Devon gripped his keys in his pocket like a touchstone. Grip. Let go. Grip. Let go. He still hated damn elevators. And this one felt exceptionally small with Hunter’s looming presence in it. “I thought baseball was your dream.”
“Baseball was my ticket out. Not my dream. Different.” He took off his hat, ran a hand through his messy hair, and tucked the bill of his cap in his back pocket.
Devon frowned and fought the urge to smooth a part of Hunter’s curls that were sticking up. “And did it work? Did it get you out?”
The doors whooshed open, and they stepped into a quiet hallway. Hunter turned to him and hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “Want to know the truth? No bullshit?”
Devon crossed his arms. “Sure.”
“Financially, I’m free. In every other way, I’m deeper in the shit than I ever was before. I’m drowning, Dev. I’m living someone else’s life, and I’m not sure what to do about it.”
***
Hunter didn’t know where the words had come from, but there they were, sitting heavy in the middle of the hallway and bleeding at his feet. The truth. That’s what it was. Ugly and pulsing and desperate.
And Devon was just staring at him.
But Hunter couldn’t stop the confessions from flooding out now that the spigot had been opened. “I hate the media attention. My dad has somehow made my career about him. Baseball’s fine, but I know I don’t love it like my teammates do. And I’m getting married and don’t really know why.”
“Because you love her,” Devon said, his voice echoing in the cavernous hallway.
“What?”
“You’re marrying her because you love her. You said I love you in the text.”
Hunter leaned against the wall and ran a hand over his jaw. “I’m not even sure I understand what that means anymore. I care about her. She’s a great girl. But . . .”
“But what, Hunt?”
He closed his eyes for a second, trying to find the words. “But most of the time, all I want to do is run. From her. From my life. From everything. I dream about it. Getting in the car and just taking off—new name, new job, new start. Nothing feels like it fits.”
Devon tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. Maybe he hoped it would hold answers for what to do with the crazy man who’d shown up on his proverbial and literal doorstep. After a moment, he looked at Hunter again. “Let’s get to your room and sit down. Now I need a drink.”
Hunter nodded, but his skin itched like it was too small for his body, everything feeling tight, claustrophobic. He’d spoken from his gut, but now those feelings were out there, taunting him to deal with them. He grabbed the room card from his pocket and rolled his suitcase toward the corner suite, Devon following. Hunter just needed to take a breath and calm down. He probably was still feeling effects from the booze, and this internal crisis would abate. He slid the key into the reader and opened the door.
The room that greeted him on the other side was opulent—rustic elegance in a way only Texas could do—natural woods and Austin stone, warm colors. It was a suite fit for the governor. But that’s not what had him backing up a step. Sitting on the couch in the living area was a lithe brunette wearing a silky pink robe. She stood when she saw him and smiled. “Well, it’s about time. I thought you weren’t going to show.”
Devon stepped up behind him but halted when he realized they weren’t alone. He leaned close to Hunter. “Who the hell is that? Isn’t your fiancée blond?”
Hunter didn’t have time to ask Devon how he knew what his fiancée looked like. He was too busy trying to answer the first question himself. He stepped inside, Devon following close behind. “Um, ma’am, I think you have the wrong room.”
She smiled a seductive smile as she gave him an up-and-down look. “Oh, no, I’m in the right place.” She waltzed over and handed him an envelope. “And I didn’t plan for two of you, but I bet we could work something out.”
Hunter blinked and looked down at the envelope, recognizing Macy’s looping handwriting. What the fuck? He pulled out the card.
Babe,
I know that things have been tough for you lately, and you’ve been so wonderful and patient with my decision to wait. But I also know men have needs. I arranged for Delilah to give you a massage with a nice finale. I won’t ask questions. I told her she can touch you as long as you don’t touch her. Consider this a very special spa treatment.
Love you,
Macy
“You’ve got to be freaking kidding me,” he muttered. His sweet-as-sunshine girlfriend had set him up for a rubdown and a hand job? Unbelievable.
Devon leaned over his shoulder, reading the card. “Holy shit.”
Delilah smiled. “Ready to get started?”