Free

Chapter 30

THIRTY

Charlie

As Nick’s anxiety fades, the soft hum of the TV fills the room, a movie we’re both barely watching flickering on the screen. I snuggle into his side, his arm wrapping securely around me, and hope—pray—that if he drifts off again, the nightmares won’t find him this time.

The weight of his arm is solid and grounding, but my mind won’t settle. How often does this happen to him? That raw fear, that torment…

It was so much worse than I imagined.

My heart tightens at the thought of him suffering like that, alone in the dark. Does anyone else see this part of him? Or does he carry it all by himself?

I shiver at the memory of his face—tight with panic, lost somewhere I couldn’t reach. Nick shifts closer, pulling me tighter against him. His warmth sinks into me, easing the chill, but not the ache.

“Penny for your thoughts,” he whispers, his voice low and rough in my ear.

I glance up, his face softer now, though shadows linger in his eyes.

“They’re running deep tonight,” I murmur, my voice just as quiet as his.

“The good kind of deep or the hard kind of deep?” His brow furrows. If I know anything about Nick Hutton, he’s probably worried his nightmare upset me.

I hesitate, choosing my words carefully. “I’m just… sorry for what you went through.”

The furrow in his brow deepens, and I hurry forward, afraid he’ll shut me down. “I mean, I don’t really know what happened. I know the broad strokes, but I don’t know the details. Maybe that’s how you want it, I don’t know, but I just realized tonight… it’s more than I’ll ever deal with in my whole life. And I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry you had to carry so much.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, his hand moves slowly up my back, steady and sure, his touch gentle enough to make me ache. He presses a kiss to the top of my head, and his voice comes quietly, words threaded with something that sounds like resignation. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “It’s over now, and that’s what matters.”

“It’s not over, though.” I sit up, leaning just far enough away to meet his eyes. My fingers trace the edge of his jaw, rough with stubble. “Not if the dreams still wake you and the panic still pulls you under.”

He holds my gaze, silent, and I swallow around the lump in my throat. “I spent so much time after your accident thinking about what I lost in you, and I should’ve been thinking about what you lost. I’m sorry it took me so long to see that. I’m sorry I didn’t understand what you’ve been carrying.”

Nick’s expression shifts, softening as he reaches up, cupping my face. His thumb brushes my cheek, his gaze raw and unguarded. “You were everything I needed, Charlie. You still are. I just couldn’t stand you seeing me like that. The accident…” He pauses, his voice hoarse. “It shattered the future I wanted for us. I had so much I wanted to give you—so much I wanted to be for you—and I didn’t know how to do that anymore. Not like this.”

“You deserved more, Nick. You deserved more, ” I whisper, my forehead pressing gently to his. I close my eyes as his arms circle me, pulling me close. “For someone like you to suffer so much… while someone like Davis is out there living his life unscathed—it’s senseless. It’s not fair.”

He exhales shakily, his breath warm against my skin. “Life isn’t fair,” he says quietly, and I feel the weight of it. How many times has he said that to himself? How many times has he accepted it as his truth?

The admission—his and mine—hangs in the space between us, clearing it, softening it. I meet his eyes again, and something shifts. There’s no barrier this time, no hesitation. Just us, open and vulnerable in a way we’ve never allowed before.

I curl back into him, resting my head against his chest as his arm wraps around me. The movie drones on, but neither of us are watching. We sit like that for what feels like hours, the steady beat of his heart under my ear, the rise and fall of his breathing anchoring me. The credits roll, the screen fades to black, and still, we don’t move.

Finally, Nick shifts beneath me, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face. “I’ve been greedy,” he murmurs. “I should’ve let you go home forever ago.”

“I’m here because I don’t want to leave,” I say, sitting up just enough to look at him. “But you probably need your sleep, don’t you?”

His eyes hold mine, searching…

For answers? For reassurance? I don’t know, but I see it there: his vulnerability, his hope, his hesitation. He takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine, his grip firm yet gentle.

“Stay with me,” he says softly. “It’s been so long since I’ve felt this… I don’t know… at peace? I’m not ready to let that go. Not yet.”

The words hit me deep, and I smile, my heart swelling as I cup his cheek. “Look at you, Hutton. You’re getting downright sentimental on me.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Cheesy, you mean. Forget I said that.”

“Never,” I whisper, leaning in to kiss him.

It’s soft at first, a brush of lips, a question. But then he answers, deepening it, his hands sliding to my lower back, holding me close as the tension between us hums. My hands grip his arms, feeling the solid strength of him, the way he anchors me even when he doesn’t realize it.

A sharp breath breaks the kiss—his, mine, I don’t know whose—and I pull back, just enough to rest my hands on his chest. “Of course, I’ll stay, silly,” I say, my voice quiet but steady.

Nick’s gaze holds mine, his eyes twin pools of endless sky. “I just need to feel you here,” he murmurs. “We don’t need to do anything. I just want to hold you. To remember that there are good things in the world, too.”

I smile faintly, brushing my fingers over his cheek. “How can you forget good things exist when you see one every time you look in the mirror?”

His lips twitch, that faint, crooked smile breaking through. “Smooth, Cooper. Real smooth.”

He stands, leading me toward his bedroom, and I linger in the doorway as he rummages through a drawer. There’s a sacredness to this space—his room, his retreat. For as much as I feel like I know Nick, stepping inside feels monumental, like crossing a line we’ve been dancing around for years.

“This is one of my favorites,” he says, handing me a worn Marine T-shirt with a soft, sheepish smile. “On loan only.”

The shirt is soft in my hands, well-loved, with a tear at the hem and frayed edges. “I’ll take good care of it,” I promise, slipping into the bathroom to change.

When I return, the shirt hangs almost to my knees, the neckline sliding off one shoulder. Nick’s waiting, his gray sweatpants slung low, his chest bare. My eyes trail over him—over the scars that crisscross his skin, each one a story, a piece of his survival. I don’t mean to stare, but I can’t help it. He’s strong and beautiful in ways that have nothing to do with perfection.

Nick catches my gaze, his expression unreadable, his fingers twitching before he rubs the back of his neck. “Do they bother you?” he asks, his voice soft.

“No,” I say, stepping closer. “They’re part of you.” I trace one tenderly with my fingertips, my voice dropping to a whisper. “And they’re part of what makes you beautiful.”

He swallows hard, his eyes locking onto mine, softening. “Cheesy, Cooper,” he murmurs, his lips quirking faintly. “But I’ll take it.”

We snuggle into his bed, and Nick wraps his arms around me, drawing me close. He nuzzles the back of my neck, kissing behind my ear, breathing me in, and sighing in contentment. I have no idea how I’m going to fall asleep. My core burns with desire, my lower body clenching, while my heart releases a sigh of its own.

Nick’s breath is warm against my neck, his hand resting low on my waist, fingers splayed against my stomach, pulling me closer. I let out a soft breath, leaning into him, and even though the air around us crackles with possibility, there’s a peace in his touch that settles deep in my bones. It feels right. It feels safe. And for now, that’s enough.

We stay like that for a long while, neither of us speaking, just letting the closeness work its way through the spaces we’ve both guarded for so long. Slowly, but surely, we drift off to sleep, wrapped in a moment that feels like the beginning of something important.