So Rare (Boys of South Chapel #3)

9. Greedy

Chapter 9

Greedy

NOW

The moon-shaped headboard shifts against the wall with a dull thud as I roll over. Again. I freeze at the noise and hold my breath, hoping like hell Levi stays asleep.

He was an angry, pent-up mess until he finally nodded off in the truck, and rightfully so. Finding a place with a vacancy was shockingly difficult. It doesn’t help that we’re only about an hour away from Hunter.

Levi wants to go immediately, and while I understand the urge, we have to be smart about this whole operation. When Kabir suggested we find a place to stay so we could rest and he could finish whatever he’s working on, I agreed with him.

Everything will be easier in the daylight. After we’ve all eaten and slept. Leev doesn’t see it that way. He thinks Kabir and I are ganging up on him, and that’s got him even more pissed off.

I’ve never seen him this angry, and I’m afraid he’ll act impulsively or recklessly. I can barely stand the tension radiating off him. It’s why I’m awake now, after just a few hours of fitful sleep.

Though it’s not the only reason. Despite my efforts to temper it, the less-than-practical side of me is activated by our proximity and the desperation I feel to get her back in my arms.

It’s a balm to know she’s so close. Yet I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around Kabir’s confession about putting a fucking tracker in her.

Just as soon as I find myself on that train of thought, though, I remember his reasoning. The very idea of Hunter in that state guts me.

There’s no doubt in my mind of the severity of what she experienced in London. I’ve seen her on the dark nights. I’ve held her as she sobbed, her chest racking in an effort to pull in a full breath as she clung to me like I was her last and final anchor.

She must have been so fucking scared. Out of her head, far away from home…

I hate thinking about her like that. Particularly because I was so desperate to be with her back then. The what-ifs used to play on repeat in my mind. Hell, they still haunt me now.

If she had stayed. If she’d just trusted in me, in us…

Each time those thoughts surface, I shake them off. It does me no good, nor does it the guys or, least of all, Hunter.

She’s a survivor. That much is clear. Whatever’s going on at the “holistic wellness retreat,” she can handle it.

I’m clinging to that notion.

Hell, maybe she’s even having a decent time.

I hold in a scoff.

Yeah. No. That’s not likely with Magnolia involved. Hunter wouldn’t just get up and go without saying goodbye. At least not anymore.

With a huff, I roll over again, creaking headboard be damned. But when I turn to my side, a hard object jabs into my IT band. Wincing, I roll to my back, then I reach into the pocket of my athletic shorts and pull out Hunter’s old phone.

My heart stumbles as I assess it. She kept this. Carried it with her. Took it to London, to Italy, and everywhere else her travels took her.

I turn the pink relic over in my hands, reconsidering the narrative she let me buy into for years. That she didn’t want me. That she didn’t care.

For so long, I waited for her. Hoping she’d come back. Eventually, I started to wonder if any of it had been real.

She left, but the entire time, she kept part of me with her.

I cradle the phone to my chest, equally embarrassed and nostalgic for the boy I used to be. I called this phone every day for months. Filled the voicemail box to capacity. Even after I could no longer leave messages, I kept calling. Kept trying. Just in case she needed to know I was still there. I never gave up on her—or on us.

I’m sure as hell not giving up now.

A gentle touch on my forearm startles me.

On my exhale, Levi spreads his hand wide, smoothing it down my arm, his fingertips trailing through the coarse hair just enough to tickle, until his hand is covering mine.

“You okay?” he whispers, his voice low and gruff. Shit. I was sure he was asleep. I hope like hell I’m not the reason he’s awake now.

“No,” I whisper into the darkness.

He gives my hand a squeeze. “Yeah…” a long breath escapes him. “I feel that.” After a few breaths, he flexes his fingers over my hand. “Is this okay?”

This .

This moment.

Us.

“Yes.” This is more than okay. “Try to go back to sleep,” I whisper, threading his fingers with mine. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing, the sensation of his hand enveloping mine, and finally feel that elusive pull of exhaustion.