Page 12 of Because I Liked A Boy (Because I Liked A Boy Trilogy #1)

Fuel To The Fire

The drive is quiet, my forehead pressed to the cool glass, Hunter’s hand never leaving my knee.

Silence fills the car but it isn’t empty.

It hums—the low growl of the engine, the blink-blink of the indicator at a red light, the faint squeak of leather when he shifts in his seat.

All of it wraps around me, steady and grounding.

I don’t look at him, but I feel him anyway: the weight of his hand anchoring me, the heat bleeding through denim, the small squeeze every time my leg tenses like I might bolt.

He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t ask. He just drives, knuckles pale against the wheel as if he’s holding in a hundred things he’ll never say out loud.

For the first time since Ruby grabbed my wrist, I let myself lean into that silence. If I let go I’ll fall apart, and if I fall apart there’s only one person holding the pieces right now.

When he pulls up outside my flat the engine barely clicks off before his phone starts buzzing in the console. He glances at the screen, jaw tight.

“I’ve gotta take this,” he mutters, thumb hovering like he hates the idea of answering. His eyes flick to me, softer now. “But listen, Princess. If you need me I’ll come back. Promise.”

I nod, unable to trust my voice.

He leans in before I can move and brushes a strand of hair off my damp cheek. His thumb lingers, dragging gently across my skin, slow and careful, like he’s memorising the shape of me without asking for more. My chest aches with how careful he is, how badly I want to believe promises don’t break.

“Get some rest,” he says softly. “I’ll see you soon.”

He goes, phone to his ear, walking away while I sit in the quiet with the ghost of his touch burning warm against my cheek.

The second the door shuts behind me silence rushes in. Too quiet. Too empty.

I sink onto the floor, back against the wall, knees pulled to my chest. The same position I was in the night Nathan died. The night I heard the last words he ever spoke slam into our father like knives before he stormed out.

Ruby’s voice echoes in my head. Theo’s anger. The same rhythm, the same fight. Different names, same ending. Except this time I’m not watching through a window. I’m stuck in the middle, helpless all over again.

My chest caves. The sobs rip out before I can stop them, ugly and choking and unstoppable. My hands shake against my knees. I claw at my arms, desperate for something to hold onto, nails scraping skin. I want to scream until my throat bleeds, but all that comes out are gasps, sharp and broken.

Hunter’s scent is still on me. Cedar. Motor oil. Safety. The memory of his arms around me makes it worse because now he’s gone and I’m alone again. Just like always.

I bury my face against my knees, rocking as if that will hold me together. It doesn’t. The images keep coming—Nathan’s face, Ruby’s tears, Hunter’s green eyes looking at me like I matter, like I’m not irreparably broken.

It’s too much.

I fumble blindly for my phone, slick with tears. My vision blurs as I unlock the screen, fingers trembling. Before I can type anything it buzzes in my palm.

HUNTER: You okay?

The breath leaves me in a jagged sob. Tears spill fresh and hot because he asked, because he noticed.

I type I’m fine then erase it. Don’t worry about me then erase that too. Each lie tastes worse than the last. I don’t want him to forget. I don’t want him to stop worrying.

My thumbs hover until the truth claws its way out, the thing I swore I’d never admit to anyone.

Please come back when you can. I need you.

I hit send before I can stop myself.

Panic claws through me. I almost throw the phone across the room. That’s not me. I don’t beg. I don’t admit need. And yet I did.

Tears blur the screen and I stare at the sent message, waiting for it to unsend itself, waiting for the world to rewind. It doesn’t. It just sits there, glowing back at me. Proof.

I press the phone to my chest like it’s the only thing keeping me from unravelling completely, heart thundering in my ribs.

For the first time in years I let myself want.

I want him to come back. I want someone to keep a promise. I want someone to stay.

So I curl tighter into myself, cheeks wet, body trembling, whispering into the silence, “Please, Hunter. Don’t leave me waiting too.”

The knock at the door barely registers. I’m half-asleep, curled into the sofa cushions, the dim glow of the lamp bleeding into the room.

Saturday is tomorrow and the thought has been gnawing at me all day. A whole day and night with Hunter. I don’t know what it means and the not knowing sits heavy in my chest.

It takes me a second to realise the knock has stopped and then there’s the unmistakable sound of the door creaking open.

My heart jolts, but before fear can sink its claws into me I hear his voice. “Princess?”

Hunter.

He steps into the room, running a hand through his dark hair as if he’s been panicking the whole drive over. His other hand holds a greasy cardboard box. The smell hits me before he sets it down on the coffee table.

“Didn’t know what you liked,” he says softly, crouching beside me. “So I went for the classic. Pepperoni. Can’t go wrong.”

My chest tightens. Nobody’s looked after me in a long time.

He brushes a strand of hair off my face, concern etched into his features. “Door was unlocked. You planning on giving me a heart attack or what?”

I blink up at him, too tired to answer, too raw to fake a smile.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. He ignores it completely. His eyes never leave mine.

He sets the pizza box down, flips it open, and tears off a slice before I can argue. The smell fills the room, making my stomach ache with the hunger I’ve been ignoring all day.

“Come on, Princess,” he says, coaxing and softer than I’ve ever heard. He holds the slice out toward me like I’m a stubborn kid. “One bite. For me.”

I roll my eyes but it’s weak at best. “You’re bossy.”

He grins. “And you’re starving.”

The truth of it burns in my chest but I still hesitate. He nudges the slice closer, eyebrow raised, waiting me out. Finally I take it just to shut him up.

The first bite nearly makes me groan. It’s warm, greasy, perfect. Hunter looks so smug I want to smack him.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” I mutter, wiping my fingers on the napkin.

“Oh, I will,” he says, grabbing another slice. “That’s the face of a girl who hasn’t eaten a real meal in days.”

I glare. “I eat.”

“Coffee doesn’t count,” he says through a mouthful. “Neither does whatever sad excuse for cereal you probably live on.”

I huff, reaching for another slice before he devours the whole thing. “And you’re not exactly practising moderation. That’s your third.”

“That’s called balance,” he says, unbothered. “I eat enough for both of us.”

Despite myself I laugh, short and sharp and real.

“Told you,” he says, settling down on the sofa beside me. His arm brushes mine as he leans back, casual like he belongs here. His phone buzzes again on the table. He glances at it, jaw ticking, then flips it over screen-down.

I notice. I don’t ask.

I curl my knees up tighter, chewing slowly. He doesn’t push. He lets the silence sit, heavy but not uncomfortable. When I finally set the crust down his arm slips around my shoulders, pulling me against him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Better?” he murmurs, chin brushing the top of my head.

I nod, shaky. “I just…” My voice cracks. “Everything feels too heavy, Hunter. Like I can’t hold it anymore.”

His arm tightens. “Then don’t. You don’t have to hold it on your own.”

Those words hit something raw in me, sharp enough to ache. Nobody has ever said that and meant it.

I press my face into his chest, breathing him in, letting the warmth of him anchor me. “What if I break?” I whisper.

“You won’t,” he says, firm, certain in a way I will never be. He tips my chin up and forces my eyes to meet his. “But even if you did, I’d be right here to help put you back together.”

Tears sting my eyes. “You can’t promise that.”

“I can,” he insists. His thumb sweeps across my cheek and catches the tear before it falls. “And I just did.”

My chest feels cracked open, my ribs not strong enough to cage all of this—his certainty, my fear, the way his presence is the only thing that makes me breathe.

I almost say thank you, but the words feel too small. Instead I whisper, “I don’t want to be alone. Not anymore.”

“You’re not.” He presses his lips gently to my hair, voice low and steady. “Not as long as I’m breathing.”

His phone buzzes again on the table, cutting through the moment. He ignores it, eyes locked on me like I’m the only thing that matters.

Hunter shifts, squeezing my shoulder. “Princess. You need a break from your own head. Let me run you a bath.”

I pull back, blinking. “A bath?”

He raises a brow, beaming. “Hot water, bubbles, the works. You’ll feel human again.”

A laugh slips out before I can stop it. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet I’m risking my reputation to make sure you don’t drown in your own thoughts,” he says, grinning wide and boyish. “Now come on. Bath time.”

I shove at his shoulder. He doesn’t budge. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re overdue for one,” he shoots back, already on his feet. His hand hovers, palm open. “Let me take care of you, Princess.”

I hesitate, staring at his outstretched hand. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

His expression softens. “Maybe I want to. Maybe that’s what friends do.”

My throat tightens. “I’m not good at that. Friends. I ruin things.”

“Lucky for you,” he says, wiggling his fingers like he’s annoyed at my drama, “I’m not that easy to get rid of.”

Against my better judgement I slide my hand into his.

He guides me down the hall, turns the taps, finds a candle I’d forgotten I even owned. When he leaves me to it I sink into the warm water, half-laughing, half-crying, because nobody has ever looked after me like this.