Page 34
Story: The Feud
34
HUNTER
H olloway’s Hideout is packed.
Laughter rings out from table five. Someone’s singing along to the jukebox at the bar—badly—and the kitchen bell dings like it’s personally trying to break my last nerve.
But none of it touches me.
Not really.
I should be feeling good. Business is booming. Staff’s in a rhythm. And yet I’m walking around this place like I’m missing a limb.
Faith’s apron is still hanging on the hook in the back. The one she always knotted twice like she didn’t trust it to hold. Her handwriting’s all over last week’s specials board— Blueberry bourbon smash (Faith’s fave) —and it guts me every time I walk past it.
I forgot how loud this place gets on Fridays from our drink specials, but now it just sounds...empty.
“Yo,” Ty says, sidling up beside me with a bar rag slung over his shoulder. “You’re gonna stare a hole through that wall or you gonna pour some drinks?”
I grunt. “Just thinking.”
“About Faith?” he asks, already knowing the answer.
I don’t say anything. Because yeah. Obviously.
He leans on the counter. “Daphne said she’s safe. Said she left a note. Said she needed space. So you gonna let her breathe, or are you gonna keep acting like a ghost in your own damn restaurant?”
“I gave her space,” I mutter, jaw tight. “I’ve been giving her space. What else am I supposed to do?”
Ty shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe stop pretending like this is just some summer fling? I know you. And you’re not fooling anybody, man. You’ve been so nervous about everything with this girl. Because you like her man. More than that.”
I clench my jaw, scanning the room—this place I built from nothing.
I catch sight of a couple sitting where she and I used to sit after her shifts. The booth in the back. Her laugh echoing in my head like it never left.
I grab a dish towel and wipe down the bar—aggressively. “She made it pretty clear. She doesn’t trust me. Can’t blame her.”
Ty exhales. “No, but you could try winning her back.”
I finally stop. Look at him.
“I’ve been thinking about it all week. Every second,” I admit. “I want to tell her everything. Not just that I love her. That she makes me want to be the guy she thinks I’m not. I just...I don’t know how.”
Ty claps me on the shoulder. “Start with one thing: don’t let her think she’s the only one scared.”
I nod, eyes drifting toward the door like maybe—just maybe—she’ll walk through it.
She doesn’t.
* * *
Saturday morning.
I’m sitting on the back porch with a mug of coffee, watching the steam rise and disappear. The sky’s soft, overcast. Still. The kind of morning that should feel peaceful.
It doesn’t.
Instead, I keep replaying every damn second of that last day at the lake. Every laugh. Every kiss. Every moan. And then that look on Faith’s face before she left.
Gone.
No explanation. Just...gone.
I tell myself I’m overreacting. That it was casual. That she never promised me anything. But the coffee’s bitter, and I can’t swallow down the pit sitting in my throat.
By the time noon rolls around, I’ve already walked around the block twice, reorganized the liquor inventory, and cleaned the espresso machine myself—which I never do.
My phone buzzes with a message.
Ty: You busy tonight?
Hunter: Always.
Ty: That’s a lie.
Hunter: Not in the mood to hang.
Ty: It’s not a hang. It’s a recovery mission.
Hunter: ???
Ty: Mont du Marquette. Back room. Chill vibe. No pressure. Could be fun.
Hunter: That is the absolute last place I want to go in a million years.
Ty: Which is exactly why we should go. Full circle, bro. Just us, no drama. I’ll buy the first round.
I stare at the screen.
Mont du Marquette.
The fucking origin story.
The mask. The girl. The voice. The photo. The kiss that rearranged my molecular structure.
“Full circle,” I mutter.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe I need to face the ghost of Thor the Trucker and get my head on straight again.
Maybe it’s just a distraction.
Or maybe—God help me—I’m hoping to see her.
* * *
We pull up to the old brick building, the neon glow of Mont du Marquette buzzing in the humid air. People are already lined up outside. The bass inside is low but thumping.
I grip the steering wheel, hesitate for half a second longer.
“You sure about this?” I ask.
Ty shrugs. “Nope. But I already paid the cover.”
I laugh under my breath and get out of the car, throwing on my ridiculous mask that makes me look like a character out of Scream .
As we walk in, memories hit like static electricity. The dim lights. The velvet curtains. The scent of clove and bourbon in the air. That piano note of tension strung tight across the room.
We make our way toward the back, where the private lounge is quieter. Lower ceilings. Leather chairs. A dark mirror behind the bar that reflects flickers of candlelight.
Ty leans in. “Gonna say hey to someone real quick,” he mutters. “Be right back.”
He slips through a side curtain, and I’m left nursing my drink. Trying not to feel haunted.
Just then, a voice hums from the other side of the partition. It’s one of those weird in-between walls—a decorative panel with gilded slats, offering a bit of privacy but still letting conversation bleed through.
“You came back,” the voice says softly. Feminine. Warm.
I blink. “Sorry?”
A shadow shifts on the other side of the slats, but I still can’t see her.
“I said,” the voice purrs, “I saw you walk in. You’ve got that look about you. Restless. Hungry. Interested in a casual encounter?”
I smirk, but it feels hollow.
“No thanks,” I say, sipping my drink. “Heart’s taken. Broken. But taken.”
A pause.
“Oh?” she says. “You in love?”
I let out a slow breath. “Yeah. Think I might be.”
The silence stretches just long enough to make me wonder who’s behind the slats. Why the voice makes my chest ache like I’ve heard it before. I lean in slightly, just as the curtains shift behind me.
Footsteps. Light, precise.
I turn—and there she is.
Faith.
Mask on. Hair curled and gleaming under the amber light. A pale trench coat tied tight at the waist. Heels that make her legs look like a sin.
My heart slams into my ribs.
“Holy shit,” I breathe. “You’re here.”
“I am,” Faith says quietly. “I came back.”
We stare at each other. Everything in me coils tight with disbelief. Hope. Need.
In her mask and a trench coat, most people wouldn’t recognize her.
Faith steps closer, voice low but steady. “I had to see you. But I also needed some time to think through everything this week.”
“You don’t have to explain,” I say quickly, throat dry. “You don’t owe me anything.”
But she shakes her head. “Yes, I do.”
She reaches up and unties the mask, letting it fall away.
Her eyes are bright. Wide. Unmistakably hers.
“I went to Nashville,” she says. “Tried to run. Tried to reason. Tried to logic my way out of everything. But the truth is…”
She swallows. “I’m done pretending I don’t care. I’m done hiding.”
I step forward, stunned.
“I love you, Hunter.”
I stop breathing.
“I love you,” she repeats, voice breaking just a little. “And I don’t want to be scared to go after what I really want anymore.”
Table of Contents
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