Page 115 of By All Accounts
“What’s their address?”
I snorted, shaking my head. “I don’t want to go over there like this.”
In fact, I couldn’t think of anything worse than having my brother drop me off on their porch, tear-stained and despondent.
“Why?”
Why?
Because this was embarrassing; it was shameful. I didn’t want either of them to know how much Neil and Annette had hurt me. I didn’t want Daniel to be reminded of how weak and miserable I’d been before them. Also, because I didn’t want to taint them with a past that wasn’t theirs. It wasn’t fair to bring my mess into their life.
“That’s not what they signed up for,” I finally answered.
“That’s exactly what they signed up for.”
I exhaled, sagging against the seat and staring out the windshield until I could see the shapes of the cars and not just the colors. I pressed my fingers against my eyes and wiped as many tears off my face as I could, but my skin was wet, my face still a disaster.
“1412 Lakeshore,” I said.
“Do you need to let them know you’re coming?”
Hunter tapped the address into his nav and backed out of the parking place. Begrudgingly, I clipped my seatbelt into place and stared down at my hands.
“I have a key,” I muttered.
“This is exactly what they signed up for, Finn.” Hunter repeated, sounding so much like Marshall that I briefly debated the merits of rolling down the window and jumping out of it.
I was grateful in that moment that I’d called Smith the day I got arrested, not Hunter. He might have found himself inhandcuffs in the middle of the store if he’d known how broken I’d been after the final breakup. I should tell him, because he was my brother and I didn’t want to keep things from him, but we were still too close to the store and I didn’t trust him to not turn around and go back for Neil.
“If you say so,” I said instead.
“I do. Do you think I don’t love Lincoln on his bad days?”
“This isn’t about Lincoln.”
“No,” he agreed. “It’s about love.”
I didn’t have anything to say to that, so I stayed quiet the rest of the ride to Daniel and Sophie’s house. Hunter pulled up alongside the curb and cut the engine. He reached over and undid my seatbelt, then his own.
“What are you doing?”
“Walking you to the door.”
“That’s not necessary, Hunt.” I grasped the handle to get out of the car, but Hunter reached over the console and grabbed my forearm.
“I don’t know everything that happened with him…with them, but I know the man you were was not the Finn Covington that I know,” Hunter said softly. “I was scared before, for you…for us, if something happened to you.”
“It wasn’t that serious,” I deflected, but maybe it had been.
“I won’t argue with you about it,” he said. “But I am walking you to the door, and I am handing you off or I’m not leaving.”
“Alright, Marshall.” I shrugged my arm out of his grip, and there was no heat in my concession.
Hunter rolled his eyes at me and got out of the car, joining me on the sidewalk. The shoulder of his shirt was still wet and wrinkled from where I’d cried in the parking lot, and I was glad I hadn’t thought to flip down the visor and use the mirror to check my face before getting out of the car.
“They’re good for you,” he said, matching my steps up the walk to the front door.
“I know.”
