Free

Chapter 21

TWENTY-ONE

Charlie

I stare at Nick’s last text— I would happily take you up on it —my heart doing that stupid little fluttery thing I’ve been trying to ignore for years. It shouldn’t be this complicated. A text. A simple suggestion. And yet here I am, clutching my phone like it’s a grenade and the pin’s already been pulled.

Garrett’s voice echoes in my mind. Be careful, Charlie. You and Nick have been through a lot. Yeah, no kidding. But how do you be careful when every interaction with him feels like stepping into quicksand? The more time I spend with him, the deeper I sink, the more impossible it feels to ever get free.

I swipe a hand across my face and groan softly, startling Fluff, who’s been rubbing his head against my thigh while I sit cross-legged in bed. He stops and gives me a look—half curiosity, half judgment—before flopping onto his side like he’s personally offended by my indecision. Orange, stretched out on a pillow behind me, lets out a lazy yawn, the tip of his tail flicking in time with my hesitation.

What’s the worst that could happen? I tell myself. It’s just yoga. It’s just Nick.

But it’s not just Nick. It’s never been just Nick.

I open the text thread again, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. What if Garrett’s right? What if I’m walking into something that’s going to hurt more than it heals? Because let’s be real—Nick isn’t exactly a safe bet. He’s unpredictable. Hot and cold. He says one thing but means another and I constantly feel like I have to read between the lines. I’m not sure my heart can take another round of that.

But then I think about the coffee shop yesterday. The way he made me laugh, made me feel lighter than I have in months. The way he looked at me, like I was something more than a series of bad decisions and failed relationships. Like I still mattered.

I chew on my bottom lip, glancing down at Fluff, who’s now batting lazily at Orange’s tail. “What do you think?” I ask, though I’m not expecting an answer. “Am I being stupid? Setting myself up for more heartbreak?”

Fluff chirps, his tail thumping against the bed.

“Right. Because you’re a cat and all you care about is food and naps.”

But even as I say it, I know I’ve already made my decision. My thumb moves almost on its own, typing out the message before I can second-guess myself.

I’m free right now if you are.

I hit send, my stomach twisting into knots. The second it’s done, I want to snatch the words back, to undo the decision. The man hasn’t spoken more than a handful of words to me in the last year. Of the words he has spoken, most of them have been “friend.” Making myself available right now might be a little intense.

But I am who I am and what’s done is done.

But then the phone buzzes in my hand, and the sight of Nick’s reply has me grinning before I even read it.

Nick

Works for me. Good to come to my place?

My heart leaps, and just like that, the doubts quiet. For now, at least. I don’t know what I’m doing, or if it’s the right thing. But I do know that spending time with Nick feels like coming up for air after being underwater for too long. Maybe Garrett’s right to be cautious. Maybe I should be, too. But I can’t help thinking…

What if this is the start of something good?

I tell Nick I’ll be on my way shortly, and he shoots me his address. I paste it into my GPS then snatch up my yoga mat, wave a distracted goodbye to Angela and Garrett, and head outside, the ocean breeze immediately cooling the heat that’s gathered under my skin.

The drive to Nick’s feels anticipatory. His place is tucked away on a secluded stretch of beach that makes you forget the rest of the world exists—a small, weathered beach house, painted a muted seafoam green, with a white porch that wraps around one side. Two worn chairs and a small table sit out front, angled just right to catch the breeze off the water. How many times has he sat on that porch, cracked open a cold drink, and let the day slip by unnoticed? How often has that second chair been occupied?

The gravel crunches beneath my tires as I pull into his driveway. My pulse picks up as I step out of the car, a sense of homecoming tugging at my chest even though this is the first time I’ve been here. As I climb the porch steps, a deep, throaty bark echoes from inside.

I freeze. That’s new. I mean, right? Nick and I haven’t been all that close recently, but given how often we talked before his accident, I feel like I would have known if he had a dog.

Before I can knock, the door swings open, and I’m greeted not just by Nick—who looks ridiculously good in a white tank top and gray sweats—but also by what appears to be a bear masquerading as a German Shepherd. The dog is massive, her chest puffed out, ears rigid, and her eyes laser-focused on me like I might be hiding contraband in my yoga mat. She plants herself at Nick’s side, her stance screaming, Try something. I dare you.

“Oh,” I say, taking a half step back before I can stop myself. “Hi there.” I glance up at Nick, who’s watching me with an amused grin. “Didn’t realize you had a… a canine security system.”

Nick leans down, ruffling the dog’s ears like she’s just a regular good girl and not a fur-covered bouncer deciding if I’m allowed inside. “This is Sunshine. Don’t worry, she looks scary, but she’s the sweetest thing in the world. Unless, you know, you’re planning to rob me or something.”

Sunshine’s ears flick at his words, but her intense gaze never wavers. I swear I see her assessing my posture, my breathing, maybe even my criminal record. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” I say, trying to keep my tone light even as my heart pounds in my chest.

Nick chuckles. “She’s part of a rehabilitation program.”

I can’t help but arch a brow at that, still rooted in place just outside the doorway. “Rehabilitating who? You or the Terminator here?”

“Both, actually,” Nick says, scratching under her chin. His voice softens, and something in his expression shifts—gentler, more vulnerable. “Sunshine’s a vet, just like me. She was wounded in the line of duty and retired from service. They paired us up because apparently we’re supposed to be good for each other.” He chuckles, the sound low and a little self-deprecating. “I couldn’t tell ya if I’ve been any good for her, but she’s been great for me. She’s an inspiration. Come a lot farther than I have.”

“I’d say that means you’ve been plenty good for her.” I glance down at Sunshine just as her mouth drops open and her tongue lolls out, her head cocking to the side with a curious little whine.“Are you sure she’s okay with me being here?”

Nick laughs, the sound low and warm. “If she wasn’t, you’d know by now. Sunshine doesn’t do subtle.”

His words don’t do much to reassure me, but before I can respond, Sunshine’s posture softens. Her ears tilt back slightly, her body relaxing as she steps forward to sniff at me. Slowly, cautiously, I offer my hand, and after a few tense seconds, her tail gives a tentative wag. The tension in my shoulders eases, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

“There you go,” Nick says, his grin widening as Sunshine licks my hand, her earlier menace completely gone. “Told you she was sweet.”

“Yeah, sweet like a chainsaw,” I mutter, but I can’t help smiling as I scratch behind her ears. Sunshine leans into the touch, her big brown eyes suddenly soft and trusting.

Stepping inside, I can’t help but notice Nick’s house feels a lot like he does right now. At one point, he put time and energy into the place, but now there’s a thin layer of dust on the surfaces. The walls are painted a soft sand color, and while the windows have blinds and curtains begging to let in light, they’re pulled taut. Pictures line a desk in the foyer. Most of them show Nick in uniform, smiling with other Marines, standing in front of tents in the desert, or dressed in his blues, receiving medals. Two or three of the frames are facedown, though, and I wonder what memories he’s trying to keep hidden.

“So,” I say, switching to the task ahead to mask my sudden discomfort, “where’s the worst of it?”

Nick looks baffled and I hurry on. “The soreness, I mean. Depending on how bad it is, I’m not sure working those muscles again is a great idea.”

I meet his gaze, suddenly very aware of how close we are, of the fact that I’m in his space, surrounded by him . This is where he sleeps, where he breathes, where he has good days and bad days. There’s something intimate about being here, in the place he calls home. It’s overwhelming in a way that makes my pulse quicken.

Nick drags his fingers through his hair. I’d grown used to him with his military crop, but he’s wearing his hair shaggy now. It’s like everything else about him, untouched since he came home. The longer hair works for him, but I don’t like what it suggests about his mental state.

“I hurt from here to here,” he says, waving a hand from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet, “but I don’t want you to worry about that. I’m an expert at working through discomfort. I’m tired of walking around like an old man, and I really don’t want to be the big guy who falls over all the time the next time I come to class. So, hit me with your best stuff so it never happens again.”

I laugh. “Remember what I said about you being predictable?”

“Yeah…” Nick gives me the side-eye.

“Let’s just say I definitely knew that would be your perspective.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“No. Just that maybe you should learn that hard-charging into things isn’t always the best play. Sometimes you need to breathe a little. To allow rather than control.”

“Now who’s being predictable, Miss Crunchy Granola Yoga Instructor?”

We move into the living room, shifting furniture to make space, and I lead him through a simple seated flow. His body is warm beneath my hands as I adjust his posture—his muscles strong and taut beneath his skin. Every time my fingers brush against him, I’m hyper-aware of the heat radiating between us, of how much space he takes up, physically and otherwise.

I guide him through the poses, my voice soft. “Breathe into it.”

He sits up, his face so close to mine that I can see the faint stubble along his jaw. Our eyes meet, and for a heartbeat, I forget how to breathe. I’m tumbling, head over heels through the bluest sky, standing on a pier watching him walking away, certain that Nick Hutton is my future… until he cocks his head and pulls back slightly, returning me to the here and now.

“What does that even mean?” he asks, his voice low, gravelly. “ Breathe into it ?”

I swallow, trying to focus. “Allow the inhale to expand your ribs and lungs, to lengthen your body, then use the exhale to soften into the stretch. Let the movement happen naturally. Don’t force it. Just let it be.”

Nick’s gaze stays locked on mine for a second too long. For a second, I think he might kiss me. Or I might kiss him. Like the year separating us never happened and he never pushed me away and I never met Davis. It’s just me and Nick, the way I thought we were meant to be. But then he leans forward into the stretch again, seemingly oblivious to the electricity crackling between us.

“Allow. Soften. Don’t force it,” he grumbles, shaking his head. “I made a life out of making things happen. Observe. Orient. Decide. Act. On a loop. I didn’t ‘allow’ shit.”

“Well then observe the tension in your body, orient on the way your breath changes that feeling, decide to soften into it, then make it happen, Marine.”

He lets out a low, gravelly chuckle, his lips quirking in a half-smile. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It is.” I meet his eyes, my breath catching at the intensity there. “You just have to trust yourself.”

The words hang between us, heavy with unspoken meaning. His gaze flickers to my lips, and I feel a flush creep up my neck, the heat of him so close it’s dizzying. My fingers linger on his arm, and for one breathless second, I forget everything—Davis, the past, the promises I made to myself to keep my distance.

Nick chuckles, still shaking his head, but takes a deep breath and sure as hell, I feel him soften. I follow the curve of his spine with my hand, trying to stay professional, but the heat of him, the sheer presence of him, makes it difficult to focus.

“There it is,” I murmur, “that’s it.”

Nick groans softly as he melts into the pose, and the sound sends a shiver coursing through me. My core tightens in response, heat pooling low in my belly. I bite the inside of my cheek, my breath catching. That’s a sound that will definitely be used in my own, more personal stress releasing activities later.

We move through sun salutations, and I talk Nick through how to navigate Downward-Facing dog, correcting his form as he struggles to relax into the slow, controlled movements. His body is made for power, for explosive energy. This kind of practice is obviously foreign to him.

“Don’t laugh,” he warns as we get to tree pose, his eyes narrowing playfully.

I smirk. “No promises, Mr. Giraffe.”

He groans, sagging a little. “Come on, Charlie, I’m asking for your help here.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I say, laughing softly.

I’m doing everything I can not to see you as a walking sex fantasy, I think. Humor seemed more appropriate than rubbing my body against yours.

I swallow the thought, focusing on his form. “Okay, just send your energy down through your standing leg and let yourself grow taller with each breath. Don’t think about balancing, just feel it.”

He wobbles but doesn’t fall. Not yet.

“It’s my other side that’s the problem,” he mutters, shifting his weight. “My back just…”

Before he can finish, he stumbles, and without thinking, I reach out to steady him. He catches my arm, and suddenly it’s everything I’ve been trying to avoid.

We’re pressed together, his chest against mine, his breath mingling with mine…

Bodies definitely rubbing...

Sex fantasies definitely happening…

Nick’s eyes darken, and my heart slams against my ribcage as his hand tightens on my waist.

For a second, neither of us moves. The air around us is thick with tension, with unspoken words and years of history, and for one terrible moment I remember everything that’s happened between us, all of it, all together, all at once.

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, Nick releases his breath.

He softens.

Then he leans in and presses his lips to mine.

The kiss is gentle at first—tentative, like he’s giving me the chance to pull away. But when I don’t, when I press back against him, it deepens, his hand sliding up my spine, pulling me closer. I feel the heat of him everywhere, the solid weight of his body grounding me, anchoring me in this moment. My fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, and I can taste the salt of the ocean on his lips, the rush of his breath as it mingles with mine.

Desire curls warm and molten in my belly and I feel his answering as he grips me tighter, his mouth on mine, tender, demanding.

When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard, his forehead resting against mine. The silence between us is charged, our bodies still pressed together. It would be so easy to fall into him. To feel all the things I promised I’d never give to another man. Not after the way I lost Nick. Not after the way Davis threw me away.

But Garrett’s right. It’s way too soon for me to let that happen.