Page 52 of Hunter or Hunted

A spark of pride radiated through my chest.

“They were bad for each other all the way around, but they loved each other. Love makes you crazy. We all say and do things we don’t mean.” She took another drag off the cigarette. “Evan can’t change what he did, just like I can’t change that she’s dead.” Fury tinged those last words, accented the slightest bit by pain. Grief. She spoke sharply, firmly, but when I listened close, when I watched her eyes beneath that thick layer of lashes, I knew with certainty that she loved her daughter. That’s what made it so difficult to understand the words that came out of her mouth. “I didn’t want her to leave. I would’ve done anything for her. But she left, then she killed herself, and we all have to figure out how to keep living.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

She didn’t say anything, just took another drag and stared off into the distance.

“But I guess I just…” I didn’t want to come off accusatory. I wanted to make an impact, a positive one, on the psyche of someone so clearly deluded. “She told me she came to her dad after it went down with Evan. He told her to work it out.”

Charlotte’s jaw clenched, eyes squeezing shut. “He’s a stupid man. What do you expect?”

For him to be the protector that men like him claim they are. For him to defend his daughter. To show concern for her safety. She showed up with a black eye, and he turned her away, because he was a man? That’s the excuse?

“Look, Henry and I had our problems when we were young too,” Charlotte said. “I was fresh out of high school, I had an attitude, and I didn’t know how to control it. It caused problems. Problems like Evan and Allie had. It wasn’t always peaceful. We didn’t just argue. But we figured it out. Relationships are work, and we worked hard to get to where we are now. That’s what Henry thought he was telling Allie, and he got it wrong. He should’ve had that conversation with Evan, not her. And believe me, I will think about that interaction for the rest of my life, but he made a mistake. There’s nothing I can do about it now.”

She was a victim too.

In so many words, that’s what she said. It wasn’t always peaceful. We didn’t just argue. Those were the same code words I used because I couldn’t admit that I had allowed a man to treat me like garbage. That I stayed despite it.

It began with Charlotte and Henry. They normalized the cycle of abuse for their daughters. That’s why Delilah was lying in a casket, and Ava was wrapped in the arms of the man who did it. Because these girls knew no better. Because their mother knew no better.

“No, there isn’t,” I said, still soft, still compassionate. “But you can stop it from happening again. Ava is still a minor. You have a say in what she does. The way Evan looks at her…”

Laughing humorlessly, Charlotte tossed her cigarette to the ground and stomped it out with her black three-inch heels. “Are you gonna lecture me on how my family should mourn now?”

That black hole opened once more.

“I’m not telling you what to do. I’m just saying that Ava is gonna have a lot on her plate right now, and she doesn’t need⁠—”

“They both loved her.” Charlotte stood, perfect posture snapping back into place. “They loved her in a way no one else can. They all knew each other all their lives, and one of them is gone now, so yeah. Of course they’re going to cling to each other. Of course they’re gonna find comfort in one another. And I don’t think that’s your place or mine to judge. So let’s leave it at that, alright?”

She turned and started back up the steps.

“Maybe if Ava knew why Allie left, she’d look at everything differently,” I said, my voice firmer now.

Charlotte narrowed her eyes. She gave me that grimace of a smile again. “I’m glad you got a moment to say your goodbyes. I hope to see you at the funeral tomorrow. Then I hope you have a wonderful flight home.”

17

GWEN

The sun warmed that god-awful chill that’d crept up my spine when we stepped into the funeral home. Our bed-and-breakfast—the only lodging in this town—was only a block over. Sebastian and I walked there hand in hand, and in silence.

That shiver in my spine may have eased, but nothing was helping with the lump in my throat and the heaviness in my chest. I should’ve basked in the heat we wouldn’t see in Montana until summer. I should’ve drunk up the views of the historic buildings, and the blue sky, and all the small-town southern charm.

But all I could see was Delilah in that casket and her little sister wrapped in the arms of the man who’d killed her.

Bed-and-breakfast now in view, Sebastian broke the silence. “So did you get anything interesting from Charlotte?”

When my mouth fell open, only a huff escaped. “I don’t know if I’d call it interesting. Depressing, maybe. Sickening, definitely.”

“What’d she say?” He kept his voice low, offering a friendly wave.

I followed his gaze to the kind middle-aged innkeeper who’d led us to our room last night. Beth, if memory served. She stood on the porch with a tin watering can in hand, spraying the pink, yellow, and white flowers that draped lazily off the wooden railing planters.

Sweet as she’d been, she’d talked our ear off for half an hour. She only let us go when we said we were headed to Delilah’s funeral. Or Allie’s, as she’d called her.

She’d said her name with a certain familiarity. They knew each other. In small towns, everyone did, so no shocker there.