Fall for Me by Claudia Burgoa
Chapter Twelve
Hunter
I standon the sidewalk watching the car disappear, leaving me confused and horny. At least, that’s how I’ve convinced myself to run after her. I’m falling like an idiot for a woman who changes moods as quickly as she changes outfits. That’s how I translate the heartache and chest tightness I felt as her gaze went cold and she became distant.
Placing a hand on top of my head, I push it down, settling the anger. What the fuck just happened? Did I say something wrong? With my phone in hand, I slide my thumb across the screen, going to my texts.
“Hunter?” I stop myself from sending an angry text to Willow—no, a pleading text. I turn around to find Hazel rushing toward me, she holds the hem of her navy, lace gown. Fitz carries her heels, and my other brothers walk behind them. “What happened?”
Your sister switched personalities?“She behaved like an aristocrat from the eighteenth century.”
“Can you be a little more specific?”
I recount what happened, step by step. Hazel makes me go back, asking if she spewed out any character lines.
She quizzes me about her behavior. Five times in a row she asks about her mood or any explosive outburst.
“Her eyes were lost in a hurricane of emotions.”
“Do you think her mind was wandering?” This feels like the Spanish Inquisition. I’m being tortured by the uncertainty of her current state. “As if suddenly something else took over her?”
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Probably.”
“What else? I need more information.”
Pushing me to remember what Willow had for breakfast, her temper before and after the audition, and if she made any comments regarding the role. Fitz tells her about her comment toward Grant. Right, she snapped at him, how could I forget?
Running through every step, I include the words I caught her mumbling while she chewed her lower lip. Everharts and McFees, sounding like the Montagues and Capulets.
Hazel looks up to the sky, sighing heavily. “Ignore that, you are nothing like the McFees and vice versa.”
Scanning the four of us, she burst into a loud laugh. “Damn it, she has to stop altering reality.” She waves around her head, closing her eyes briefly. “Was she sad?”
“I’m not sure.” I press my lips together, confused and lost. This interrogation is draining me, adding anxiety on top of worry.
Hazel takes her phone out of her clutch, swipes the screen, and taps it a few times. “This should help.”
I stretch my neck reading the few words she sent.
Hazel: YAM, Wills.
“Jam?”
She shakes her head. “Y-A-M. It’s something I came up with to make sure she remembers I love and need her.”
Fitz squeezes her hand, and I believe he knows more than what Hazel is telling me. “What do you want us to do, sweetheart?”
She shoots me a glare as if she’s accusing me of something. “Gramps is with her, right?”
I nod. In about twenty minutes, she’ll have me. I don’t plan to sit and watch her disappear. I fucking want her with me. Today, I’m fighting for her. I believe in a future with Willow. No matter how many demons come with her, we can take them down together.
“I’m glad she has him. Maybe this is a good time for them to bond.” Hazel exhales heavily. “We are going back inside. There are children who are counting on us.”
For a second I think she’s a bitch for abandoning her sister. I believe she doesn’t care with her interrogation and lack of emotion. But as she walks into Scott’s arms and melts, I realize it’s not the case.
“You okay, Hunt?” Harrison shoots me a worried look, waiting for me to say something.
“Make an excuse, I have to be with her.”
Hazel smiles at me, whispers something to Scott, and the four of them leave. I request my car from the valet parking station and drive to the Beesley’s home. I arrive within twenty minutes, as expected. Unfortunately, they aren’t home. My heart sinks when the housekeeper informs me they haven’t arrived or called. Dreading what could’ve happened, I return to the elevator.
I step inside, wondering where she could be.
My eyes are trainedon the elevator; it’s been five hours since I went downstairs to have the concierge park my Aston Martin. Suddenly, the elevator doors open, and Willow and Mr. Beesley walk across the room. Her face is blotchy, her eyes swollen, and her lips tightly closed.
“Willow, Mr. Beesley.”
“This isn’t a good time,” Grant says when he spots me sitting in a foyer chair. “She needs to rest.”
“I couldn’t agree more, sir.” I rise from my seat and take her into my arms. Kissing the top of her head, pressing her so close to me that we almost fuse into one person. My heart finds the rhythm of hers, her flowery scent mixes with mine. “Do you want us to stay here tonight, Willow?”
Tilting my head, I find her sad eyes staring at me. Her expressive green orbs knock me to my knees, they look so empty and lost. Most of all, she looks like she’s in so much pain. “Let me be with you. I will hold you no matter how painful it gets.”
Her eyes water, she whimpers quietly, and the dam breaks, letting the tears fall freely.
“You’re safe, baby.” I lift my hand, pushing her head lightly so it rests on top of my chest. “Mind if we stay in your room tonight?”
Without waiting for a response, I head to her room, open the door, and stare at the number of dresses lying all over the floor. That’s what she meant when she said she’d had trouble finding just the right dress. Nothing seemed appropriate for a charity event. She wanted to fit in, to look perfect for the part. Staring at the woman in my arms, it hits me like a bullet train. She changes her persona to fit the place, the person, and the moment.
Who are you?
I stare at her, the woman I hold like a precious angel. Kissing the top of that convoluted head, I speak. “Will you talk to me?”
“It hurts so much,” she whispers so low I can barely make out the words. Touching my lips to hers, I sense her pain. Wanting to dissipate it, I kiss her slowly, slipping my tongue into her mouth. The taste of wretchedness hitting my chest, making it throb with the jarring feelings that consume her. I would give anything to know where it hurts and how to take it away.
