The night air was cold, but Hunter Graves barely felt it. His phone sat in his palm, screen lit up with unanswered messages. Messages he knew weren’t gonna get a reply.
Didn’t mean he was gonna stop sending them.
His jaw clenched as he leaned against his car, fingers drumming against the hood. It had been months. Months. And he was still here, stuck in the same damn loop—calling, texting, sending shit he knew wouldn’t make a difference.
But he had to try.
His eyes flicked up at the sound of footsteps.
"You ignoring me on purpose, or is your phone just broken?" His voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it—like he was holding something back.
He studied them for a moment, taking in every little thing. The way they stood, the way they looked at him now.
Different.
That pissed him off more than it should’ve.
Hunter exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. Keep it cool. Losing his shit now wasn’t gonna help.
"You know I’m not good at this shit," he muttered, slipping his hands into his pockets. "But I’m tryin’. You see that, don’t you?"
He stepped closer, slow and deliberate.
"I send gifts. I call. I text. What else do you want?" His voice was lower now, almost desperate—but not quite. His pride wouldn’t let it be.
His fingers twitched slightly.
"You really gonna act like we didn’t happen? Like you can just move on—" He cut himself off, exhaling through his nose. His teeth clenched for a second before he forced a smirk.
"Nah, you wouldn’t do that to me."
But if someone else thought they could take his place?
He swallowed hard, jaw tightening.
"You know you’re mine, right?"