Page 43

“Because you're a blanket hog,” he shoots back.

He digs deeper into the box and pauses. “Is this…a stroller?”

“For Sproutacus,” I say. “Now that mom and dad are staying together, he deserves to see the world. I thought we could take him on nightly walks around the neighborhood.”

Carly laughs so hard she nearly spills her tea.

He leans over and gently pulls my chin towards him to lay a kiss on my lips. “It’s fucking perfect. I can’t wait to take him on his first stroll with you.”

“Did I take it too far? People are going to think we’re crazy,” I say.

Hunter shakes his head. “It’s Seattle. Last week I saw a dog pushing a guy in a stroller. We’re not even the craziest people on that block.”

Then he gets up and grabs a small box from under the tree.

“This one’s special,” he says, placing it in my lap. “Promise not to yell?”

“Not making any promises,” I murmur, tearing into the wrapping paper.

Inside is a black Speedo. A very tiny one. With…my face on it. Right over the, well…front.

I stare. Then blink. “Is this…?”

“For when I wash your car in February,” he says, grinning smugly. “Some rules, I think we should keep.”

“You got this custom-made with my face over your cock?”

Carly bursts out laughing, and my cheeks go fire-engine red the second I realize I just said cock —out loud—in front of his mother .

“Yup,” Hunter says, grinning. “Had to explain it to the lady at the embroidery shop. Pretty sure I’m banned now.”

“You really shouldn’t have…” I start.

He ignores me, tapping the side of the box. “Don’t forget the coupons.”

I reach in and pull out a homemade coupon book, flipping it open—already bracing myself:

Water Sproutacus in a thong

Vacuum the living room in just Crocs

Drive you to yoga, Speedo only

Each one is more ridiculous than the last—a collection of favors I can cash in, all involving him half-naked and probably violating a few local ordinances.

“You didn’t…” I say, laughing as I shake my head.

“Oh, I did,” he says proudly.

He’s practically vibrating with excitement. He’s clearly been dying to give me this gift, and I can see it written all over his face.

Carly watches us, amused but trying not to ask questions.

“This was…creative. And deeply on-brand for you. Thank you,” I say, tucking everything back in the box.

The doorbell rings just as I’m closing it up, still laughing.

Hunter stiffens beside me, and Carly pauses mid-sip of her tea. “Who on earth would be stopping by on Christmas morning?”

“Probably Mrs. Bramble from next door,” Carly says, standing. “She usually brings over her spiked Christmas morning eggnog—”

“I’ll get it,” Hunter says quickly, already rising. “But spiked eggnog…at nine in the morning?”

His tone is light, but something in it makes me look up.

I watch him cross the living room, still relaxed, still casual—until he opens the door.

Then I see it.

His body goes still. His shoulders lock.

The shift in the air is instant.

And then I hear her voice.

“Hunter,” she says sweetly. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

I freeze.

My stomach drops.

Bethany.

From the couch, I can’t see her, but I hear everything. The soft clack of expensive heels crossing the threshold. The pointed tone in her voice that doesn’t quite match the fake smile I know she’s wearing.

Carly gasps softly. “Beth! What are you doing here, honey?”

“I was just in the neighborhood,” Bethany says, breezing into the living room like she owns it. “Thought I’d stop by with a few gifts. I didn’t have anything better to do today.”

Of course not.

She’s dressed like she’s heading to brunch at the Four Seasons—an expensive dress, long peacoat with a fur collar, clinging to every curve, and high heeled boots too high for snow, and more makeup than anyone should be wearing at this hour on Christmas morning.

She places a perfectly arranged bouquet in Carly’s hands and sets two gifts on the table like she's Santa with a blowout.

One for Carly.

One for Hunter.

My eyes lock on that second box.

Bethany glances at me for the first time, a barely-there smirk tugging at her red-painted lips. Her gaze lingers—calculating, amused, like I’m the entertainment and she already knows the ending.

I keep my smile polite and sip my tea. Barely.

Hunter doesn’t move to take the gift.

“Come on,” she says, stepping closer. “Don’t be rude. It’s Christmas.”

Carly shoots him a look—the gentle mom kind that’s half warning, half plea.

Reluctantly, he takes it and peels off the wrapping. Inside is a silver picture frame, glossy and delicate. A photo sits behind the glass.

I lean forward instinctively, just as Hunter stiffens.

The picture is of them—Bethany and Hunter—on ice skates at the same rink he took me to yesterday. Both their cheeks flushed, her hands in his. They look…young. Happy.

A tiny tremor slides through me.

It’s subtle. Barely a crack. But it’s there.

And Bethany sees it.

Because she watches me as I look at the photo—her eyes gleaming with something dark and smug. She doesn’t need to say anything. The message is clear.

I was here first.

My throat goes tight, but I swallow it down.

Not here. Not in Carly’s living room. Not in front of Hunter.

“I didn’t realize you still had that. I figured you burned everything before moving into Richard's mansion," he says flatly, holding the frame by its edge like it might burn him.

Bethany shrugs. “Not everything can be replaced. Some things are forever. I thought it was a nice memory. You always did say that was your favorite night.”

“That was a long time ago. A lot has changed, including your last name, if you remember.”

Carly clears her throat, trying to bring the tension down. “Well, thank you, Beth. That was thoughtful.” She opens her own gift—something from Tiffany’s, of course—and I let the murmur of motherly gratitude and charm bracelets blur into the background.

Because all I can hear is my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.

I feel Bethany’s stare before I even turn.

That smile—blinding, predatory, sharp enough to slice through the cinnamon-sugar warmth of the kitchen—burns between my shoulder blades.

“I’ll be right back,” I say quickly, grabbing my mug. “Just need the restroom.”

“Okay, honey,” Carly calls after me. “The rest of us will get started on those cinnamon rolls. They should be ready soon, and they’ll go great with Mrs. Bramble’s eggnog.”

“Unless she’s already passed out drunk in her kitchen from drinking her own supply,” Hunter jokes.

Bethany laughs too loudly, like it’s her job.

I duck into the downstairs bathroom. But I don’t need to pee. I need to breathe. Because Bethany showing up just when things were finally starting to feel right? That’s classic Bethany.

I grip the edges of the sink and stare at my reflection. Hunter doesn’t want her. He’s chosen me. We’re supposed to start something new after this trip. After Christmas. After Carly. After—

The knock comes just as I’m trying to shake it all off.

I don’t even have time to respond before the door creaks open—

And five-foot-nine of perfume and perfectly waved hair sweeps in like she owns the place, forcing me to step back just to keep from being steamrolled.

“Bethany—”

“We need to talk.”

“I don’t think we do. Hunter doesn’t want to be with you. That’s not on me. That’s on you.”

“This isn’t about Hunter,” she snaps. “It’s about Carly.”

That stops me.

“What about her?”

“She’s sick, Peyton. Really sick. And she’s been lying to Hunter.”

My breath catches. “What are you talking about?”

Bethany pulls four envelopes from her designer purse and drops them dramatically onto the bathroom counter.

I glance down. They’re all addressed to Carly Reed. One’s from a cancer research center in Texas, another in Michigan, one from Florida, and the last from somewhere in Washington.

“Clinical trials,” I breathe. “You stole these? Isn’t that a federal offense to steal mail?”

“Technically I didn’t open them,” she says, like that makes it better. “She’d have to press charges, and honestly? I don’t care. She’s lying to everyone, and I had to know the truth.”

“So you…suspected?”

“She’s been missing salon days. Her best friend Bonnie’s been calling me, worried. Carly’s tired all the time, dropping weight, and brushing it all off like it’s nothing.”

The air turns colder. Heavier.

“Oh my god. This is going to destroy Hunter.”

Bethany nods, just once. “Yeah. Which is why he has to come home. Carly won’t ask him to. She’s too proud—too independent. She lives for Hunter, and she’d never ask him to give up his dreams for her. But if he doesn’t move home, she won’t get the treatment. And you know that.”

I blink at her. “So, what—you want me to tell him to take the trade?”

“No,” she says, lips curving. “I want you to take yourself out of the equation.”

“What?”

“He won’t leave you behind. You know that. He’d give up the Hawkeyes. But you? That’s trickier. He’ll hesitate. He’ll weigh you against his mother. And that delay could cost Carly everything. So do the right thing. Let him go.”

I stare at her, heart pounding.

Bethany leans in. “End it. Tell him you’ve changed your mind. That you don’t want this anymore. That Seattle’s where you belong. And let him belong here. I’ll make him happy…eventually he’ll see it.”

The idea of letting him go eats at me, but the thought of Carly not getting treatment and him losing her? That’s something I can’t allow to happen.

She tucks the envelopes back in her purse, like it’s settled.

“What are you going to do with those?”

“I’m going to confront Carly later. Demand she tell Hunter. But until she does? You’re the only one who can save her.”

She walks out, leaving the door wide open behind her.

So many ideas swirl in my head. Did Bethany make those up? Are they even real? But there’s a part of me that does believe that Bethany cares for Carly, and she seems genuinely concerned.

I have no idea what to do, but I do know that I need to talk to Hunter about all of this. If Carly is sick, he needs to know, and maybe the trade is the right thing to do. But does that mean I have to let him go?

Maybe there’s another path forward, but I won’t know unless I talk to him.

And maybe, just maybe, Bethany is blowing all of this out of proportion just to get Carly and Hunter to herself.

Hunter

Seeing Bethany at the door earlier almost had me slamming the door in her face. If my mother hadn’t heard Beth’s voice, I would have.

I try to shake the fact that she’s still in my mother’s house, putting a damper on my first Christmas with Peyton and my mother together.

But with Peyton and I leaving tonight so I can be fresh for practice in two days, I need to stay present, since I’m not sure when I’ll be back.

Christmas music plays softly in the background, something old-school and jazzy, and for a moment, everything feels… steady.

I glance down the hallway and hear the bathroom sink shut off.

Peyton will be back in the room in a few seconds.

Everything feels more anchored when she’s near.

I push off the counter. “Need help with the plates, Ma?”

She doesn’t answer.

The sound of footsteps is near but when I look at the kitchen opening, it’s just Bethany, beaming over at me as she comes into the kitchen.

“Ma?” I ask as I turn toward her.

Still nothing.

My brow furrows, and I move closer—just as her hands tremble, the stack of plates tilting in her grip.

Then she sways.

“Ma!”

I barely catch her before the dishes hit the floor. They clatter onto the table as she slumps into me, her body heavy and unresponsive.

“Mom, come on. Stay with me.”

Her head lolls. Her eyes flutter.

“Peyton!” I yell, heart hammering, and then I hear her footsteps pounding into the kitchen. “Bethany, call 911!” I bark, already lowering her gently to the floor, cradling her against me like I can hold her here—like I can will her to stay.

Because if Bethany’s been right this whole time, then this isn’t just a faint spell.

This is something we can’t ignore anymore.