Fall for Me by Claudia Burgoa

Chapter Thirty-Three

Willow

I haveno idea what to expect after last night. I feel like this is the morning after. It can’t be. We are both living under the same roof. What should we call it? A one-night. Are we dealing with the aftereffect today? Should we talk?

I can’t talk about it.

It was my fault. It was a careless request from a desperate woman who had written a hundred times, I need Hunter. Because I didn’t want to need him. I wanted to work through the need as a useless emotion. But no matter what I said—or wrote—the moment he entered the room I knew everything I tried was pointless. I needed him throbbing inside me. I needed to get intoxicated by the feel of his lips, the touch of his hands. I wanted him to set me on fire.

And it was. We were intense. Ablaze. We burned through the sky last night. We touched the highest peaks. But I saw it in his eyes. The need for more, of everything. Us. He was surrendering himself, hoping I’d do the same in exchange. I couldn’t handle those thoughts. Not last night when my mind housed too many negative emotions. Hunter, the paramount emotion I can’t handle, remains raw on the surface of my skin overshadowing everything. The man who also evokes all the emotions known to man. Falling asleep in his arms after the most intense declaration of love was bliss.

While he was thrusting himself deeper inside me, I realized he’s everything. He’s the sea of tranquility to my mind. The fucking storm that floods me with passion. He’s the madness to my clarity and the clarity to my madness. Everything makes sense. Except, my soul hides in fear. That senseless, ridiculous anxiety caused by my insecurities.

“We have things to do,” Harrison’s voice rumbles like distant thunder.

“I guess it’s time to wake up.” Hunter’s tone is deep and sinfully rich.

Turning to the left, our gazes meet. “Why didn’t you tell me you were awake?”

“Interrupt your internal chat?” He kisses my temple. “I wouldn’t dare. Do you regret it?”

He slams the question, my stomach feeling the full blow of the words. Shaking my head, I fire back, “Do you?”

“Nothing that’s happened between us is regrettable.” He closes his eyes for a second. I feel the fast thumping of his heart against my chest. “Not even when I had to leave you. We both needed time apart.”

“I know,” I mumble, last year the two of us were a mess. “Last night was powerful, but I’m not ready to discuss it. Is that okay?”

“Ah, last night. We can discuss it when we’re home, and we can do a lot more.”

Home. Getting to do something for others is rewarding, but I could use my bed and my bathroom.

“I need a shower.” I squeeze my eyes tight, the walls in here are paper thin. “God, everyone heard me last night.”

His lips capture mine, devouring me. “We are adults, Willow. Today, Fitz, Hazel, you, and I are going to the next town for a well-deserved shower.”

“We need to work.”

“It’s also work,” he says, rolling me to my back. Pressing his lips to mine, I feel the tingling heat flow across my body. In one swift, powerful thrust, he takes ownership of my body and my soul. He doesn’t take his eyes off me, conveying the fiercely urgent need of making me his.

“More,” I moan, I beg, and with each sound as he fucks me harder, he pushes me to the edge. Losing myself as we run up high.

Under blue and sunlit skies,the view is wondrous to behold. We are in the rooftop restaurant of the small hotel, in a town called Piranha. It’s thirty miles west of where we’re staying. From up here I can see the trees, the flowers, the sea, and the swarm of busy people going about their day. The damp smell, combined with the scent of the rose arrangement sitting on our table, makes me want to stay for a few more days.

Fitz and Hunter had a meeting with a law firm that will be in charge of the trust fund to finance the improvements for the town. In the meantime, Hazel and I stayed at the hotel to rest for a couple of hours and got some time for us.

“Are we going to visit them?” Hazel bites her lip, observing me, and then shrugs. “We don’t have to do anything we don’t want, Willow.”

“What do you want?”

“World peace, to end world hunger,” she says, dead serious. She touches the base of her neck with her fingertips. “They’re our parents. Every person I met had a wonderful story about them.”

“But?” I cross my arms, leaning back in my chair waiting for the punch line.

“I don’t know what to think.”

A pit of hopelessness opens in my stomach. Putting myself in my mother’s shoes, I try to imagine every step she has taken to picture the reaction and try to understand her actions. Some could be similar, but others . . . My first instinct has always been to care for Hazel. No matter how hard things were, I always tried my best to put her first. Because no matter how old she is, I still see her like that little, pink bundle that came home and needed love. How can Michelle leave us for so long? I have a hunch they stretched their trips longer and longer to stay away from us. She enjoyed the time without us. Loving us from afar is easier for her. There are no messy emotions to exchange. We don’t have to see our real mother.

“She doesn’t want to lose us.”

“What does that mean?” Hazel rests her hands on the iron table.

“Why did she leave the project?”

I explain my theory to her, repeating what Dad mentioned. “Mom abandoned us, fearing that we’d abandon her.”

“Then should we give her time?” Hazel’s eyes narrow. That logical head of hers is already working on a plan. “We can share some of the books we’ve been reading with Dad. Maybe start a campaign where we convince him to send her to therapy.” She claps, excitedly. “At least, that will show him we’re learning how to love someone like her.” Hazel reaches out for my hand and squeezes it. “Though, I mess up from time to time.”

“We aren’t playing doctor, Hazel,” I warn her.

Rolling her eyes, she exhales. “I understand where your worry is coming from, but I only want to send her to a real doctor. She needs help. They aren’t as young as they used to be. They don’t have much money. They have to go back home at some point.”

“Home in Santa Cruz?” Hazel stares at me, not moving a muscle. My question hit some sensible spot. “Has anyone been there since you moved out?”

She shrugs, and I want to shake out all that information she holds from the years she lived there alone. When she told our father what she went through, I know we heard the edited version of events. She claims to be doing great and moving on from her past. But why won’t she share more? I want that fucking more from her.

“Will you be okay if our parents go back to live there?” She looks at the horizon, not saying a word.

“It’s up to them where they decide to live.” She picks up her sunglasses, chewing the tip of the arm. “Maybe the McFees no longer live there. Maybe we’ll have to see them twice a year. It doesn’t matter.”

“I wish you’d trust me with what happened between the two of you.”

She laughs, and the sound is bitter. “I trust you. I’ve already told you several times. Elliot and I were young. I wanted so badly to be a McFee. I was scared he’d leave like our parents had. So, when he asked me to marry him, I did.”

She starts crying and laughing. “God, I did because then he’d never leave. How stupid was I?” she mumbles between sobs. “He wouldn’t do what our parents had done, I told myself. He can’t—we married forever. But he did. What hurts is that he knew about my past. He hated them for abandoning me . . . he knew better.”

There’s a long pause, and I’m tempted to ask questions. I don’t know which one is right or wrong. Instead, I wait for her to calm down.

“I called him last night.”

“What happened?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing, I remained silent while he said, hello five times. Then he said, ‘I’m here, baby. Whatever it is, I’m here for you. Tell me where you are, I’ll come to you right now.’” She swallows. “He didn’t hang up for a long time, and we remained silent. He knew it was me, and I needed him. Just like he knew when I was about to hang up because that’s when he said, ‘I miss you too, Bee.’”

“Why don’t you talk to him?”

She grabs a napkin and cleans her face. “I think he cheated,” she whispers, her voice miserable.

Her eyes remain on the water before they close. I wait for many, many beats for her.

“Of all the shit I have to work through, that’s the last piece.” She opens her eyes, touching her head. “As you know, it’s a process. Things don’t happen overnight. Once I work through it, I’ll tell you everything. I’m a little embarrassed by what I did. I feel reckless. I did so much to please him, to help his family. He . . .” She sighs. “He was the best when we were together. That’s how I want to remember him.”

“You know what, Bee?” I say, taking something she just said and applying it to myself. “Once I work through all my issues, I’ll be ready to deal with Mom. Yesterday, what Dad came to say, that’s all I need for now.”

Hazel smiles. “Then, we wait. I love our parents, but you are my person. I care about you most of all. Until you’re ready, we will stay in our corner. I’m following your lead, Wills.”

For a few more minutes, we chat about Gramps: taking him on vacations, Christmas in a tropical place, and New Year’s up in the cabin. She wants us to keep creating memories as much as I do.