Page 7 of Crossed Paths (The Ramblers of St. Claire #2)

Hunter

I take the stairs two at a time, dragging my T-shirt over my head as I go, still damp from the shower, my hair a mess.

She might’ve gone.

She could’ve gone.

She hesitated outside the door for so long, and after last night… I wouldn’t be surprised. Not really.

But when I reach the living room, there she is. Standing by the bookshelf, fingers grazing the edge of an old frame.

She doesn’t look up right away.

Just points to the photo.

“That’s us,” she says.

I nod, heart still thudding. “Yeah.”

“The night before my wedding.”

I push my hair back with one hand, exhaling. “Worst night of my life.”

She blinks, surprised. “Really?”

“I hated him.” The words come easy now, too long held in. “I didn’t know all the reasons yet. Not the full picture. But I hated the way he looked at you. The way he talked like you were something he’d won. Like marrying you was the achievement.”

Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak.

I swallow. “Back then, I just knew he wasn’t right. I hated him because he was taking you away. Because he got to stand next to you and call it his place.”

She lets out a soft breath. “I didn’t actually love him.”

That knocks the air out of me more than I expected.

I watch her closely. “Then why did you marry him?”

She turns, finally meeting my eyes. There's no anger in her face, just reflection—like this is something she’s only recently been able to admit out loud.

“I thought I was in love,” she says. “But what I was really in love with was the idea that someone wanted me. That someone chose me.”

My throat tightens, but I don’t interrupt.

“I was twenty-four. Thought I needed to settle down, make a plan. Everyone else seemed to be pairing off, and here came Darren—polished, successful, certain. And he asked. So I said yes.”

There’s no bitterness in her voice, only the dull weight of hindsight.

“My stupid twenty-four-year-old brain thought that was enough. That being wanted equalled love. Turns out, it doesn’t.”

She presses her fingers against the edge of the photo again, like she needs something solid to anchor her.

“I didn’t know any better,” she adds, almost to herself.

“I did,” I say quietly.

She looks up .

“I knew what it was supposed to feel like. Because even back then—” I pause, steady my voice “—I felt it every time I was around you.”

She turns toward me fully now, brow furrowed, eyes searching mine.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

I let out a breath. “Because I was young. And I didn’t know what the hell to do with the way I felt.”

I rub a hand over the back of my neck, trying to find the right words.

“And then Darren turned up—flashy job, shiny car that looked like it cost more than my entire life—and you seemed happy. Or at least, you looked like someone who’d made a decision. So, I thought... I’d missed my chance.”

She doesn’t say anything, so I keep going.

“I just hoped you were happy, even if it wasn’t with me.”

I pause, the words heavy in my mouth.

“And when he—when he treated you like that, when he made a fool of you in front of everyone—I wanted to kill him.”

Her expression tightens slightly, jaw flexing.

“I mean it,” I say, voice quieter now. “I could’ve murdered him for what he did to you.”

But Alex shakes her head.

“No,” she says firmly. “He didn’t hurt me, Hunter. Not like that.”

I frown. “Alex—”

She cuts me off, not unkindly. “He humiliated me. That’s what it was. I wasn’t heartbroken. I wasn’t even surprised. It wasn’t the bloody first time that he had cheated on me. But that time I just felt... small. Because the village was watching me come undone in real time.”

My chest aches at that.

She continues, voice steady, but softer now. “He didn’t break my heart—he shattered my pride. My sense of judgement. I didn’t cry when I left him. I just packed up and disappeared for a bit because I couldn’t bear the pity.”

I nod, throat tight.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“No,” she says, a bitter smile ghosting her lips. “But I survived it. And then I built a life that was mine.”

She stands there, arms crossed but not defensive, her eyes soft and full of something that makes my chest ache.

And I’m itching to pull her into a hug. Every part of me wants to close the space between us. To hold her and let her lean for once.

But I don’t.

Not until she gives me permission.

“Alex…” I say quietly.

Her gaze flicks up. “Why do you always call me that?”

I blink. “What do you mean?”

She tilts her head. “Everyone else calls me Ally. Or Alexandra. Pete sometimes calls me Al. But you’re the only one who says Alex.”

I shift, suddenly feeling like I’m being called out for something I didn’t know I’d been doing on purpose.

“I don’t know,” I say slowly. “I guess… because I am the only one. It makes it feel like something just between us.”

She stares at me for a long second. “I hated it when we were younger.”

I flinch slightly. “Sorry—”

But she steps forward, places a hand gently on my chest, right over my heart .

“No,” she says, voice soft. “I hated it because it made me sound like a boy. But now that I know what it means…”

Her fingers curl slightly into my shirt.

“I like it.”

Her hand rests lightly against my chest, and for a second, neither of us moves. The air feels different now—quiet, full of things not said but understood.

Then she whispers, “Hunter.”

That single word spoken like that, almost breaks me.

She swallows, eyes not quite meeting mine. “Can you do something for me?”

“Anything,” I say, without hesitation.

Her gaze lifts. There’s a flicker of something raw in it—fear, maybe. Or just the weight of too much held in for too long.

“Can I have a hug?”

I don’t answer.

I just step forward and finally, finally , pull her into my arms.

She doesn’t hold back. Her body melts into mine like she’s been holding herself upright for too long and finally doesn’t have to. Her arms wrap around my waist, her face buries against my chest, and I hold her tighter than I probably should.

But she doesn’t seem to mind.

I bend slightly and press a kiss to the top of her head, and we just stand there, wrapped in each other, in the middle of my cluttered living room, in the aftermath of everything that’s been unsaid for years.

My hands slide up her back, tracing the curve of her spine, memorizing the feel of her against me.

She’s always been curvy, soft in all the right places, and I can’t help but press her closer, as if to prove to myself that she’s real.

Her grey eyes are closed, her lashes brushing against her pale cheeks, and I’m struck by how right she feels in my arms.

“Hunter,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “I—”

I don’t let her finish. I tilt her chin up with my thumb, my fingers brushing the fiery waves of her hair, and kiss her.

It’s not gentle, not at first. It’s desperate, hungry, like I’ve been starving for this moment and can’t wait another second.

Her lips part under mine, and I taste the sweetness of her, the warmth of her breath mingling with mine.

My other hand cups the back of her head, holding her steady as I deepen the kiss, pouring every unspoken word, every missed moment, into it.

She responds with equal urgency, her hands gripping my shirt, her body pressing into mine. I can feel her heartbeat racing, her breath hitching, and it fuels the fire burning in my veins. I’ve wanted this for so long, wanted her, and now that she’s here, I can’t let go.

When I finally pull back, we’re both breathless, our chests heaving in sync.

Her eyes are glazed with desire, her lips swollen from my kiss, and I’m hit with a wave of possessiveness I’ve never felt before.

“Come with me,” I say, my voice low and commanding.

I don’t wait for her to respond, just take her hand and lead her toward my bedroom.

The room is dimly lit, the curtains drawn, and the air feels heavy with anticipation. I turn to face her, my fingers still laced with hers, and trail my other hand down her arm, over the curve of her hip, pulling her closer.

“I didn't think it was possible to want someone this much,” I whisper, my lips brushing against her ear .

She shivers at my words, her eyes flicking up to meet mine. “I need you too,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.

I don’t say anything else. I just kiss her again, slower this time, savouring the feel of her lips, the softness of her mouth.

My hands roam over her body, mapping every curve, every dip, like I’m trying to memorise her all over again.

Her dress is a hindrance, and I waste no time in sliding it off her shoulders, letting it pool at her feet.

She stands before me in nothing but her simple underwear, her pale skin glowing in the low light, and I’m momentarily speechless.

“You’re perfect,” I murmur, my eyes tracing the lace of her bra, the way it cups her full breasts, the hint of her hard nipples straining against the material.

I step closer, my hands cupping her waist, and press my lips to the hollow of her throat, breathing in her scent.

“Tell me you want this, Alexandra. Tell me you want me.”

She nods, her hands tangling in my hair, pulling me closer. “I want you, Hunter. I’ve always wanted you.”

I kiss her again, harder this time, my hands moving to unhook her bra, sliding it off her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor.

Her breasts are just perfect, full and soft, her nipples tight buds begging for my touch.

I lower my head, taking one into my mouth, swirling my tongue around it, and she gasps, her fingers digging into my scalp.

“Fuck, Hunter,” she moans, her head falling back as I switch to the other, sucking and teasing until she’s squirming against me. “Don’t stop.”

I smirk against her skin. “I’m just getting started, Alex.”