Down & Dirty (Lightning 1)

“All right, then.” I force a smile that I really hope doesn’t look fake. “Let’s find you a house.”

—

Four hours later, Shawn has narrowed the numerous choices I gave him down to two—one on a huge compound like he originally said he wanted, and one on a much smaller plot of land that shouldn’t work at all—except Shawn loves the old world charm of the place. As he should. The house is gorgeous, really, really well done, and in my opinion, he should totally snap it up. And if he hires the right landscape architect, he could totally get basketball and tennis courts in the back, near the cliffs that overlook his own private stairs down to the ocean. He doesn’t get the groves of fruit trees that he would have with the other house, which is a downside. But he’s planning on keeping this house for years and if that’s the case, there’s time to grow fruit trees.

“Take a couple days and think about it,” I tell him as I drop him back at the Starbucks where we left his car. “I’ll see if I can come up with any other properties for you, now that I know what style you like. We can regroup on Friday, maybe go see these two houses again and any others that I find that I think will work.”

“Thanks,” he says as he climbs out of the truck. “Hunter was right, you know. You’re really good at this.”

I laugh. “I’m pretty sure you’re biased.”

“And I’m pretty sure you underestimate yourself. You shouldn’t do that.” Then he closes the door with a wave and I’m left staring after him, wondering if he’s right.

I’ve always thought of the real estate thing as a stopgap while I do my art, something with the possibility of being more lucrative than working as a barista or a waitress. But it turns out I really enjoy the job. Not working with Kerry, obviously—she seems to hate me a little more each day. But I like finding the perfect house for someone, love finding them a place that can be more than a house. A place that can be a home.

I’m sure a shrink would have a field day with that—something about me trying to give others what I never had—but I’m okay with the possibility. There’s nothing wrong with helping others realize their dreams, especially not if it helps me realize mine, as well.

A quick glance at my phone tells me it’s nearly two o’clock. I should head back to the office so I can answer phones. But I’d told Kerry, and Shawn, that I might be out all day and she’d gotten someone else to cover. I know it shouldn’t work that way—I was hired to answer phones and learn the business while I did it—but Kerry’s not stupid, either. When Shawn buys a place, the agency will make another three hundred thousand dollars. And while I know Kerry would rather be making the full three percent that would come if she was representing Shawn herself, she’s not stupid enough to get rid of me. Not when I’m bringing her over half a million dollars in two weeks.

I check my texts—there are a couple from Alice, one from my mom, and one from Sage, just checking in. But the one I’m waiting for isn’t there.

There’s any number of reasons for that—Hunter could have spent the morning with Heather in ICU, in which case he might not have even seen the texts. Or maybe he’s with the kids and hasn’t had time to check his phone. Or maybe he just doesn’t have anything to say to me.

I hope that’s not it. I really hope it isn’t. But until I talk to him I’m never going to know what’s going on—in his head or with us. And I find that I’m not okay with that, not now when I’m so worried about him. Not now when I just want to know how he is.

So, in the end, I fire another text off to him. Then find UCSD’s La Jolla cancer center on my GPS and head that way. If Hunter wants me to leave, I will—no fuss, no muss. But I just want to see him. Just want to look into his eyes and see how he’s doing. I don’t think that’s such a bad thing, not when he’s going through something this awful.

I make it to the hospital by two forty-five. It takes a few minutes for me to find a parking spot and then I’m heading inside, checking with the volunteers at the front desk to find out what floor ICU is on.

I make my way to the second floor, texting Hunter to let him know I’m here. I’m not sure about privacy information, not sure if the nurses will give me Heather’s room number if Hunter hasn’t put me on the list of visitors. But surely he won’t ignore me, I tell myself as the elevator opens into a large, empty waiting room. If he doesn’t see my text in the next couple of minutes, then I’ll call him. Try to get his attention that way.

But it turns out, I don’t have to do that. Because as I head toward the ICU, I happen to glance to my left. And that’s when I see Hunter, sitting on the floor, knees drawn up and back slumped against the wall like it’s the only thing in the world keeping him upright.

“Hunter!” I make a beeline for him, my heart beating double time in fear and horror. Because it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the only reason Hunter Browning would be slumped on the floor of the ICU is if he’d just gotten some really bad news.

Chapter 27

Hunter

She’s dead.

My sister is dead.

Heather is dead.

Dead.

Dead.

Dead.

The word keeps echoing in my head like the most fucked up mantra ever, but I can’t get it out of my head. Any more than I can get my last look at Heather out of my mind, as she took her last breath and slowly slid away—her face going slack and her hand losing its grip on mine.

“Hunter.” I hear my name being called, but it doesn’t register. Nothing does but the emptiness inside of me, the absence where I’ve always before been able to feel my twin sister.

“Hunter.” My name comes again, this time closer and louder. And then a third time, right next to me, and it’s only then that it registers what’s going on. That Emerson is here, right in front of me.

“Hunter, are you all right?” she asks and judging from her tone of voice it isn’t the first time she’s asked me that question.