Page 9 of Because I Liked A Boy (Because I Liked A Boy Trilogy #1)

A Walk With Trouble

Outside, Ember’s bass fades to a dull throb behind us, replaced by the hum of street lights and the scrape of my heels against cracked pavement. The air is sharp, almost too clean after hours of smoke and neon.

Hunter doesn’t bother with my waist this time. He just catches my hand, fingers wrapping firm around mine when I drift too close to the curb. “You’re not walking in a straight line, Princess.”

I try to yank back, but my balance betrays me, and I stumble right into him again. His laugh rumbles low, infuriatingly smug. “Told you.”

The grip should feel like babysitting. It doesn’t. My palm is burning against his, too aware of every brush of his skin against mine. The tequila makes me reckless, words slipping out before I can stop them.

“I haven’t had this much fun since Nathan.”

Hunter’s stride falters. His hand tightens around mine, steady rather than angry, his jaw ticking once before he asks quietly, “Nathan?”

The name cracks something open in me. My throat works. “My brother,” I whisper. “He’s gone.”

The fury I expect doesn’t come. Instead, the weight of his hand anchors me harder, like he knows if he lets go, I’ll fold right here on the pavement.

The cool air bites at my arms, and I shiver before I can hide it. Without a word, Hunter shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders, his hand brushing the nape of my neck as he settles it into place. Heavy. Warm. Smelling like smoke and cedar and him.

“It’s too big,” I mumble, tugging at the sleeve that nearly swallows my hand.

“That’s the point,” he says, still holding my hand as though letting go isn’t an option. The weight of it shouldn’t feel safe, but it does. I should be worried, handing that kind of trust to someone like him. Instead, my body just sinks into the warmth, traitor that it is.

I hate that it works. That the weight of his jacket feels less like charity and more like… protection. He doesn’t tease, doesn’t smirk, just keeps walking like keeping me warm was never a choice, only instinct.

We weave down the street together, my heels clicking uneven against the pavement, his steady grip keeping me upright.

The town feels different like this—quiet, half-asleep, streetlamps buzzing against the dark.

No whispers, no eyes tracking me, just the sound of his boots steady beside my uneven steps.

It should feel small-town suffocating, but with his hand locked around mine, it feels almost safe.

Like maybe Maplewood isn’t closing in on me tonight—it’s holding me up.

The town feels quieter than usual—store fronts dark, only the hum of neon from Ember still buzzing behind us. But every so often I catch him glancing at me, as if making sure I’m really still here.

When we reach my building, I stop at the steps, swaying slightly. His hand doesn’t let go.

“Door,” he prompts, nodding toward it.

I fumble with the keys, laugh slipping out sloppy and soft. “You’re bossy.”

“Only when I have to be,” he says, low enough that it sounds more like a promise than a joke.

The lock finally clicks. I lean against the door frame, breathing hard, tequila still buzzing through my veins. For the first time all night, the silence feels heavy, pressing. My throat works before the words escape, raw and unguarded.

“Don’t go. Please. I’m not ready to be alone yet.”

The words crack out before I can stop them, messy and too honest. Shame burns in my throat, but the thought of walking into silence without him is worse. I’ve kept everyone at arm’s length for months, yet with him standing there, I can’t stomach the emptiness waiting behind my door.

The plea hangs between us, raw and messy, but I don’t take it back.

For a long second he doesn’t move, jaw tight like he’s fighting himself.

Then he exhales, low and rough, and steps past me into the flat.

His shoulder brushes mine as he goes, bringing smoke and warmth with him.

It hits me harder than it should—the sight of him inside my flat.

My space has been mine alone for months, walls that kept everyone out, even Ruby most nights.

And now Hunter Hayes, all broad shoulders and careless confidence, is here like he belongs.

It’s disarming. Vulnerable. But the truth is, I don’t hate it.

I kick off my heels by the door, the floor still tilting beneath me. The shadows of the little living room feel bigger than usual, too quiet, too much space pressing in.

Hunter glances around, then turns back to me. “Go change. I’ll get you some water.”

I nod, not trusting my voice, and head for the hall. But tequila has other plans. I barely make it to the bathroom before I’m on my knees over the toilet.

The door creaks open. “Isabella?”

“Don’t,” I manage between breaths, mortified. “Don’t come in.”

He ignores me. A second later he’s crouched beside me, one hand sweeping my hair back, the other steady on my back.

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t tease. Just holds me through it, silent and steady until the worst passes.

Part of me waits for the punchline, the smug “told you so” I’ve come to expect from him.

It never comes. Hunter Hayes, the boy with a reputation carved in trouble, just kneels on a bathroom floor and holds me like I matter.

Like I’m not a mess, but something worth staying for.

By the time I slump against the wall, my throat raw and stomach hollow, he’s running a wash cloth under cold water. He presses it to the back of my neck, knuckles brushing my skin.

“Better?” His voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it.

I shut my eyes, sighing. “A little.”

It shouldn’t feel intimate, him crouched on the tile holding my hair back. But it does. Too much. Every brush of his knuckles, every steady touch on my spine feels like it’s stripping away another excuse I’ve built to keep him out.

“Good.” He sets a glass of water in my hands, guiding it until I sip. His palm hovers under the glass like he doesn’t trust me not to drop it.

When I finally lean back, drained, his eyes stay on me, steady in a way that makes my pulse stumble.

“You didn’t have to do this,” I whisper.

“Yeah,” he says simply. “I did.”

When I finally lean back, drained, his eyes stay on me, steady in a way that makes my pulse stumble.

He helps me to my feet, steadying me when my legs wobble, and guides me down the hall. I expect some cocky comment, but he doesn’t give me one. Just quiet, just presence, just his hand a firm weight at my back.

By the time I change into the soft cotton shorts and oversized T-shirt he found for me, my cheeks are flushed, my hair a mess, and the room still spinning slightly. But at least I feel human again.

When I push my bedroom door open, he’s there.

Hunter’s sitting on the edge of my bed, elbows braced on his knees. My phone is plugged in on the night stand. A glass of water and a pack of painkillers sit neatly beside it. Even a bowl rests on the floor.

It’s the bowl that undoes me. Boys in London would’ve laughed, left me to fend for myself, maybe even bolted the second I swayed.

But Hunter thought ahead—painkillers, water, a god damn bowl.

No jokes. No expectations. Just quiet care, like it was the most obvious thing in the world to do.

It makes something in my chest ache, because I can’t remember the last time anyone thought about me like that.

“You raided my kitchen?” My voice is hoarse.

His smirk tugs crooked. “What kind of asshole would I be if I let you crash without backup?”

My throat tightens. I cross to the bed and sink down beside him, close enough to feel his heat. “Thank you. For all of it.”

His grin tilts. “Careful, Princess. Keep saying nice things and I might think you like me.”

I roll my eyes, but when I lean in—aiming for his mouth—he shifts just enough that my lips graze his jaw instead.

“I want you to remember the first time I kiss you,” he murmurs, so soft I almost think I imagined it.

The words sober me faster than water ever could. Out loud, he says more firmly, “Not tonight, Isabella.”

It stings, but not like rejection. More like restraint. Part of me bristles at the control in his tone. Another part—deeper, darker—likes that he’s the one drawing the line when I can’t. Both truths sit heavy in my chest, and I don’t know which one scares me more.

I bite my lip, whispering, “Then stay. Just for tonight. I don’t want to be alone.”

His smirk softens into something I’ve never seen on him before. “Relax, Princess. I’m not going anywhere.”

He stretches out on top of the covers, leaving space. I slide closer, tucking into his side before I can second-guess it. His arm curves around me, solid and sure, cedar and smoke wrapping me warm.

The steady thud of his heart beats beneath my ear, and for the first time in months, my body unwinds.

It feels dangerous, this ease. Like I’ve slipped into something I swore I’d never want again—safety.

I should pull back, remind myself he’s just a boy, just a friend, just another risk I can’t afford.

But I don’t. I can’t. Because right now, with his heartbeat steady under my ear and cedar wrapping around me like armour, I finally let myself close my eyes.

If Ruby saw me like this—tucked under Hunter’s arm, letting him carry some of the weight I swore I’d hold alone she’d call it dangerous. Maybe it is. But tonight, danger feels a lot like safety. And that terrifies me more than anything.

And just before sleep drags me under, I hear it—so soft I almost miss it.

“I want you to remember me for the right reasons.”

Maybe Hunter Hayes isn’t the boy I thought he was.