Page 90 of Hunter

Chapter 36

Charlie

It’s finally happened.

I am a headliner at the Yates Art Gallery on Broadway.

It’s been a couple of months in the making, but tonight, it’s real. My name is on the main banner outside. My paintings and drawings take up nearly half the gallery space. People are actually here to see my work.

I’m dressed in my version of fancy: a cropped black silk button-up that shows a strip of skin at my waist, tight dark pants with strategic rips and fishnets peeking through, silver stud earrings, and fresh winged eyeliner sharp enough to cut glass. My curls are tamed just enough to look intentional. I feel powerful. Exposed. Alive.

Lucy hasn’t left my side since we got here. She’s in a sparkly silver dress that makes her look like a disco ball, and every time someone compliments my art, she squeezes my arm like she might burst with pride.

“Charlie, this is insane,” she whispers as another couple stops in front of the large painting of Hunter sleeping with Sofia on his chest. “People are buying them. That woman in the red dress just asked about the fountain piece. She called it ‘hauntingly intimate.’”

I laugh, a little breathless, champagne flute cold in my hand. The gallery is warm and buzzing—soft lighting, jazz playing low, people milling between my work and the other featured artists. My stomach keeps flipping every time someone lingers in front of one of the Hunter pieces. Some of them feel so personal I almost want to hide, but seeing strangers connect with them… it’s healing something I didn’t know was still broken.

“You did this,” Lucy says, bumping her shoulder against mine. “You took all that pain and made it into something beautiful. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

I lean into her, letting myself feel it for a second. The excitement. The pride. The nervous thrill of putting my heart on these walls for everyone to see.

Then the air changes.

The chatter doesn’t stop, but it fades into the background as the door opens and he walks in.

Hunter.

He’s wearing a black button-down with the sleeves rolled up, showing the scars on his forearms, and dark form fitting jeans. His hair is a little longer but neatly styled, stubble thicker but also trimmed, but those eyes…those eyes find me instantly across the room.

The whole world stops spinning.

My breath catches. My heart slams against my ribs so hard I’m sure everyone can hear it. The champagne flute trembles in my hand. Lucy follows my gaze and goes still beside me.

His gaze moves from piece to piece, lingering on each one. When his eyes finally land back on me, the look in them nearly knocks the air out of my lungs.

He looks… good. Sober. Like he’s been through hell and is still standing. And he’s looking at me like I’m still the brightest thing in the room.

Lucy squeezes my arm. “Oh shit,” she whispers. “You want me to run interference?”

I shake my head, eyes still locked on his.

“No,” I murmur. “I think… I need to talk to him.”

Hunter takes one slow step forward, then another, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he moves too fast.

And just like that, everything fades into the background.

It’s just him.

And me.

And months of everything we never got to say. We both start speaking at the exact same time.

“How did you know about the show?” I ask, voice soft.

“You look good,” he says at the same moment, rough and honest.

We both stop. A tiny, nervous laugh slips out of me. Hunter’s mouth twitches like he almost smiles, but it doesn’t quite make it.