Page 37
Story: The Feud
37
HUNTER
T he smell of grilled sweet corn hits me first. Then the laughter.
I step into the backyard of Faith’s childhood home, holding a tray of burgers I made myself—okay, half-made. My mom insisted on “doctoring them up,” whatever that means.
The yard is strung with golden lights, the kind that make everything feel like a memory even while it’s happening. Kids run barefoot over the grass. There’s a playlist bumping some fantastic mix of George Strait and Hozier, and someone’s uncle is already half-drunk on lemonade vodka, explaining lawn care to a teenager.
And there she is.
Faith.
Hair down, dress hugging her curves in that breezy, effortless way she does now. She’s smiling at Daphne, who’s bouncing June on her hip, and the sight does something to my chest that I’m not entirely ready to name.
This is what I want.
I grip the tray tighter.
“This where I drop the meat?” I ask, nodding at the grill.
Daphne beams at me. “Right next to the magic corn. Don’t screw it up, Thor.”
“Still calling me that, huh?”
She smirks. “It’s either that or ‘Hunter the Heartbreaker.’ But I’m trying to be supportive.”
“Appreciate it.”
I glance back toward Faith just in time for her to catch me watching her.
She breaks into a grin and walks over. “Hey, handsome.”
Before I can answer, she presses a quick kiss to my lips—nothing too crazy. Just enough to turn the whole backyard into background noise.
“Glad you’re here,” she says softly.
“Wouldn’t be anywhere else.”
I’m about to ask if she needs help with anything when I spot him. Keith’s dad. Mr. Stinson. Standing by the cooler, arms folded, jaw set like he’s waiting for someone to challenge him to a duel.
Of course.
Faith notices my stare. “Ignore him.”
“You sure?”
“I’ve got this,” she says—and God, she means it.
She walks toward the drink table where Mr. Stinson is brooding, every eye in the backyard subtly following her. Her mom stiffens a little near the patio, but no one says a word.
“Faith,” Mr. Stinson starts, “we were all surprised to hear about... this situation.”
She blinks. “This situation?”
“You know what I mean. You and Hunter. The way you’ve—what happened to Keith was unfortunate, but you don’t just?—”
“Don’t what?” Faith asks calmly. “Don’t walk away from something that doesn’t make you happy? Don’t walk away from a guy who is one foot in, one foot out with you?”
Mr. Stinson shifts uncomfortably. “You had a future set up. A secure one. Love isn’t perfect. Especially when you’re young.”
“No,” she says. “ You had a future set up for me and Keith. And I went along with it. I wore the ring. I played the part. But it wasn’t mine.”
Mr. Stinson—Mayor Stinson—seems at a loss for words. You could hear a pin drop. I love hearing Faith give it to him.
Faith’s voice softens just a little. “I don’t expect you to understand. But I need you to know—I didn’t throw anything away. I chose something better. I really wish your son well and I hope he’s happy. But he’s got some soul-searching to do. And he’s got to do that alone, away from me.”
Stinson’s mouth opens and closes, but he doesn’t say anything.
She nods, turns, and walks away without waiting for permission.
And holy hell.
She walks straight back to me, calm as ever, picks up her lemonade, and takes a long sip like nothing happened.
Daphne appears beside me and mutters, “You married up, Holloway.”
I don’t even try to argue. Because she’s right.
“Okay.” Faith heaves a heavy sigh. “One awkward conversation down at this barbecue.”
“Two if you count Keith,” I remind her.
“Right. I’m doing better than I thought.”
“You always do.”
She smiles at me, and gives me a kiss. “Alright. This is the tough one. Daddy and I have been avoiding each other all week. But it’s time.”
The grill crackles beside me, but I’m not watching the fire.
I’m watching her.
Faith walks slowly toward her mom and dad, who are standing at the edge of the yard near the bird bath, both with their arms crossed like they’re bracing for a storm.
She pauses beside them. Says something I can’t hear.
He nods. Faith nods. Her mom presses her lips together. They start walking—just the three of them—toward the gravel path that leads into the woods behind the property. Not far, but far enough for privacy.
My chest tightens.
Daphne comes up beside me, cradling her lemonade like it’s a newborn. “You think they’re gonna give you their blessing or grab a shotgun?”
I snort. “Fifty-fifty.”
“Fair.” She clinks her glass against mine. “She’s a badass, though. Whatever he says, she won’t back down.”
I nod. But still, I can’t help but watch the trees like they’ll spit her out hurt.
Please don’t say something stupid to her, man. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.
Ten minutes go by. Then fifteen.
Finally, I spot them returning. Their expressions are unreadable.
Faith walks with her shoulders back, chin lifted. But there’s something softer around the edges now. Her dad walks beside her, not saying much, but not scowling either. Her mom seems to have a neutral expression behind them. When they reach the clearing again, she gives him a small nod, gives her mom a hug, then peels off toward the patio.
They don’t follow.
Her dad stops by the cooler, cracks open a soda, and mutters to no one in particular, “That boy better treat her right.”
I blink.
Did I hear that right?
Faith reaches me a moment later. I open my mouth, but she just smiles and presses a hand to my chest.
“It’s okay,” she says. “He’s not thrilled. But he heard me. They both did.”
I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her into my side. “What did you tell them?”
Her voice is steady. “I told them I love you.”
The world stills.
I don’t say anything for a second. Just let it settle. Her words. The quiet certainty of them.
Then I murmur, “Say it again.”
She leans in. Her lips brush the shell of my ear.
“I love you.”
And just like that—every game, every mask, every lie we ever told?
Gone.
It’s just us now.
Table of Contents
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- Page 37 (Reading here)
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