Chapter Twenty Six
Hunter
Nights at Camille’s had a kind of noise that I was quickly becoming more familiar with.
It wasn’t the chaos of a squad room or a crowded bar, but the kind that came from life: kids laughing, toys clattering across the floor, the smell of dinner mixing with that vanilla candle she always lit.
The twins climbed everything in sight, Zeke guarded his Lego fortress like it was top secret, and it all left me feeling at ease.
At first, I thought I was the outsider. Too big for their couch, too new in their space.
But over time, I saw the way Zeke watched me, careful and quiet, waiting for proof that I was safe.
Camille told me later he had seen too much too young, that he had learned what anger sounded like behind closed doors.
After that, I noticed how he would step between us sometimes, small but like he could protect her if he had to.
He was just a kid, but he carried that same kind of vigilance I knew too well.
That instinct to guard the people you love, even when you don’t have the words for it.
The night he climbed onto the couch and leaned against me changed everything.
He didn’t say a word, just rested his head against my arm and fell asleep.
It was such a small thing, barely a touch, but it was the start of something I didn’t want to mess up.
I sat there afraid to move, afraid to lose that fragile trust.
It didn’t take long for those small moments to turn into more. The line between her life and mine blurred until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
Now, the late afternoon sun stretched long across the park, painting the grass gold and turning the air heavy with summer warmth. Cami sat cross-legged on a picnic blanket, trying to convince the twins to share their fruit snacks while Zeke showed me how fast he could kick a soccer ball.
“Watch this!” he shouted, his grin wide, the light catching in his hair.
He took off across the field, legs pumping, determination written all over him.
I couldn’t help but laugh, calling out encouragement while pretending not to notice the way my chest ached watching him, because somewhere along the way, this kid had stopped being just hers and started letting me in.
I made a show of bracing for impact, even though the ball rolled to a stop halfway between us. “That’s some serious power, buddy.”
He laughed, a full laugh only kids can manage, and sprinted after the ball. I glanced back toward Cami, watching her tuck a stray curl behind her ear as she laughed at something Avery said. The sight got to me every damn time. She looked at peace. Soft. Unburdened.
Then her phone rang.
She glanced down, and her whole body changed. The laughter slipped from her face. Her shoulders went rigid. She picked up the phone as if it might bite her, the screen angled just enough that I caught the words: Unknown Number.
My pulse kicked up. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” she said too quickly. “Probably spam.”
The phone rang again before she could even lock the screen.
Her hands shook. She tried to hide it, pressing her palms together, but the fear flickered across her face before she could mask it.
“Cami,” I said quietly, stepping closer, “Who is it?”
Her throat worked before she answered. “It’s him.”
I didn’t speak for a second. I let the silence do the work. Let her breathe, let me think, let me plan. She tried to hide the screen behind her thumb, and I moved before I even decided to. My hand closed over her phone, and the vibrations stopped. The missed call glared up at me.
I didn’t say anything at first. Just watched the phone buzz again in my hand.
“He shouldn’t have this number,” she whispered. “I changed it. Twice.”
My jaw tightened. I reached for the phone. “Let me see it.”
She hesitated, then placed the phone in my hand. The missed call notification still burned on the screen: Unknown Number.
The phone lit up again before I could think.
I didn’t even ask. I swiped to answer, placing it on speaker.
“Yeah?” My voice was low and controlled. I kept it even, the kind of voice you use when everything inside is ready to snap, but you don’t want the other person to know you’re rattling.
Silence, then a man’s smug, casual voice responded. “Who the hell is this?”
“You don’t need to know who I am,” I replied. “But you do need to stop calling.”
“Where’s Camille? Where are my kids?” he demanded. She flinched beside me, so I stepped away, taking the call off speaker, shielding her from the sound of his voice.
“They stopped being yours the day you signed over your rights,” I said, stepping away from the kids so they couldn’t hear. “You lost the right to call her. You lost the right to even say her name.”
“You think you can tell me what to do?”
“I don’t have to think.” The heat in my chest rose, a dangerous pressure I knew too well. Combat taught me how to steady that heat, but it also taught me how fast it could turn into a fire I couldn’t rein in. “I’m telling you right now. If you call her again, we’re gonna have a problem.”
He scoffed. “She got you playing bodyguard now? What are you going to do, call the cops? Cute.”
“I don’t need cops.” My fingers tightened on the phone until my knuckles went pale. I leaned forward, letting the silence do half the work. “I can handle you myself. And I will.”
He laughed, the sound like a gutter. “You can’t keep me away. Camille’s mine to call.”
“Say her name again,” I said, each word deliberate, “and I will make sure everything you care about goes up in smoke.” No melodrama, no promises I could not keep. Just an edge sharp enough that it cut through his bravado.
He began to speak, and I spoke before he even had the chance to put together his thoughts. I spoke softer, closer to the wire. “Keep it up, and I promise I will find you.”
There was a pause. Just breathing. Then that same mocking tone. “You don’t even know who you’re—”
Click. I hung up.
I stood there for a second, breathing too fast, my knuckles white around the phone. The urge to throw it, to break something, to do something burned under my skin.
“Hunter?”
Her voice was small behind me, careful.
I turned. She was watching me like she didn’t quite recognize the man standing there.
And she shouldn’t have. That version of me, the one that spoke in threats and moved on instinct, was the one I’d left behind years ago.
The one who solved everything with anger.
In those moments, I reminded myself of the promise I made after service: to never let anger be the master of my actions again.
All I could think about was protecting the woman I cared about and the kids that have quickly found their way into my heart.
I let out a rough breath and set the phone down on the blanket. “He’s not going to call again.” I said, but it came out too dark, too final.
She stepped forward, slowly, defusing the tension in the moment. “What did you say to him?”
“I told him to stop calling.” I said. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either.
Her eyes searched mine. I could see the worry there, a mix of gratitude and fear that gutted me. “Hunter…”
“I know,” I cut in quietly. “I lost it.” I dragged a hand down my face, the edge still humming under my skin. “I just—seeing that look on your face, I saw red.”
Her eyes met mine, searching for more than an apology. “Hunter, what’s going on?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
I hesitated for a moment, the rush of vulnerability unfamiliar but necessary.
“It’s not just about you,” I admitted, swallowing hard.
“It’s about me too. I’m afraid of losing this…
losing you. I’ve been in places where I had no control, and I can’t stand the thought of not being able to protect you guys. ”
She closed the space between us, placing her hand against my chest. “You don’t have to protect me, not like that.”
“Yes, I do,” I said, softer now.
The truth of it hit hard. The line between defending and destroying is thinner than most people realize.
I’d spent years learning to stay on the right side of it, and tonight, I’d nearly crossed.
Strength isn’t fists, I reminded myself, but restraint.
That promise echoed inside me, a quiet vow to protect without losing myself.
Her hand pressed a little harder over my heart. “It’s okay.”
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I know.”
She didn’t answer, just stepped into me, wrapped her arms around my waist, and rested her forehead against my chest. I held her there, breathing her in, forcing my heartbeat to slow until the anger bled away.
And when the phone buzzed again, just a notification this time, not a call, I ignored it. I held her tighter. Because right now, walking away from my anger was the only kind of strength that mattered.
Cami stood there, arms wrapped around herself, staring at the ground.
“He hasn’t called in months,” she said softly. “I really thought—”
“He’s testing you,” I said. “Trying to see if he still gets a reaction.” I touched her arm gently.
Her eyes lifted to mine, glassy with unshed tears. “I hate that he still has this kind of power over me.”
I shook my head. “He doesn’t. Fear’s just muscle memory. But you’ve already done the hardest part; you got out. Now you stay out. And I’ll help make damn sure he stays gone.”
Her lower lip trembled, but she faced me with a determination I hadn’t seen before. “Maybe it’s time to change my number again and document these calls, Hunter. I need to be proactive too. If he thinks he can wear me down with fear, he’s wrong. I can’t let him win.”
I nodded, admiring the resolve in her voice. “You don’t have to fix it, Hunter,” she added.
“I’m not trying to fix it,” I said. “Just making sure the world knows it’s not gonna break you.”
Zeke came running over, holding a dandelion like it was a treasure. “Mommy, look!”
She knelt, wiping at her eyes quickly before smiling. “That’s awesome, baby.”
I watched her pull him into her arms, her laugh softer this time, shakier, but still there. The twins ran over too, squealing about snacks and juice boxes, and the world shifted back to normal, or at least the version of normal we’ve been building together.
But I couldn’t shake the look on her face when that number flashed across her screen. I’d seen enough men like him to know they never stopped until someone made them.
And if it came to that, I damn well would.