Chapter 26 Charli
TWENTY-SIX
Charli
The Raise: Someone lifts their hands. Then another. Then the whole street. The second line does not begin with one person — it begins when no one can hold still any longer.
I close the bathroom door and lean against it for several minutes. My heart pounds out of my ribcage.
After a few minutes of bringing my heart rate down, I walk over to the tub and turn on the faucet. I stare at it, watching the water fill the old clawfoot tub. The sound drowns out everything else, which is exactly what I need right now.
Three days ago, my biggest concern was whether to accept a corporate buyout of my practice. Now the only man who has ever broken my heart is sleeping on my couch, and Benjy has become enamored with a man he doesn't know is his father. A man who has been absent his entire life.
The water is hot enough to turn my skin pink. I sink into it slowly, letting the heat work into my shoulders and neck. The tension I've been carrying since Thursday starts to loosen.
I close my eyes and let myself remember the afternoon. Not the kiss on the patio, which I'm still trying not to think about. The smaller moments.
He's good with him.
That shouldn't surprise me as much as it does. Reeves was always observant, always able to understand what people needed. It's why I fell in love with him in the first place.
He kept an arm's length, wore a gruff exterior, but he's always been an extremely caring man.
Steam rises from the water, making everything soft around the edges. I sink deeper until the water reaches my chin.
The water is cooling now, but I don't want to get out yet. The quiet gives me space to think without Benjy's questions or Reeves's presence pulling my attention in different directions.
Reeves was always magnetic because of that intensity. Everything felt urgent when we were together. Every kiss, every fight, every makeup afterward.
But nothing ever lasted. We’d burn through each other, swear we were done, and then fall right back into it.
Until the last time. That time, we didn’t come back.
I never tried to reach him after the letter. Because that time was different. There was a baby to consider, and I realized chasing a man who didn't want to be caught would never bring me the stability I needed.
I slide lower in the tub until the water covers my shoulders, chasing the warmth of the water. The bathroom mirror has fogged over completely.
The water ripples as I shift position, my arms floating at my sides. His insistence about financial support keeps playing in my head, the way his voice got firm when I told him we were managing fine.
We are managing fine.
I lean my head back against the tub edge and close my eyes. The practical side of me knows he's right. Benjy is his son. Financial responsibility comes with that territory, whether I want it or not.
But money means connection.
That's the part I can't shake. If Reeves starts sending checks, he becomes part of our monthly rhythm, part of our planning. He automatically becomes part of our future in a way that goes beyond occasional visits or birthday cards.
More importantly, though, is that I might come to depend on him again. My heart aches at the thought. Because if I look forward to him, in any way, he can break me again.
I've watched other single mothers navigate this dance. I never had to think about it because Reeves wasn't in the picture at all. And in many ways, that's easier.
With him out, it's just Benjy and me.
If I let him back in any way, there are now two hearts on the line.
The bathwater has cooled enough that I shiver slightly. If I stay perfectly still, my body heat keeps me wrapped in a warm enough cocoon. I reach forward and turn the hot water tap, letting fresh warmth flow in around my feet.
The memory of his mouth on mine cuts through everything else without warning.
His strong, inked arms on either side of me, his breath on my face before he went all the way in. All of it hits me full force. I close my eyes and try to shake it away. I'm not only replaying the physical sensation of his lips on mine, but everything that led up to it.
My fingers find my lower lip without conscious thought. I can still feel the pressure of his mouth, the way he kissed me like he was trying to say something words couldn't cover.
Everything we never resolved.
The pregnancy I carried alone. The years he spent overseas, while I learned how to be a mother. The space between us that's filled with hurt and history and a five-year-old boy who connects us forever, whether we want it or not.
It wasn’t just attraction.
It was everything we never finished. The pregnancy. The years apart. The version of us that never got to exist because he left and I stayed.
I kissed him back.
For maybe ten seconds, I let myself remember what it felt like to want someone that much. To feel the heat of attraction mixed with the comfort of deep familiarity. To kiss someone who knew exactly how I liked to be touched because he'd spent four years learning my body.
Then reality crashed back.
I wanted to keep going, but I knew if I did, I wouldn't be able to stop. When I pulled back and said we couldn't do this because of Benjy, part of me wanted him to argue. I needed him to give me a reason to ignore everything else and keep going.
I reach for the drain plug and watch the water start to swirl away.
Stepping over the tall edge of the tub, I grab a towel from the hook and wrap it around myself as the last of the bathwater gurgles down the drain. The mirror is still fogged, but I can see enough of my reflection to notice the flush in my cheeks that has nothing to do with hot water.
I slip on my cotton pajama pants and oversized t-shirt, the fabric soft against my skin. The house is still around me, wrapped in that particular quiet that only comes after a child has fallen asleep.
I open my bedroom door to listen, which I do every night before I retire to bed. I put my eyes on Benjy's door, satisfied that the house is ready for sleep, even if it is the furthest thing from my mind.
I step into the hallway and pause, listening. Knowing he's only feet away, sleeping, stirs something in me.
Then it hits me that I never grabbed him a pillow.
The thought shouldn’t matter. He’s a grown man. He can handle one night on a couch.
Still, it lingers.
I turn toward the linen closet, grab a pillow, stuff it into a pillowcase, and head down the hall before I can overthink it.
My bare feet make no sound on the hardwood as I move toward the living room.
The space comes into view, lit only by the faint glow from the kitchen nightlight.
Reeves sits on the edge of the couch, elbows braced on his knees.
At first, I think he’s looking at his phone, but then I realize he isn’t holding anything. He’s just… sitting there. Staring at nothing.
I pause in the doorway, taking him in. His hair is slightly mussed, and he's not wearing a shirt. My breath stutters at the sight of him. His broad shoulders, the intricate ink on his arms.
All of him.
My mouth goes dry, and I have to step back. Then I come back, not wanting to miss a single second.
He's always been fit, but not like this. I can see every defined abductor muscle as they disappear into the blanket pooled around his waist.
He doesn't see me at first, so I study him. My head pounds as I take in this man I loved so deeply, sitting in my dim living room. If I squint my eyes a little, I can almost transport back six years and imagine no time has passed.
A creak in the old house causes him to jump. When he looks up, our eyes meet.
"Oh, you're still awake."
"Sorry if I startled you. I just finished my bath and wanted to bring you a pillow."
He sits up straighter.
"You didn't have to do that. But thank you."
I step into the living room, my heart beating faster with each step that brings me closer to him. I know the stakes of my being here with him like this are about much more than a pillow.
His fingers brush mine as he takes it, and that small contact sends a shock wave through my entire body.
My pulse quickens. The space between us is still charged with everything we didn't say earlier, everything we've been avoiding since he walked back into my life.
Benjy is asleep. Reeves is already here. He's already Benjy's father. The emotional line has already been crossed.
My thoughts race, fast and reckless. Sleeping with him doesn't create a new problem. The problem already exists. This just serves a need deep inside of me.
Heat pools between my legs, and my pussy throbs with want. I'm wet for him.
"Charli."
His voice carries a warning, but his eyes are dark with the same hunger I have. He's giving me the chance to stop this before it goes too far.
I don't take it.
Instead, I reach for him, my hand finding his jaw. The scruff there is rough against my palm, exactly how I remember it.
It feels so good.
He moves faster than I expect, pulling me down onto the couch beside him, his mouth finding mine with desperate precision. This isn't tentative or careful.
His hands slide into my hair, holding me to him as our tongues meet and dance. I taste him, and six years collapse into nothing. My fingers trace the new ink on his tricep, feeling the hard muscle beneath the tattoos.
"Tell me to stop if you want me to."
He pulls back just enough to speak, his breathing already ragged.
"No. Don't stop."
That breaks something in him. His control snaps, and suddenly we're moving with frantic urgency. His hands slide under my oversized t-shirt, finding bare skin, and I arch into his touch. When his thumb brushes over my nipple, I gasp against his mouth.
My cotton pajama shorts have become a barrier I need gone. I help him push them down my legs along with my panties, kicking them off onto the floor. He sheds his boxers just as quickly.
When he presses between my thighs, I spread my legs wider, needing him closer. His cock presses against my entrance.
"You're so wet for me. You feel so good."
"I want you, Reeves."
"Do you want me to get a condom?"
"The pill. Fuck me."
That's all he needs to hear. He pushes into me in one smooth thrust, filling me with his wide cock. I cry out softly, overwhelmed by how perfectly he fits, how familiar this feels even after all these years.
"Fuck, Charli."
He starts moving, his rhythm fast and demanding. I match him thrust for thrust, my nails digging into his shoulders. The couch creaks beneath us, but I don't care about the noise.
"More," I whisper against his neck. "I want more."
He knows exactly what I need. His hand slides between our bodies, finding my clit with practiced ease. The pressure is perfect, and I arch beneath him as pleasure builds rapidly.
He rocks harder, deeper, his cock hitting that spot that makes me see stars. Everything else disappears. Gone are the complications, the hurt, the years between us. There's only this, only us, only the desperate need we have for each other.
When it hits, it’s not clean or controlled. It takes me all the way under, pulling something loose at the same time it burns through my body. I don’t think, don’t try to hold anything back. I just let it happen.
He follows right behind me, his body tightening against mine, a low sound leaving him that I feel more than hear. For a second, everything goes still except for the echo of it.
Then the room comes back in pieces.
My breath is uneven. My skin is overly sensitive, like every place he touched is still lit up. I don’t move right away. I’m not sure I could if I tried, because my arms and legs are jelly.
His arm tightens around me, not letting me pull away even if I wanted to. His chest rises hard against my back, his breathing just as rough as mine.
“Charli.”
My name sounds different when he says it now. Lower. Closer.
I close my eyes for a second, letting that settle. Letting the weight of him, the warmth of him, the reality of what just happened press in.
For a few seconds, there’s nothing but that.
My fingers curl lightly against his arm, where it’s wrapped around me. I don’t think about any of it. I just let myself be.
I run my fingers lightly over his right shoulder, tracing the spot I noticed earlier. The muscle is tight beneath my touch. There’s a pull in me to press there, to work it loose the way I would with anyone else. But it's not my place.
I should say something. But I don’t, because I don’t know what to say. And I’m not ready for whatever comes after I do.
I close my eyes and curl into him. Relief moves through me first. A quiet, almost disorienting release after holding so much tension in my body for days. Years.
Then something softer slips in behind it. Not quite happiness. Not something I can name without overthinking it.
I open my eyes and stare out into the dim room, the quiet of the house settling back in around us.
This didn’t fix anything.
If anything, it just made everything harder.
But with his arm still around me, his hand resting against my stomach. I don’t have it in me to pull away yet.