Chapter 13 Charlie
charlie
I wasn’t sure if it was the stunning sunset, the peaceful setting, the taste of chocolate lingering on my tongue, or the fact that I was wrapped up in Austin’s arms, his fingers tracing slow, comforting circles on my skin, but I couldn’t imagine ever going back to Georgia.
“My dad died when I was a teen. It was just me, my mom, and my brother after that. My brother always did everything right and followed the plan,” I murmured, feeling his fingers continue their steady rhythm on my arm.
“I made this bucket list and moved out here because, for once, I needed to do something for myself. I’m so tired of living for my family.
I love my job, and I’ve made some amazing friends. ”
I paused, looking out as the sky shifted, soft purple and pink hues taking over as dusk settled in. “I know it’s only a matter of time before my mom wants me in Georgia on the pecan farm.”
“Pecan?” he asked, his voice low, curious.
“Yeah. My family runs a whole operation—exports to grocery stores and manufacturing plants that use pecans in their products.”
“And you don’t want to be a part of it.” It wasn’t a question. He said it like he understood, and I nodded.
“Not even a little. Working there wouldn’t be about anything important; it would be hosting parties for my mom’s rich friends and eventually marrying one of their sons. It’s like a modern-day arranged marriage.”
He made a deep, rumbling noise, almost like a growl. I couldn’t quite figure out what he meant by it, but it sent a shiver through me. His fingers never stopped their gentle circles, grounding me in the moment and making everything else fade away.
“I love my brother. He’s the only one who ever supported me.”
“He’s close to you in age?”
“Yeah. We’re only a year or so apart. He’s the reason I’m out here. He helped convince my mom that I should do this and give teaching a try.”
“Can’t you say no to whoever she wants you to marry?”
I shook my head. “It’s more complicated than that. I have no other viable option for her. It’s not like I can suddenly find someone to fall in love with and get married to before she has the chance to set me up with one of her friends.”
“You’d need like a shotgun wedding.”
I paused, considering it. “Yeah, I guess if I went to my mother and told her I’d eloped, showed up married, then maybe—just maybe—she’d back off.
It’s like she only cares about the appearance of it, like having me settled is more important than who it’s with.
” I let out a sigh. “That’s not exactly something you can make happen. ”
His fingers stopped moving on my arm for a moment before they started up again.
“I feel silly telling you my entire life story, not knowing anything about you.” I turned so I looked up at him. His blue eyes were piercing as he gazed down at me, his curls falling in front of his face.
“What do you want to know?”
I’d learned he was married before all this, so I guess he had confessed something.
His divorce didn’t affect the way I thought about him.
I was surprised he was divorced because of how young he was, but knowing he was an addict—I knew some things about addictions.
But there was also so much more deep down inside of what made Austin Hart himself.
“I want to know something you’ve never told anyone before.”
I stared up at him, counting the freckles that dotted his nose. They were so faint, barely noticeable, but they must’ve come alive under the summer sun. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting his hand on my arm keep me steady.
In the distance, frogs croaked, and I could hear the faint whirr of a fishing reel being pulled. The crickets joined in, their chorus growing louder as the air cooled around us.
His hand moved up slowly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His thumb lingered, circling my lips in teasing strokes. “Growing up, I never knew my dad. He raped my mom when she was a teenager.”
“Austin . . .”
He pressed his finger to my lips.
“I’ve been a failure to her and her husband for years. I was an alcoholic. I got married and then divorced, but the worst part about all of it is that I’m like my father.”
His voice cracked on the last word, and he looked away, pulling his hands from me.
The loss of contact felt like a physical ache, and I couldn’t let him retreat into that pain alone.
I shifted closer, blocking his view, making sure he had to look at me, had to see that I was still there.
My hand found his, fingers curling around his wrist as I gently traced circles along his forearm, trying to anchor him in the same way he did for me.
He swallowed, the tension visible in every line of his face.
“I met my ex-wife, and . . . we had this scandal break. I-I was high in a bathroom . . . Fuck.” He squeezed his eyes shut, struggling to hold himself together.
“I was high. She wanted to know how I dealt with stress, so I showed her h-how to take a bump.” He paused, his breath hitching.
“We were high as fuck, and . . . one thing led to another, and we started having sex in the bathroom stall. She never said no. I would’ve stopped if she did.
But she was—” His voice broke completely as tears welled up, spilling over his lashes.
His shoulders trembled, and the pain etched into his face was so raw that it felt like a knife twisting in my chest.
“It’s okay. I’m here. You don’t have to carry this alone.”
“She was a virgin.”
My heart sank for him but it ached for her too.
“Was this the reason you got divorced?” I pressed, unsure of how much he wanted to divulge.
“No.” He shook his head and laughed softly. “She married me after that, but there was such a haunting pain that I carry with me to this day.”
Tears streamed down his cheeks, but I didn’t wipe them away. I let them fall because I didn’t want to erase his pain; I wanted him to know it was okay to feel it.
“I’m like my father, Charlie. I’ve carried this for so long—this fear, this belief—that I’m just like him.”
“Did she ever say you hurt her?”
He shook his head, his eyes distant and filled with regret.
“No, but we never really talked about it. I’ve been waiting for closure, for some kind of clarity, but I’ll never get it.
In therapy, I learned about trying to be okay with the idea that I’m not like him.
That I didn’t do what he did.” A sob fought its way out.
“I didn’t rape her, but I was so ashamed.
I took a girl’s virginity while high in a filthy bar bathroom, Charlie.
I’m not a good man. You can’t date me, and you sure as hell shouldn’t spend time with me. ”
He pulled away from me, getting up from the picnic table and clenching his hands into fists at his sides. “I’m a bad fucking person, working on myself to become a good one. But my natural instinct . . . it’s to be just like my biological father. I have to fight against it every damn day.”
I jumped off the bench, reached out, and grabbed his hand. “You’re not your father, Austin. You’re not. You’re standing here, fighting to be better. That’s not the instinct of a bad person.”
“You don’t know me, Charlie.”
“I don’t, but what I see standing in front of me is a man who is working on himself, someone who isn’t going to let his past scars define the person he is today.”
“I’m sorry.” Austin sniffled and wiped away his tears. “You were probably asking for something like I-hated-the-last-chocolate type of confession, and here I am telling you my entire life story.”
I offered a sympathetic smile and looked back at the table. “The last chocolate you gave me did suck.”
He chuckled. “Shall we head back to the car?”
I nodded, and he gathered what we hadn’t touched, and we walked down the dark path together.
“Is that what you were talking about on the phone the other day at school?”
“When?” he asked as he reached down and grabbed my hand, threading his fingers through mine. It was a quick, effortless motion, but like there was such a need to hold on.
“You were talking to someone on the phone about health insurance. Is that what you were dealing with with your ex?”
“No. I truly haven’t seen her in four years, have no idea where she is.”
It must have been unbearable for him, living with the crushing weight of guilt and shame, believing that he’d hurt her, carrying that burden alone all these years. The fear that he was like the man he despised, with no one to talk to about it, was almost too much to imagine.
“I haven’t found closure with myself.”
I squeezed his hand and bumped his shoulder with mine. “I think you’re pretty special, Austin. You help your mom out with your kid sister, you saved me from the Loch Ness monster—”
He chuckled and squeezed my hand.
“You also helped me with this bucket list.” I sighed contentedly. “She consented to having sex with you?” I wanted to be sure I understood what he was saying from earlier.
“No. Yes. She did, but I was . . . selfish about it.”
“You were a kid. It was a long time ago. You’re right—you need to find a way to forgive yourself and remind yourself that you aren’t like your biological father.
We’re all human, and we all carry scars; some are just easier to see than others.
Everyone struggles every day to become a better version of themselves. You’re not alone in that.”
There was a long silence before he said, “Thanks for letting me vent.”
“I asked for a confession.”
He tugged on my hand again. “Guess I served one on a platter.”
I shrugged, although I wasn’t sure he could see it in the darkness. “Nah. You were honest.”
We got to the car, where Austin held the door open for me before getting in the driver’s seat. He drove back down the same road we came in on, his hand quickly finding its home on my thigh.
“Wait,” I asked as we pulled onto the highway. “What was that phone call for? The one at the school? You never answered me.”