Chapter 25 Reeves
TWENTY-FIVE
Reeves
The Handkerchief: A white cloth lifted into the air. It’s the first gesture of the second line, the body's signal that something has shifted.
The words hang in the air between us.
Charli doesn't break eye contact. Her hazel eyes catch the porch light, and I swear I see a shift.
You're playing with fire, Stone.
But the fire is what fuels me, pushes me.
Charli shifts slightly in her chair. The movement draws my attention to her mouth, the way she's barely breathing, like she's waiting for something to happen.
Don't do this. Don't complicate what she's built.
Except the pull between us isn't complicated. It's the simplest thing in the world.
I watch her mouth when she stops talking.
I've been watching her mouth for four days and telling myself I wasn't.
Don't.
I lean forward anyway. The distance across the small table disappears.
My hands find the edge of her chair, and I grip both sides, pulling her toward me. Now, I'm close enough to see the flecks of gold in her eyes, close enough to smell the faint vanilla scent of her shampoo.
"Reeves."
She whispers my name like a question. Or is it a plea?
I answer by closing the last few inches between us.
When my lips touch hers, the world stops moving. Six years collapse into nothing, as if no time has passed. Every mission, every deployment, every night I told myself I'd made the right choice by leaving disappears.
This is what I ran from.
Not commitment. Not responsibility.
This.
The kiss is soft at first, tentative, like we're both testing the water. Then her lips part slightly, and everything changes. She tastes like beer, warm and sweet, but underneath that, there's purely Charli. Something I remember in my bones.
My hands slide from the chair to her face, fingers threading through her hair. It's still as soft as I remember. She makes this small sound, and it hits me straight in the gut.
Fuck.
My body remembers everything. The way she leans into me. How her breath catches when I deepen the kiss. The way her fingers grip my shirt, pulling me closer instead of pushing me away.
Heat spreads through me, down to my stomach. My pulse pounds in my ears. My dick presses against my shorts.
She breaks away first, just barely, her forehead resting against mine. We're both breathing hard.
"We can't do this."
Her voice is rough, but she doesn't move away. Her hands are still twisted in my shirt.
"Why not?"
Because you'll leave again. Because I have Benjy to think about. Because this hurts too much.
She doesn't say any of those things, but I hear them anyway.
"Because nothing's changed."
"Everything's changed."
I brush my thumb across her cheek. Her eyes flutter closed at the touch.
Her hand comes up to rest against my jaw, her petite fingers cool against my skin. I want to sink into her. I remember now why walking away from her felt impossible.
Then she pulls all the way back.
"Reeves, I'm sorry. We can't."
Her voice is steady, but I can see the pulse jumping in her neck.
"Charli."
"No." She shakes her head, but she doesn't move away completely. Her hand is still touching my face. "I have to think about Benjy, now."
She's right.
I know she's right. I'm leaving in five days. She has a life here, a stable life. The kind of life she always wanted and I could never give her.
That is why we didn't work before. And she's right, nothing with regards to that has changed. If it has, it's only widened that gulf.
But sitting here in the soft glow of her porch light, with her fingers still warm against my skin, I can't remember why that matters.
I pull back immediately, reading the conflict in her eyes.
Shit. Too fast, too much.
"I'm sorry."
I drag a hand through my hair and lean back in my chair. The plastic legs scrape against the cement patio floor.
"I shouldn't have done that."
Charli wipes her lips with the back of her hand. The simple gesture threatens to bring me to my knees.
"It's fine. I mean… that's what we've always done, right? But we can't do that anymore. Not with Benjy part of the equation, now."
I finish the rest of my beer in one long swallow, needing to occupy my hands. The bottle makes a hollow sound when I set it down on the table.
The silence stretches between us, awkward now, like we've crossed a line neither of us is sure how to step back from. What the fuck was I thinking?
Charli stares out at the dark yard. Her fingers tap against the side of her bottle in a rhythm I remember from college. She used to do that when she was thinking through a problem she couldn't solve.
"We should probably figure out a plan for tomorrow."
"A plan?"
It takes me a second to catch up, going from that kiss to… this. But practical is safer than whatever just happened between us.
"Tomorrow. Getting your truck."
Her shoulders relax slightly. Business. Plans. Things she can control.
"Oh, right. Yes, of course."
"Didn't you say the tow yard opens at eight? I can drive you over after Benjy has breakfast. He usually wakes up pretty early."
"You don't have to drive me if that messes up your Sunday. I can call someone."
"It's no problem at all. Do you have an address?"
"Yeah, I pulled up the website on my phone. Let me grab it."
"Reeves, stop. Is there a plan after you get your truck? Or is this it?"
"I don't know, Charli," I answer her honestly. It's like my brain just stops at whatever is right in front of me. I haven't thought past that. I know I'm leaving on Friday, and when I'm out there in the desert working, that's where I am.
I don't know how to be in both places at once. This started with me wanting to meet him. I didn’t think past that.
"He's going to ask when you're coming back."
"Can I come back?"
The fact that she doesn't answer right away is alarming.
"Do you want to, Reeves? Can you consistently be in his life? Because you can't make him love you and then disappear on him."
I know what she isn't saying. I can't disappear on him like I did to her. If I'm going to keep seeing him, then I have to have some roots. I have to keep coming back.
Two days ago, I didn’t even know I had a son. Now I’m supposed to have a plan. How the hell do you plan for this?
"I can."
The words come out quieter than I expect.
Charli watches me for a second, like she’s trying to decide if that means anything.
"What does that look like, Reeves?"
There’s no edge in her voice. That’s what makes it worse.
I open my mouth, then stop to choose my words carefully.
"I don’t know yet."
Her gaze drops to the table. She nods once, like she expected that.
"Okay. Thank you for being honest. We don’t tell him anything yet. Not until we figure that out."
I know what she means. She’s not asking anymore. She’s setting a boundary.
I don’t have answers for her. Not real ones. Not the kind she’s asking for.
"I should set up the couch," she says finally, standing. She collects our empty bottles and moves toward the door before I can even react. I guess that conversation will happen another day.
I follow her inside and watch her set the empty bottles on the table before pulling the full bag out of the trash can. I lean against the doorframe as she moves around the kitchen.
"I don't have an answer for you yet. Not about… all of that. But there's something else we should talk about." I break the silence.
She looks up, wariness flickering across her face. "What's that?"
"Support. I should have been helping financially all these years."
Charli's spine straightens. "Reeves, that's not what this is about. We don't need—"
"I'm not questioning whether you need it, or if it’s part of whatever my role will be." I keep my voice level, matter-of-fact. "I'm saying you're entitled to it, and no matter what happens. I want to make that right."
She shakes her head. "Benjy and I have been managing fine. I built a stable life for us on my own."
"I know you did. That's not what I'm saying. This has nothing to do with what you can do. It’s what I should do.”
The words come easier than I expected. Maybe because I've been thinking about this since I saw her yesterday. Since I realized what I'd failed to do.
“I never wanted your money?”
“I know you didn’t. I’ve never felt like that with you. This is about responsibility. He's my son, too. And you shouldn't have to shoulder all of it on your own, regardless of what my relationship with him looks like."
Charli crosses her arms. The defensive posture I remember from our worst fights in college. I didn't say it to create more tension. It needs to be said, and I'm not sure when the right time is.
"We're fine, Reeves. Really. That's the last thing I care about right now."
"What does fine cost?"
"What?"
"Daycare. Doctor visits. Clothes he outgrows every few months. All of it."
She blinks, clearly not expecting the question.
"I don't keep a running tally."
"Then give me your best guess."
Charli uncrosses her arms but doesn't relax. "Why does it matter? You're leaving in a few days."
There it is. That's the real issue. Not the money. The fact that I'm still planning to walk away.
"Because whether I'm here or deployed somewhere, he's still my responsibility. And you shouldn't be carrying that alone."
"I chose to carry it alone."
The honesty hangs between us. It's raw and uncomfortable, but necessary.
Charli runs her fingers along the edge of the table. That nervous habit again.
"This isn't guilt money, if that's what you're thinking."
Her eyes snap back to mine. "Isn't it?"
"No."
"I don't want your money to be some kind of transaction. Like paying for access to him."
"I already said this is not connected to whatever my relationship with him looks like." I lean forward, meeting her gaze directly. "It's me trying to do the right thing at least with one thing connected to this."
She doesn't respond immediately, watching me with those hazel eyes, weighing my words against ten years of history, six of which have been apart. Then, she looks out at the dark yard through the large square window behind the kitchen table.
I contemplate saying more, or letting that be enough for now. I have every intention of paying her five years-worth of back child support, and then supporting them going forward. There's no need to hammer that if it makes her uncomfortable.
She only needs to know that even if I can't be here for him as a father, as that is yet to be seen, I fully intend to do right by them both financially.
The night sounds fill the space between us. Crickets and distant traffic travel in through the still-open back door.
"This doesn't change anything else. Between us, I mean. And I still want to know what the plan is after you leave."
"I understand. And I don't expect it to."
She nods slowly. "Okay."
"Thank you."
The tension shifts, but it doesn’t disappear. We’ve found something we can stand on for now, even if everything else is still up in the air.
I can't forget that the real conversation is still waiting to happen. My plan. Our plan.
She disappears down the hallway and returns with a folded navy blue blanket and a set of crisp white sheets.
"This should be comfortable enough."
She sets the blanket at one end of the couch and unfolds the sheet with quick, efficient movements. Her hands smooth the fabric once, twice, before she steps back.
"Oh, and a pillow. I'll bring one back for you. Can I get you anything else? A toothbrush? I know you didn't plan to be here."
"Actually, if you have a spare toothbrush, that would be amazing. And some ibuprofen? My shoulder is aching."
"Of course. Bathroom's down the hall. A spare toothbrush is on the counter, and there is some Advil in the medicine cabinet. There are also towels under the sink. Also, help yourself to anything in the kitchen."
"Thanks."
She stands there for a moment with her hands in her pockets, like she wants to say more. Her eyes search my face in the dim light.
I can't help but wonder what she's thinking. Whatever it is, she keeps it to herself.
"I'm actually going to take a bath, so please make yourself at home."
Home.
"Thank you so much for all of your grace these last few days. I'm very grateful."
"Thank you for being here. I'm glad to know you didn't choose the way this all unfolded. We still need to figure out what we both want this to look like, but maybe we think about it for a little longer."
I don't say anything because I don't know what you say to that. She's thanking me for being here when I've been absent from their lives, leaving her to do it on her own.
"Goodnight, Reeves."
"Goodnight."
She turns and walks down the hallway. Her bare feet make no sound on the wood floors. A door closes softly, and then the house falls silent.
I sit on the edge of the couch and pull off my boots. The leather makes small creaking sounds in the quiet. Everything is too loud.
I lie back against the pillow and stare at the ceiling.
The couch is comfortable. More comfortable than half the bunks I’ve slept on. The blanket smells like the same fabric softener scent I haven’t been able to escape all day.
And I don’t want to. I pull it to my face and inhale her, closing my eyes.
I shouldn’t have leaned across that table, and I know it.
But the memory won’t leave me alone. The way her breath caught when my lips found hers, the way she didn’t pull away at first. For a second, she was right there with me, like no time had passed at all.
That’s the part that sticks.
Because it means whatever we had didn’t end that night. It’s still here, sitting just under the surface, waiting for the smallest crack.
And that’s exactly the kind of trouble I was trying to avoid by coming here in the first place.