Chapter 34 Charli
THIRTY-FOUR
Charli
The Elders: Those who watched from the porch at the start of the procession have come down from their steps to join it.
My eyes snap open to the soft sound of bare feet on hardwood.
Benjy.
The recognition comes before I'm fully awake, some maternal radar that never fully switches off. Then the second realization hits like ice water. Reeves's arm lies heavy across my waist. His breathing rises and falls against my back in deep sleep.
Oh God.
My body goes rigid as everything crashes together. Last night. The sex. The way I let him stay. The promise of three a.m. that came and went hours ago.
The footsteps pause in the hallway before resuming, getting closer.
I twist under Reeves's arm, urgency flooding my system. My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my fingers and toes.
"Reeves." I shake his shoulder, keeping my voice barely above a whisper. "Reeves, wake up."
He stirs but doesn't open his eyes. His arm tightens around me instinctively.
"Reeves!" I hiss more urgently, digging my fingers into his bicep. "You have to get up. Now."
His eyes finally open, unfocused and confused. Too slow. Way too slow.
"Get up. Go. Bathroom. Now." The words come out sharp and clipped. "Benjy can't see you here."
Understanding flickers across his face, and he sits up quickly, the sheet falling away from his chest.
I'm already scrambling out of bed, grabbing my robe from the chair, and pulling it around myself. My hands shake as I tie the belt.
The footsteps are outside of my door now.
I scan the room frantically. His camo pants are crumpled on the floor beside the bed. I lunge for them, snatching them up just as the bedroom door handle turns.
"Shit," I breathe, shoving the pants under the covers.
The bathroom door closes gently just as Benjy walks in.
My pulse hammers against my ribs, but I turn to face the door with what I hope looks like sleepy normalcy.
"Mommy?"
Benjy's voice is small and uncertain. He stands in the doorway wearing his dinosaur pajamas, hair sticking up in every direction.
"Hey, baby." My voice sounds remarkably steady. "You woke up on your own."
"I had a dream about tanks." He rubs his eyes with one fist. "Can I come snuggle?"
My throat closes. This is exactly what he does on weekend mornings when he wakes up too early. He crawls into my bed, and we doze together until the sun comes up properly.
Except Reeves is standing frozen in my bathroom, shirtless and trying not to breathe too loudly.
"Just for a minute. Then we have to get ready for school." The words come out automatically, even as my mind races.
Benjy pads across the room and climbs up onto the bed, settling into his usual spot on my right side. The side where Reeves was sleeping minutes ago.
I slide back under the covers, hyperaware of the warmth still trapped in the sheets. Of Reeves's pants bunched up somewhere near my feet.
"Were the tanks scary?" I whisper, pulling Benjy close.
My eyes stay fixed on the bathroom door, willing Reeves to stay perfectly still until I can figure out how to get us out of here and him out of my bathroom without getting caught.
Benjy nuzzles against me, his small body radiating warmth. But instead of snuggling deeper like usual, he tilts his head up, studying my face with those sharp green eyes.
"Where's Reeves?"
My stomach drops. "What do you mean, baby?"
"His truck is still outside." Benjy points toward the window. "The big black one."
Think. Think fast.
"He must have gone for a walk on the beach." The words tumble out too quickly. "You know how he likes the water."
Even as I say it, I know how weak it sounds. Reeves going for a sunrise beach walk? In what world?
Benjy's forehead wrinkles. He's thinking it through, and I can practically see the questions forming.
"Maybe he'll be back in time to take you to school," I say, raising my voice just enough to carry through the bathroom door. "Wouldn't that be exciting? Riding to school in that big truck?"
The distraction works exactly like I hoped. Benjy's eyes light up.
"Really? In the Hummer?" He bounces slightly against my side. "Can I sit in the front?"
"You know you're not big enough yet to sit in the front, silly goose." I squeeze his shoulder. "Before we do anything, we need to get you ready. Come on, let's get dressed."
I guide him off the bed and toward his room, keeping my movements casual. Normal. Like my heart isn't hammering against my ribs.
In Benjy's room, the familiar routine takes over. I pull out his school clothes while he chatters about riding in Reeves's truck. Polo shirt. Khaki shorts. The rhythm steadies me.
"Which underwear today?" I ask, opening his drawer.
"The rocket ships."
I hand them over and turn to grab his socks. That's when I catch it. A flash of movement in the hallway. Reeves slipping past the doorway in just a t-shirt and boxers, moving carefully, quietly.
He's clearly hunting for his pants.
The sight tickles me. Here I am, orchestrating this elaborate morning routine, while a nearly naked Navy SEAL creeps through my house like some kind of domestic cat burglar.
I bite back a laugh.
Benjy pulls his shirt over his head, still talking about trucks and school. He has no idea his father just snuck past his bedroom door in his underwear.
"Mommy, can you help with my shoes?"
I kneel down, focusing on the laces.
"There you go." I pat his knee. "Go brush your teeth."
He heads toward the bathroom, and I follow, grabbing his backpack from the hook by his door.
I hear the front door close, and Benjy darts toward it, white foam dripping from his chin.
"Morning," Reeves says to Benjy, his voice steady and warm. He has a black duffle bag hanging across his broad chest and looks almost good enough to eat right here on the spot.
Benjy grins. "Mommy says maybe you can drive me to school!"
"Maybe," I say, catching Reeves's eye over Benjy's head. "I said maybe he could."
"How about you go finish brushing your teeth, and I'll talk about it with your mom."
Benjy doesn't even answer. He races back to the bathroom without another word.
I can't stop staring at this gorgeous man as he stands and looks at me. I take a deep breath to bring myself back down to earth. But the clean gray t-shirt that pulls perfectly across his cut body, showing every ripple I know intimately, is preventing me from breathing normally.
His dark joggers hang just right on his frame. His watch glints silver on his wrist, and his tattoos look more vibrant somehow.
"How did you..." I gesture vaguely at his appearance.
"Swim bag in the truck." His voice stays low while Benjy hums in the bathroom. "I told you."
Right. The Creston House. Or, maybe he was planning to stay all along.
"I can take him." Reeves doesn't hesitate. "Sorry I didn't wake up earlier. Didn't consider that my phone might die."
I reach out to swat his shoulder, aiming for a playful nudge, but my palm stays against the cotton longer than necessary. The warmth of his skin underneath registers before I pull away.
"I know you can do better than that, soldier," I say with a smile.
I walk to the kitchen, and Reeves follows. I hear a thud as he drops his bag on the floor in the living room. Benjy runs in immediately after, jumping into his seat at the island.
I put a bowl of Gorilla Munch cereal in front of him and add the milk.
"The school is on Percy Street," I tell Reeves, grabbing a sticky note out of the junk drawer and writing the address. "Turn right at the stop sign, then it's the second building on your left. Drop-off line starts at seven-thirty."
"Got it."
I glance at the clock. Seven-fifteen. "His teacher is Ms. Lin and she will be in the drop-off line."
I look at Benjy. "Make sure you help Reeves know which one is Ms. Lin. You know not to get out until a teacher—"
"Charli." His voice holds quiet amusement. "I can handle it."
"Oh, the booster seat." I start toward the garage door, but Reeves catches my wrist gently.
"It's still there. We're good. I promise."
Benjy inhales his cereal and slides down from the stool. "Ready!"
I kiss the top of his head, breathing in that little-boy smell of sleep and strawberry shampoo. "Have a good day, baby. Listen to Ms. Lin."
"I will." He looks up at Reeves expectantly. "Come on!"
They head toward the door together, Benjy's small hand reaching for Reeves's larger one without hesitation. And they're off. And I'm left to try to understand how I feel about the father of my son taking him to school instead of me.
I stand in my kitchen, still wearing my robe, listening to the Hummer's engine fade down the street. Once the truck is out of sight, there's nothing.
The silence presses against my ears in a way it never has before.
I've stood in this kitchen alone thousands of mornings.
After Benjy leaves for school, after my parents pick him up for the day, after bedtime stories and tucked-in kisses.
This quiet used to feel like space to breathe.
Room to think my own thoughts without little hands tugging at me or questions I need to answer.
Now, I'm not sure how to describe it.
I wrap my arms around myself, the terry cloth robe suddenly too thin. My reflection catches in the window over the sink. Hair tangled, eyes wide, mouth slightly swollen.
I turn away from the window and head toward my bedroom. The unmade bed stops me cold. Sheets twisted and pulled free from the corners. My pillow still holds the indent where Reeves's head rested.
His pants are still balled up at the bottom.
The memory hits before I can block it. The weight of his body. The way his fingers slowly traced around my entire body.
I should make it, but I'm not ready to confront all of that right now. So I leave it and walk into the bathroom.
The shower calls to me like a sanctuary. I twist the handles, waiting for the water to heat, then let my robe drop to the floor.
Steam rises around me as I step under the spray. The water pounds against my shoulders, my back, washing away the night sweat and the lingering scent of him that clings to my hair.
I close my eyes and try to think about normal things. Benjy's summer musical in two weeks. The insurance forms on my desk. Grocery shopping for dinner.
But my body won't cooperate.
Every nerve ending still remembers. The scrape of his stubble against my shoulder. The way his mouth moved down my collarbone. How his fingers pressed into the curve of my waist, holding me like I might disappear.
I press my forehead against the cool tile, my breath coming faster. Reaching for the shampoo, I work it through my hair, and continue the motion until my hands steady.
I wrap my hair in a towel and slip back into my robe. The bathroom mirror is fogged from steam, but I can still see the outline of my body. I swipe over the reflection with a towel and see a cloudy version of my face.
There's a knock at the front door that echoes through the house. And just like that, it snaps everything back into place.
"I'm coming," I call back, tightening the belt on my robe.
"You don't need to knock," I say as I open the front door.
Now he doesn't need to knock when he comes to my house? How did that happen so fast?
"Drop-off went smoothly. Ms. Lin says hi."
My heart stutters. I wonder if Ms. Lin wonders who this hot man is dropping off my son.
"Good. Thank you." I reach for the coffee canister, but he's already moving toward the machine.
"I'll get it."
We settle into a rhythm that feels practiced. He measures grounds while I grab mugs from the cabinet. I add cream to both and sugar to mine. It's the kind of quiet teamwork that usually takes months to develop.
The coffee maker gurgles to life, and he leans against the counter, watching me.
"I should get dressed. I have a patient at nine."
"Go ahead. I'll wait to drink my coffee with you."
His deep but gentle voice makes me pause. His voice is steady, keeping his eyes locked on me when he says it.
In my bedroom, I pull on navy scrubs and twist my damp hair into a low ponytail. When I return, coffee waits on the counter, steam curling from both mugs.
"Perfect timing."
We sit at the small dining table, morning light streaming through the windows. He asks about my patient schedule. I tell him about some of my notable patients, and he is engaged. I don’t rush through it the way I usually do.
His eyes linger on mine a beat too long when I laugh at a joke he makes about dads in the drop-off line. When I reach for my mug, our fingers brush, and neither of us pulls away immediately.
He glances toward the hallway, then back to me. I think about him sneaking around in his underwear, how Benjy almost caught us in bed together, the way we navigated it together without discussing strategy.
I sip my coffee and let the warmth settle in me. My phone zzzz-zzzzz against the table with a calendar reminder.
Out of habit, I open my email app. The first email catches my eye. The sender hits, and my stomach drops.
Mississippi Department of Human Services.
I tap it open, scanning the formal language. Words jump out at me. Audit. Medicaid billing irregularities. Investigation pending.
"Shit."
The word comes out sharp and low. My coffee mug clatters against the saucer as I set it down too hard.
"What's wrong?"
His voice cuts through the sudden humming in my head. When I look up, his expression has shifted completely. Alert. Focused. The same way he looked when his truck got towed, already calculating solutions.
"I..." I stare at the phone screen, reading the same sentences over again. "There's been some kind of flag on my Medicaid billing. They're opening an investigation."
The words stick when I say them.
His forehead creases for a moment before he shuts it down. It’s quick enough that I almost miss it. But I know the slight forward shift in his posture, his mouth opening and then closing again, like he started toward something and thought better of it.
In college, whenever I mentioned money being tight, he’d go still the same way. It’s like he was physically restraining himself from solving a problem I hadn't asked him to solve.
"What kind of investigation?" he asks instead.
"I don't know yet. The email doesn't give details. Just that there are irregularities they need to review."
My hands start to shake slightly. I set the phone face down on the table, but the notification keeps blinking through the case.
"Charli." His voice is steady, calm. "Look at me."
I meet his eyes across the table. The soft morning intimacy has vanished, replaced by something harder. More serious.
"I'm sure there must be a mistake. I do everything by the book."
"I'm sure," he says to comfort me, but it doesn't even come close to the panic rising up inside of me right now.