Down & Dirty (Lightning 1)

“I am sorry to disappoint,” he says, walking over to drop a kiss on my cheek before reaching for his niece. “I can come back in a little while if you’d prefer?”

“Yes!” Lucy shouts, all excited, and I crack up.

“Yes?” Hunter asks, pretending shock. Then he picks her up and hangs her upside-down. “You sure about that? You sure you don’t want to rethink your answer?”

Brent starts gathering up their backpacks. As he does, he rolls his eyes at me as if to say, “Can you believe these two?” The warm feeling inside me grows.

Eventually Hunter puts her down and the two of them walk hand in hand down to the special players’ parking lot while Brent sticks close to me, continuing his internal debate about who is the coolest superhero—and why Agent Coulson really should be considered one.

“Where do you want to eat?” Hunter asks as he gets us all settled in his truck. “What’s everyone in the mood for?”

“Hamburgers!” Brent shouts from the backseat.

“I want spaghetti!”

“You always want spaghetti. It’s my turn to choose.”

“I never get to choose! Uncle Hunter—”

“Enough, guys! There are restaurants that manage to have both burgers and spaghetti, so stop or I’ll take you to my favorite sushi place.”

That shuts them both right up, which I’m guessing means Hunter isn’t one for idle threats. Well, that and they don’t like sushi.

He glances at me then, a wicked light in his eyes as he says, “We won.”

“I saw.” I fold my hands in my lap, all prim and proper.

“So when do I get my prize?”

“Some time after spaghetti and hamburgers, I assume.”

“And dessert!” Brent butts in from the backseat. “Don’t forget dessert!”

“Oh, I won’t,” Hunter says with another wicked look. “I definitely won’t.”

—

An hour later, our food has just hit the table when Hunter’s phone rings. He’s in the middle of telling a ridiculous story about the kids’ “Uncle Tanner,” and he moves to reject the call. But something on the screen must not be good, because his face turns grim and he excuses himself.

The kids don’t seem to notice, and they fill in for him—telling me one ridiculous Tanner Green story after another—as we wait for him to come back. But we’re at a small restaurant and I can see him through the front glass of the window, and whatever news he’s getting isn’t good.

He doesn’t react much—he is still Hunter Browning and we are in public—but for long seconds he seems to crumple in on himself. His hand shoots out and he braces himself against the building, like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling.

I don’t know what to do. I want to go to him, but I don’t want the kids to see him like this—and neither does he, obviously, or he wouldn’t have gone outside to take the call. I keep a close eye on him as the kids dig into their food, watching as he hangs up the phone and then bends over. Kind of braces his hands on his knees as he sucks in deep breaths.

And that’s it. That’s all I can take. “Brent, can you watch your sister while I run to the bathroom?” I ask.

“Sure, no problem.”

It’s a small restaurant and the owners obviously know Hunter and the kids, so I don’t feel bad slipping out of the booth. Besides, I’ll be able to see them from outside.

But before I can take more than a step toward the front door, Hunter comes back in. He’s pale and shaking a little and when he sees me, he grabs on to my hand like a lifeline.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Can I help?”

“We need to go. My sister—” His voice breaks. “My sister just got rushed to the hospital.”

“Oh my God. What can I—”