“Of course you did.” She eyed him seriously but eventually gave in to a reluctant smile. “So, what happened?”
Carefully sidestepping the question, he scratched at the back of his head. “I ended up moving away when I was seventeen. For a while, I kept in touch. But eventually, I made some choices my parents couldn’t forgive, and that was that. I was told I wouldn’t be able to come home.”
Bronte stayed silent, and a few moments passed, where old insecurities telling him he wasn’t good enough infiltrated his mind, until she suddenly said, “I hate your parents.”
Her voice held no inflection, and he almost believed her for a second. “You could never hate anyone. It’s not in your nature.”
“Well, you’re still their child, and you don’t deserve that.”
Chris leaned his head back, his eyes studying the ceiling, the ghosts of a childhood built from fear and self-loathing still haunting him. “Yeah, well, I’ve done a lot of stupid shit, so…”
“Hey.” She pulled his head up, framing his face with her hands. “Do not say that. No parent should ever make their child feel like they deserve to be cast out. It doesn’t matter what you did in the past. It only matters what you’re doing right now, and right now, you are making two people next door very happy. And a kid with autism just so happens to worship you.” She paused before continuing, her voice softer. “And me. You make me feel special. You make me feel like I’m extraordinary in this very ordinary life, and I’ve never felt that way before.”
“You are extraordinary,” he said without pause.
She lowered her gaze and hands to the sofa.
“Look at me, Bronte,” he said quietly. “Please, look at me.”
She did, and his mouth instinctively carved into a tiny smile. “I was never able to make it through a flight without getting drunk to pass out. That day, by some stroke of luck, I was seated next to this incredible woman. She helped me through it, and I didn’t need pills or drugs to keep my fear in check. And she didn’t judge me when I told her what I’d done. She’s smart, kind, down-to-earth, and pretty damn amazing.”
“Amazing?”
“Yes. Amazing.”
Her dimples indented her cheeks, and Chris pressed his index finger into one before dragging it down her chin.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice low and gravelly.
“It’s the truth.” He dropped his hand to the couch, brushing his fingers against her knee. She took a noticeable breath, and he inclined toward her, wanting to finish what he started the day they met, but as he bent his head, the godforsaken front door opened again.
They both whipped around in the direction of Pattie, appearing a tad flustered. “You’ve got a surprise next door, Bronte.”
She shot up from the couch, guilt crossing her features before she grabbed her things and met her mom at the door. Chris wanted to curse for so many reasons, not the least of which was the way she looked in his clothes, walking away from him. He’d be damned if he didn’t follow her over, curious why this surprise had Pattie so up in arms.
And what a surprise it was.
Hunter.
Chris entered the Hollingers’ living room, his eyes glued to Bronte as she kissed her boyfriend.
Shit.
She was supposed to be kissing Chris right now, not this guy dressed in a button-down, sweater, khakis, and boat shoes. Fucking boat shoes.
Chris wanted to knock that shit-eating grin off Hunter’s face, but he curled his fingers into his palm as he watched the guy hold out his hand to Bronte, asking, “What are you wearing?”
“Oh…I, uh, had nothing to change into from my costume—”
“So I gave her something to wear,” Chris said, loudly enough that everyone in the room turned their attention to him.
Hunter’s nostrils flared. “Ah, quite the good Samaritan.”
The religious reference struck a deep chord in Chris, not only because of the sarcasm but because of what he’d told Bronte a few minutes before about his childhood. He crossed his arms, leaning against the wall by the door, refusing to break eye contact with the guy. It was obvious Hunter was trying to win some kind of showdown, and even though he was a couple inches taller than Chris, he looked like an overgrown child with ruddy cheeks and big teeth.
Bronte pulled Hunter’s attention back. “What are you doing here?”
“Why do you think? Spending time with you and your family.”