time. Pulling my phone out of my bag, I tried not to trip as I ran down his driveway. I’d never been to this part of town before, and I had no car—and my phone had just died in my hands.
A door slammed.
Turning around, I glanced at the front door expecting Blake. But no one was there.
“Is everything okay?” I looked back down the driveway and saw a middle-aged woman walking toward me. Her hair was dark, as dark as Blake’s. She had the same light blue eyes as him, too.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hunter. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
She laughed once, stopping a few feet in front of me. “No one’s called me that in years, dear.” Then she looked from me, to the house, and to the car parked near the front door. “Is that Hannah?”
I nodded, trying to keep the tears at bay.
“Do you need a ride somewhere?”
I nodded again, but then I remembered what Blake had said about her drinking. “Uh. No, thanks. I’ll walk.”
I turned to leave, but she grabbed my arm. “Sweetheart. I’m not—what Blake has probably told you. I’ve been sober for six months.” She pulled her keys from her pocket and showed me her six-month-sobriety-chip key chain. “I promise. I would never endanger someone else’s life.”
The front door opened, and Hannah’s deathly loud shriek made my mind up for me. “You can’t just have other girls sleeping in your bed, Hunter!” Blake’s mom must’ve seen the answer on my face, because she had already gotten into her black Bentley and was reversing down the driveway toward me.
“Where to?” she asked once I’d opened the passenger door and slumped down in the seat. I ignored Blake standing in his doorway, glaring at us. And I ignored Hannah in front of him, waving her hands in his face, trying to get his attention.
“I don’t really know. It’s this abandoned basketball court, but I have no idea—”
“I know the one,” she broke in, smiling slightly as she pulled out onto the road.
“He and Josh used to come here all the time when they were kids,” Mrs. Hunter said, driving onto the middle of the court, next to my car. “I haven’t been here in forever,” she mused to herself. Then she turned to me. “Are you his new girlfriend? Friend?”
“I’m nobody,” I said flatly. It was the truth, despite the stupid second in his room when I had let myself believe otherwise.
“It didn’t seem like that to me. You seemed pretty scared when you saw Hannah.” I opened my mouth to respond, but she raised her hand to stop me. “It’s okay. I’d have been scared, too. She seems like a bitch.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Her words were as surprising as the woman who’d voiced them.
“I don’t have a clue what Hunter sees in her,” she said.
“You call him Hunter, too?”
She rolled her eyes. I could see them even though she was looking straight ahead, past the windshield. “Military husband. I should’ve stopped it when he was a kid. It made my son sound like a soldier, you know? Someone that’s trained to take orders. Blake . . .” She frowned. “Blake . . .” she repeated. “I love the name Blake.”
“Maybe you should call him that or talk to him about it . . . or just talk to him . . .” I trailed off. It wasn’t my business, and I shouldn’t have said anything.
She turned to me, smiling again. “I don’t think Blake—” She paused and grinned wider. “I don’t think Blake would consider you a nobody, Chloe.”
“How did you—?”
“Your mother and I were sorority sisters. I was a senior when she was a freshman and moved into the house, but I got to know her and your Aunt Tilly well enough. They were sweet, caring, genuine girls. I heard that your mother got pregnant and had you a few years later. And then when she passed . . . I was there at her funeral, and your aunt’s, too. You were what? Eight when your aunt died?”
I nodded.
“I’m sorry—for what it’s worth. Are you . . . ?”
“I’m fine.” I wiped my eyes and prayed that my voice would come out even. “You can’t tell Blake. You can’t tell anyone. Please, Mrs. Hunter.” I ended in a sob. I hated that I had. But what I hated more was when strangers spoke to me about them. When they’d had the experience of sharing a piece of them that I would never know.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice broke. “I didn’t mean to make you sad. This is your life, sweetheart. I won’t tell a soul.”
I buried my face in my hands, trying to compose myself. She pulled me into her and let me cry on her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” I told her. “I’m such a mess.”
“No, you’re not. You’re just a girl who misses her mom. We’re all allowed to cry for that.”
I pulled back and wiped my nose. “Blake—he misses his mom, too.”
“He told you that?”
I shook my head. “He describes his house as empty. I’d say that’s pretty damn close.”
She nodded slowly.
“He thinks you’re still drinking. I’m not going to tell him you’re not, but maybe you should. Maybe that’s one secret that should be shared.”
I opened the door to get out, but her words stopped me.
“Will I be seeing you around? Are you going to be spending some more time with Hunt—I mean, Blake?”
I almost said yes. After he’d waited all night for me at the police station, then held me in his arms as we’d fallen asleep . . . the way we were both so comfortable in our own world. But I just couldn’t let it happen. “No,” I finally told her. “But it was really nice meeting you, Mrs. Hunter. Thank you for giving me a memory of them.”