Free

Chapter 38

THIRTY-EIGHT

Nick

The next Monday, I push open the door to The Hutton Hotel, the hinges creaking like an old song I’ve heard too many times to forget. Sunlight floods the lobby, catching the brass fixtures and bouncing off the polished floors. Angela’s plants spill over their pots in lush green cascades, the faint scent of salt air and fresh coffee mingling in the space.

Therese glances up from the reception desk, her glasses perched low on her nose. She gives me a once-over, then does a double take. “Well, would you look at that?” she says, sliding her glasses into place with a flourish. “What’s got you so happy this morning?”

Nights with Charlie.

Days with Charlie.

Life with Charlie.

“Just feeling good today,” I say, the warmth in my chest spreading as her grin widens. I don’t offer more. Not because I don’t want to share, but because everything I’d say would be too much information for eight in the morning.

Therese grips my hand, her voice softening. “It’s good to see you like this. You’re like your dad. That smile is never supposed to falter.”

Before I can respond, Dad’s voice cuts in from behind me. “What’s this I hear about Nick being like me?”

I turn, and there he is, flanked by Uncle Lucas. Dad’s face transforms from the forced cheerfulness he’s adopted around me to something more natural. Uncle Lucas eyes me, his intensity tempered by curiosity.

“Had a nice weekend, is all,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “Therese noticed.”

“By the looks of it, ‘nice’ is an understatement,” Dad teases, clapping a hand on my shoulder. Uncle Lucas chuckles, the sound low and knowing. They don’t push, don’t prod, and for once, I don’t feel the need to brace myself.

The conversation meanders—talk of their upcoming retirement party, how much they like having Charlie around, even Sunshine’s antics at the last bonfire. The air between us feels easier, looser, and for the first time since the accident, I feel like I’m just part of the family, not the outlier who’s barely holding it together.

Eventually, I excuse myself, heading for the back office. The Hut is quiet this time of day, the guests off at breakfast or lounging by the beach. I settle into the familiar chair behind my desk, the hum of Charlie’s words echoing in my mind.

Did it ever occur to you that it’s not what you do that makes you matter?

I glance around the room—the Hutton legacy, my family’s pride—and let the thought settle. The work here isn’t life or death, but maybe that’s okay. Maybe being here, contributing in whatever way I can, is enough. There’s something powerful in that. Something I should be more grateful to have.

A knock at the door startles me. “Come in,” I call, expecting Uncle Lucas or maybe Angela. Instead, a woman steps inside. She’s in her mid-thirties, her dark hair pulled into a messy ponytail. Her eyes are shadowed, her shoulders slumped as if she’s carrying the weight of the world.

“Nick Hutton?” she asks, her voice quiet, hesitant.

“That’s me,” I say, sitting up straighter. “How can I help you?”

She steps closer, her arms wrapped around herself. “I’m Kate Harper,” she says, the words trembling. “I’m sorry to just… show up, but you haven’t returned my calls, and I need—” Her voice cracks. “I need to talk about my husband.”

Her husband.

The room tilts, the air growing heavier.

“Sergeant Mark Harper,” she adds, like I might not remember.

As if I could forget.

For a second, I’m back there. The dust. The heat. The roar of the explosion. I force myself to push it aside, to focus on Kate. “Mark was a good man,” I say. “A good friend.”

My voice is rough.

Raw.

I clear my throat.

Kate’s eyes well with tears, and she nods. “I’m sorry. I... I don’t know why I came here. I mean, actually I do. I’ve been trying to be more assertive in getting my needs met and I just… for some reason, I need to know what happened that day. What really happened.” She takes a shaky breath, then looks me in the eye, her voice barely a whisper. “To hear it from someone who was there. From someone Mark considered a friend.”

My throat tightens in a preemptive refusal to speak. I don’t know if I can give Kate what she needs, but I owe it to Mark to try.

I gesture to the chair across from mine. “Please, have a seat.”

Kate hesitates, then lowers herself into the chair. Her hands fidget with the hem of her shirt, her gaze darting around the room before settling on me. I’ve seen that look before, in the mirror, in my own family’s eyes after the accident. The weight of loss, the endless ‘what-ifs.’ Haunted. Tortured.

“I’ll be honest,” I say, leaning forward, my voice low. “That day… it wasn’t something you can make sense of. It was chaos.”

Kate nods, her hands trembling. “Every time Mark shipped out, I reminded myself he might not come home. Steeled myself against it. I thought I was prepared for something like this, but, how could I be? We had a baby on the way when he… when it happened. I lost my whole world and then gained another one a few months later. I just want something to connect the two.”

This was the reason I spent years slowly falling in love with Charlie, but never acting on my feelings. Why I never imagined a wife or kids in my future. I never wanted her to look like poor Kate Harper does now. Suffocating under the weight of loss. Drowning in her grief.

“If it helps,” I say softly, “Mark was so excited to become a daddy.”

Kate wipes at her eyes, quick and quiet, like she’s trying to keep herself from breaking down completely. “He really was, wasn’t he? And he’d be so proud of our son.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence before Kate continues. “I know this is weird. Me showing up like this. I’ve just been so stuck. I don’t know how to move forward, and I thought…” Her voice breaks again, and she looks at me, her eyes pleading. “I need to know. What was it like for him? At the end?”

I ball my hands into fists, feeling a familiar wrenching in my heart.

Not grief.

Not fear.

Guilt.

All this time, I’ve felt guilty for surviving. Why did I survive? Why not Mark? Why not anyone else in that Humvee?

Why me?

I push the questions away and refocus on Kate.

“He didn’t suffer,” I say, my voice steady despite the storm inside me. “We were laughing when it happened. He was talking about you, about the baby. And then… it was over. Just like that. Of the three of us, I think he got the better deal.”

Kate’s tears fall freely now, but there’s relief in her expression. “Thank you,” she whispers. “Thank you for telling me that.”

We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of her loss heavy in the air. Then she smiles through her tears, her voice soft. “I kept imagining him hurt, scared, dying out there all alone. But now, instead, I can think of the way he used to laugh. Throwing his head back, the way he did. God, I can almost hear it, you know?”

And suddenly, I can hear it, too. “Oh man, just this giant sound from deep in his belly.”

Kate’s smile grows. “And it was so contagious. No one could be sad around Mark.”

“He just had that way about him.” I say, nodding in agreement.

“He did, didn’t he?” Kate sniffles. “Having him was worth everything I’ve gone through since. I wouldn’t trade a second of it, even knowing how it would end. I miss him. I miss him so much. But I’ll always have him here.” She presses a hand to her heart, peace softening her features.

Her words hit me like a jolt. Having him was worth everything.

And just like that, Charlie comes to mind. The way she looked that day on the pier, before it all fell to pieces. Like I was her whole world, like she couldn’t wait for us to finally acknowledge what we were to each other. And how I turned away after the accident, convincing myself it was for her sake. Because how could I give her anything when I was barely holding myself together?

But listening to Kate now, I wonder, was I wrong? What if it wasn’t about protecting Charlie from my brokenness? What if it was about denying myself the gift of her? What if I was punishing myself for surviving when better men lost their lives?

“Your son’s lucky to have you,” I say to Kate, my voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry I never answered your calls. I just didn’t think I could do this. Thank you for making sure I did.”

Kate stands, her movements slow and deliberate. “No, thank you, Nick. For everything.”

“If you ever need anything—anything at all—you know where to find me,” I say, watching her walk toward the door.

“Ditto,” she replies, with a dip of her head and a wave goodbye.

I sit back down, thoughts spinning like the tide pulling me under, relentless and unstoppable, dragging me back to everything I’ve tried to bury—Charlie, the accident, and the beauty of second chances.