The words tumbled off his lips, jagged, real.
The second the words left his lips, Hunter braced for rejection.
For laughter. For disbelief. For Stacey to storm out and leave him there in the cold, again. Always again.
His stomach coiled into knots, black and twisting, but he forced himself to stand still, to take it, whatever it was.
Stacey's eyes narrowed, suspicion cutting into his features, chiseled sharp enough to draw blood.
"What kinda game are you playing?"
Hunter exhaled, shaking his head once, his jaw locking so hard it hurt.
Expected, but doesn't hurt any less.
"This isn't a game," he rasped, voice stripped down to splinters. "It never has been, not for you. To me, you have always been someone I keep my eye on. No game, a conquest. A desire. A memory, sure."
But the truth was uglier. It clawed at his throat.
It was a curse.
