Fall for Me by Claudia Burgoa
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Willow
Harrison warned us,but I didn’t want to believe it. This was a long trip. We arrived almost twenty-four hours after leaving New York. It took us two planes, three stops, and a few hours of sleep in a hotel in Sao Paolo. Then, four hours on the road and zero sleep. We arrived at Olho d’Água do Casado at noon local time. The town is a maze. Crooked roads and not many streetlights. The buildings are a jumble of different styles. The architecture has no symmetry. The streets are either dirt roads or paved roads with more craters than the moon. A gust of dry wind breezes through the ancient houses. Some have a few shattered windows; others have rotten boards. It has the feel of a ghost town. The children playing soccer in the streets are the life support that keeps the town standing.
As we approach a one-story, teal house, Harrison gets his arm outside the window and signals to the Jeep that’s following behind us. He finally changes the gear and shuts off the engine.
“This is it,” Harrison says, opening the door. “Anderson, along with Tiago, our security details, rented this house. It’s a three-bedroom house with a kitchenette. Be aware there’s no indoor plumbing.”
The driver of the other car walks to meet Harrison, and they begin to unload our belongings from the roofs where they had secured them. Everything Harrison requested we bring was shoved into backpacks or tied next to each other. We were here to camp.
“Princesses,” Harrison says sarcastically, helping us out of the coverless Wrangler. “We are not in New York anymore.”
“You seriously think we’ve never been outside of New York, don’t you, Everhart?” Hazel sneers at him. “I’m from Santa Cruz. We drove to similar towns close to Tijuana all the time.”
“What do you mean you drove to Tijuana?” I snap at her, shaking my head. “How many times did I tell you not to go there? You were underage.”
“That was a long time ago.” Turning to Harrison she points her finger at him. “That was your last shitty comment about me being a rich girl. I’m not.”
He lifts his hand. “It was a joke. I told you to bring coffee.” He looks at Fitz. “She needs caffeine and snacks, did you bring the emergency kit?”
They weren’t joking. Harrison included a one-month provision of protein bars for Hazel. It wasn’t necessary. She only gets grouchy when she spends all day in the office and skips lunch.
Hunter comes up behind me—I can feel his body. His breath tickles the sensitive skin of my neck. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”
I swallow, pressing my lips against each other and controlling my reaction to the low voice. “Now?”
“Don’t you think it’s best if we clear the air now?” Entwining his fingers with mine, he starts walking and pulls me behind him.
“What kind of air?”
“Hunter, you can’t go far without one of us,” Harrison orders, pointing at himself and then his two very tall, very buff, and slightly scary-looking friends. I haven’t met the third guy yet. His forest green eyes study Hunter and me, and I swear it feels like he’s about to shoot us if we don’t follow instructions. “I mean it.”
“Is my presence making you uncomfortable?” he asks, then says, “Because I can leave, just say the word.”
I hunch, instinctively squeezing his hand. The memory of feelings soothed by those hands fills my soul with whatever it’s been missing—which I hate for the first few seconds. I’ve worked hard to be independent, to be the one calming myself. How dare he still have this kind of power.
How, when he decided to leave because he couldn’t be the one handling the fucking mess inside my head? I don’t want him to be near me, and yet I do.
“It’s okay, Willow. Knowing you are safe here is enough, I can go home.”
“What difference does it make to you?” I frown. “To know I’m safe?”
He scratches his chin, scanning the area. “You’re important to me, Willow.” He takes my other hand. “So fucking important, I had to fix my shit before I could come back to you. That’s why I had to make sure you arrived safely, be here while you face your parents. I want to hold your hand while you process everything that happens for the next few weeks.”
“I’m a successful, independent woman,” I repeat my mantra. The one I say as many times as needed. Successful is a big stretch. My dream is starting to take shape. It looks nothing like the one most actors and actresses I admire have. My career is specifically designed by me and for me. I don’t expect to win an Oscar because I don’t plan on going to Hollywood anytime soon. My goal is the Tony awards. The applause of the public, and most importantly, being part of productions I’m in love with.
“Depending on a man isn’t part of the plan.”
“Willow, you’re not depending on anyone.” Hunter holds my hands with one of his and lifts my chin with his free one. Those eyes, full of emotion, grasp onto my soul. Oh, how I missed them. “I just want to hold you, no matter how painful it gets.”
“You shouldn’t be talking about us as if we . . .”
“Willow.” His voice is low, a whisper loud enough only I can hear it. Or I’m imagining all the words he continues to say. “Relationships are complicated. Waiting for the right time is impossible. When is really the right time?”
I blink a few times. “Relationship?” My lips part, those words undo me.
“Grant, look the girls are here!” A feminine voice shouts. I take a step back as I lift my gaze toward my parents approaching us.
“Can we go home?” I whisper, but it’s too late.
