Page 29
Story: The Feud
29
FAITH
T he doors to Holloway’s Hideout lock with a satisfying click , the last wave of energy from the night still buzzing in my limbs. My apron’s stuffed—again. Best tip night of my life? For the second time this week.
I sit at the bar and start counting, but I know Daphne’s watching me.
“You doin’ okay, girl?” she asks, leaning on her elbows like she’s got all the time in the world.
“Never better,” I say breezily. But she raises one brow.
“That’s your ‘everything’s a mess but I’m pretending to be chill’ voice.”
I shoot her a look. “Can’t fool you, huh?”
She just smirks. “Never could.”
I sigh and finish counting. “You need a ride?”
“Only if we’re stopping for fries on the way.” She grins. “And maybe if you’re finally gonna tell me what’s up with you and Mr. Holloway himself.”
I freeze. Blink. “What do you mean?”
Daphne gives me a please look. “Faith. You think it’s not obvious? Hun. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. The tension? The lingering glances? I may not be wearing my glasses, but I’ve got eyes.”
Heat creeps up my neck. I push my money into my purse and clear my throat. “We’ve… hooked up. A little.”
“A little?” Daphne’s eyes widen, then she fans herself dramatically. “Oh, this is better than reality TV. Wait—how long has this been going on?”
“Not long. A few nights. Just…” I trail off, searching for the words. “It’s nothing serious. Friends with benefits, I guess.”
Daphne scoffs. “Girl, the man undresses you with his eyes every time you walk by. You’re telling me that’s casual?”
I laugh, but there’s a knot in my stomach. “I know what I said. And I meant it. He lied to me, Daphne. About something big. So… we’re just having fun. That’s it.”
Daphne’s quiet for a beat. “Fun doesn’t usually make you look like you’re about to write poetry and cry in the car.”
I shoot her a glare. “Shut up.”
“You shut up,” she teases gently. “Just… be careful, okay? Hearts don’t always follow rules. Especially not when abs and smirks are involved.”
I turn the ignition once we’re in the car. The dash glows dimly in the dark.
“I know,” I say quietly. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
* * *
I’m barely inside the door, keys still in hand, when my phone buzzes.
Keith: Back in town this weekend. Let’s talk.
I stare at the screen. No “hi,” no “how are you.” Just a statement, like he’s coming to reclaim something.
I toss my keys into the bowl by the door and head to the kitchen, heart suddenly thudding louder than it was five seconds ago.
Another buzz.
Hunter: You off this weekend? Got a cabin trip planned. Lake, bonfire, drinks. Daphne’s coming. Some of my friends. You should come.
Another beat.
Hunter: It’d mean a lot to me if you did. Just as a friend. I like hanging out with you.
I stare at both texts. Side by side. Past and present. Clean-cut control vs. unpredictable wildfire.
Keith probably wants to talk about “what we are,” like we ever really were anything.
Hunter? He wants to strip me bare again. Laugh with me around a fire. Show me parts of himself he hasn’t let anyone else see.
I pace the kitchen once, twice. My fingers hover over the screen. Daphne’s voice echoes in my head:
He undresses you with his eyes every time. That’s not casual.
I text him back:
Faith: You’re sure you want me there?
He replies instantly:
Hunter: Wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t. Pack a swimsuit, goddess.
I chew my lip. Glance at Keith’s message one more time. Then I delete it.
Faith: What time are you picking me up?
* * *
I tug the zipper on my overnight bag, hoping the contents look less incriminating than they are. Bikini. Crop top. Hunter’s favorite panties, not that he’s said that, but I’ve seen his eyes when I wear them.
My dad’s in the kitchen, reading the paper like it’s 1952. “You heading somewhere?”
I grab my water bottle and sling the bag over my shoulder. “Yeah. Lake trip.”
“With who?”
“Daphne. And some people from the restaurant.”
He lowers the paper slightly. “Keith’s back in town.”
I pause mid-step. “And?”
His frown deepens. “Just thought you should know.”
“Well, now I do,” I say, already walking. “Thanks for the unsolicited update.”
I don’t wait for a response. The screen door creaks behind me as I march outside and straight into the weekend I actually want.
Hunter’s truck is idling by the curb. He looks good—arm draped casually over the wheel, sunglasses on, jaw tense until he sees me. Then it softens, just a little.
Daphne’s in the back, sipping iced coffee like she’s the Queen of Chill. “Ooh, she brought the cute overnight bag. This trip just got sexier.”
Hunter smirks. “Hop in. We’ve got a few hours on the road.”
“Where are your other friends?”
“They had to bail, unfortunately.”
Once I’m settled in the passenger seat, he hands me his phone. “You’re on music.”
“Bold move,” I say, unlocking it.
“I trust you.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Do you?”
He glances over. “No, but I like seeing what you’ll do when given power.”
I laugh and cue up Chris Stapleton. The first few chords of “Midnight Train to Memphis” roll through the speakers. Hunter nods with approval. Daphne leans forward between the seats.
“Okay, Faith. If you’re the DJ, we need road trip rules.”
“Hit me.”
“No skipping songs unless they’re truly offensive, you have to sing the chorus at least once per song, and whoever sees a cow first gets to ask a personal question that must be answered.”
Hunter groans. “You made that rule up just now.”
“I know,” Daphne says. “And I’m very proud of myself.”
We’re about an hour out of town, the highway slicing through farmland and pine groves, when Daphne wins the cow game.
“There!” she shouts, pointing out the window like she spotted Bigfoot. “Brown cow. My turn.”
I brace myself.
Daphne grins like she’s been waiting her whole life for this. “Faith, have you ever been in love?”
The truck hums beneath us. Hunter doesn’t say a word, but I feel him shift slightly in his seat, like he’s listening closer than he wants me to know.
“Wow. Going right for the jugular.”
“It’s the rules,” Daphne says sweetly.
I glance out the window, watching fence posts blur into one another. “I thought I was. Once. But now I think I was just trying to prove something. To my parents. To myself. To… him.”
Hunter’s jaw tenses just slightly.
I shrug. “It doesn’t really count if you had to shrink yourself to stay.”
Daphne whistles. “Okay, damn. That was poetic and tragic.”
Hunter clears his throat. “Cow,” he says suddenly, pointing to the other side of the road.
Daphne gasps. “What? No way.”
“Steer, actually. But I win.”
She groans. “Ugh. Fine.”
Hunter doesn’t look at me when he asks, “What do you want out of this summer?”
My heart does that weird thing again, like it wants to retreat and jump forward at the same time.
“I want,” I say slowly, “to finally figure out who I am when I’m not following someone else’s script.”
Daphne claps from the back. “Mic drop!”
Hunter gives a small, crooked smile, but his eyes don’t leave the road. “Good answer.”
We settle back into the music, and Chris Stapleton’s rough, soulful voice carries us the next stretch of the drive. Hunter’s hand brushes mine on the center console—accidental, probably—but I don’t move it.
Eventually, his fingers find mine. He squeezes once, silent and sure. My chest tightens.
Friends with benefits. Right.
So why does it feel like we’re already writing something bigger?
Table of Contents
- Page 1
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- Page 13
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- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29 (Reading here)
- Page 30
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- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43