Chapter Thirty-Nine
Hunter’s POV
The whiskey wasn’t working anymore. I’d been drinking for three days straight, and all I had to show for it was a pounding headache and the same fucking thoughts circling my brain like vultures.
Helena was dead.
I’d betrayed her with Grace. I was a dirty bag.
I set the glass down too hard. It cracked, a thin line appearing from base to rim. Figures. Everything I touched these days seemed to break or turn to shit.
“Hunter?” My father’s voice, followed by a knock. “Son, we need to talk about the funeral.”
I ignored him, staring at the cracked glass, at the amber liquid inside it. I didn’t want to talk about the funeral. Didn’t want to think about Helena in a box, lifeless.
Even now, all I could think about was Grace. Which made me feel even worse and unable to look at her. I couldn’t get the image of her underneath me on that hotel couch out of my head. Grace’s soft gasps in my ear. Grace’s body responding to my touch while my wife was alive and breathing and somewhere in New York. But alive.
“Hunter.” Louder now. “I’m coming in.”
The door opened before I could object. Dad stood there, looking tired and grim, the lines around his eyes deeper than I remembered.
“Jesus, Hunter.” He surveyed the mess—the empty bottles, the untouched food trays, me in the same clothes I’d been wearing since yesterday. “This has to stop.”
“Why?” The word came out harsh, edged with something dangerous. “What’s the point?” I’m a fucking horrible person…
Dad stepped in, closing the door behind him. “I understand you need to deal with your feelings, but saying goodbye will allow you to do that and move on. The point is that there are decisions that need to be made. Arrangements—”
“I don’t care about arrangements.” I laughed, the sound hollow even to my own ears. “I don’t care about anything right now.” Guilt was eating me alive. My gut burned with it.
“You don’t have that luxury.” Dad’s voice hardened. “You’re still here. You still have responsibilities. To Helena’s memory, to her family. To yourself.”
To Grace, I thought. Although I had pushed her away since Helena’s death.
I ran a hand over my face, feeling the stubble of three days’ growth. “Fine. What do you need from me?”
Dad sat in the chair opposite my desk, his posture as perfect as always. “The funeral is Saturday. The funeral home is handling most of it, but there are decisions only you can make.”
“Like what?”
“If you want to speak… Everyone would understand if you can’t.” His voice gentled. “Like whether you want to see her... before.”
My stomach lurched. The thought of seeing Helena like that—cold, empty, whatever made her Helena gone—made me want to throw up the whiskey I’d been living on.
“No.” I shook my head. “No, I can’t… And I’ve already said goodbye.” At the hospital, holding her cooling hand while the monitors went silent. That image would haunt me for the rest of my life.
Dad nodded. “And the eulogy? Will you speak, or should I—”
“I’ll do it.” The words surprised me as much as him. “I should be the one.”
What would I say? That I had failed her in every way that mattered? That while she only had twenty-four hours to live, I was with her sister? That our marriage had been crumbling and I hadn’t even noticed until it was too late? Grace had already made the ultimate sacrifice.
“Good.” Dad hesitated. “There’s something else. Paulo Ricci is conscious. The police questioned him about the accident.”
My hands curled into fists, nails digging into my palms. Paulo. Her “personal trainer.” The man who’d been driving the car when she died.
“What did he say?”
“Just that they lost control on the curve. That it was an accident.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “An accident… Why was she even in the car with him, and why was he driving her car?”
Dad’s expression tightened. “Hunter— It could be as simple as his car broke down. I’m sure there’s a reasonable answer to what happened.”
“I want to see him.”
“I don’t think that’s wise—”
“I don’t give a fuck what’s wise.” My voice rose, sharp enough to make him flinch. “I need answers. I’m going to talk to him. Today.”
Dad studied me for a long moment, then nodded. “I’ll contact the hospital, find out which room. But, Hunter... whatever you’re looking for, I’m not sure you’ll find it there. You need to let her go.”
After he left, I forced myself into the shower, standing under the spray until the water ran cold. I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror, so I didn’t shave.
Downstairs, the house was quieter than it had been in days. Maybe everyone had finally left. But as I reached the bottom of the stairs, the front door opened.
Grace stepped in, holding a garment bag. Our eyes met for a split second before she looked away.
“Helena’s dress,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “For the... for Saturday. I just picked it up from the dry cleaners.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. She looked as bad as I felt—pale, dark circles under her eyes, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. Had she been sleeping? Eating? I should care. Should ask. But I couldn’t form the words.
“I’ll just... put it with the other things,” she murmured, already turning away.
I watched her go, something twisting painfully in my chest. I wanted to call her back. To say... what? That I was sorry? That I couldn’t stop thinking about her even as I drowned in guilt over Helena? That I was the worst kind of man?
Dad’s text came through then with the hospital details, and I left without seeing Grace again. Easier that way.
Paulo was in a private room, his leg in traction, face bruised but recognizable. His eyes widened when I walked in.
“Hunter—”
“Shut up.” I closed the door behind me. “Just shut the fuck up and tell me why you were in my wife’s car and why the fuck you were driving?”
He swallowed hard. “I’m sorry about Helena. I never meant—”
“Why was she with you?” My voice was deadly calm, a contrast to the rage boiling just beneath my skin.
Paulo looked away. “We were... close.”
I wondered if close meant what I thought it meant. Was he saying…
“Close.” I moved to the edge of his bed. “What does that mean, exactly? ‘Close’?”
His eyes flashed with something—defiance, maybe. “You know what it means.”
“Say it.” Why wasn’t this a shock to me… but I needed him to say it.
“We were sleeping together.” He met my gaze now, chin lifting. “For months. But it wasn’t just sex. I loved her. And she—”
“Don’t.” I cut him off, my hands itching to wrap around his throat. “Don’t you dare say you loved her.”
“But I did,” he insisted. “Which was really stupid of me, Hunter. She wasn’t the person I thought she was… She wasn’t the person you thought she was. Helena, the woman we all knew, was… was a lie.”
I froze. “What are you talking about?”
Paulo’s expression shifted, confusion replacing defiance. “The surrogate thing. With her sister. Helena said it was all for you—that she never wanted kids. That having Grace carry it was the perfect solution because she wouldn’t want to carry a baby… ever.”
The words hit like a physical blow. Helena had told me she was devastated about not being able to carry a child. That using Grace as a surrogate had been a difficult decision, but the only way to have the family we both wanted.
Had that been a lie too?
“You’re lying,” I said, but the conviction wasn’t there. The pills put doubt in my mind. “Helena was unable to fall pregnant.”
Paulo shook his head. “Man, you really didn’t know her at all, did you?”
The truth of it cut deep. I hadn’t known Helena. Not the woman who’d sleep with her trainer behind my back. How long had that been going on? No—I didn’t want to know. But had it all been lies? What the fuck had they done to Grace?
“Where were you going that night?” So instead I asked, my voice hollow.
Paulo hesitated. “Just... out. For a drive.”
Lie. I could see it in his face.
“Try again.”
He sighed. “To my place. She wasn’t herself that day.”
“What? Why?”
“I don’t know. She wouldn’t say.” Another lie, his eyes sliding away. “She was just... off. Distracted.”
I moved closer, voice dropping. “Listen to me very carefully. If I find out you’re lying to me about any of this, I will personally make sure you never work in this city again. Understand?”
He nodded, swallowing hard.
“Good.” I straightened. “The police will be in touch if they have more questions. I suggest you be very honest with them.”
I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me.
“She wasn’t who you thought she was, Hunter.” Something in his tone made me look back. “None of us are.”
I left without responding, his words echoing in my head all the way home. Who the hell had I married. Was it true. One thing was sure I needed to have answers.