Chapter Twenty Seven
Camille
By the time the kids were settled with their cartoons, the tension in my body felt like a second skin I couldn’t peel off. Every time I looked at my phone, I half-expected it to light up again, with Unknown Number flashing across the screen.
Hunter noticed. Of course he did.
He crouched in front of me as I sat on the edge of the bed, his hand finding mine. His touch was gentle, grounding me in a way I hadn’t realized I needed.
“What do you need? Just tell me. I hate seeing you like this.” His voice was compassionate and soft. A tone I don’t think he’s ever used with me.
“I’m okay. It’s okay.” I said, trying to convince myself more than him.
“Go take a shower,” he said softly.
“I’m fine,” I lied, because that’s what I always said when I didn’t know how to untangle the mess in my head.
He raised a brow, that patient kind of look that didn’t need words. “Cami.” Just my name, but it carried a quiet authority that made it impossible to argue. “You’ve been holding your breath for hours. Go. Take a shower. It helps me when I can’t shut my head off.”
I hesitated, staring past him toward the hallway. “What about the kids?”
“I’ve got ’em.” His voice was smooth, sure. “Go.”
It didn’t sound like a command. His tone was so gentle that it slipped past my usual walls. I nodded, slowly, feeling the ache in my chest loosen, just a little.
The bathroom filled with steam as I turned on the water.
The first hit of warmth against my shoulders made me exhale for what felt like the first time all day.
I braced my hands against the tile, closing my eyes, letting the sound of the water drown out the echo of my ex’s voice in my head; that sharp tone, the control, the fear.
My mind drifted back to that afternoon in the park, when everything had spun out of control. Hunter was there; phone in hand, voice low but sharp enough to cut through every ounce of fear I’d been choking on.
He hadn’t yelled. He hadn’t postured. But there was something in his tone, that quiet steel, that made it clear he wasn’t bluffing. It was the kind of voice that made men listen. The kind that said: you don’t get to touch what’s mine.
And the strangest part? I didn’t flinch. I didn’t feel the panic I used to whenever voices rose or tempers shifted. I felt… safe. Like someone was standing between me and the storm for once, and I could finally exhale.
It wasn’t about control or ego; he wasn’t trying to own me. He was protecting me. Us.
I’d never had that before.
And that version of Hunter— the one who could be calm one moment and terrifyingly certain the next—should’ve scared me. But it didn’t. Because beneath the grit and the threat, there was heart. There was love.
Through the thin walls, I could still hear life happening. Hunter’s low voice rumbling from the kitchen. Zeke’s laughter was loud and unrestrained. The twins were squealing, probably arguing over who got the pink cup. It was a background noise that reminded me what peace actually sounded like.
When I finally stepped out, wrapped in one of my softest towels, the air carried a new smell. My stomach growled before my brain caught up.
I followed the scent down the hallway and froze at the doorway.
The table was set imperfectly. Two forks lay backward, and the napkins didn’t match, but it was beautiful in the most ordinary way. Zeke was standing on a chair, helping Hunter fold the last napkin, and the twins were giggling in their high chairs, each clutching a french fry.
Hunter stood at the stove, sleeves pushed up, and hair messy. He glanced over his shoulder when he noticed me watching.
“Hey,” he said softly, that slow, crooked grin forming. “You look better, Beautiful.”
I smiled, still dazed. “You cooked?”
He gestured to the takeout containers on the counter. “Sort of. Ordered some of those truffle fries you like from Dukes. That counts as cooking, right?”
A laugh broke free before I could stop it. “You remembered?”
“Hard to forget,” he said, opening a container and letting the steam rise between us. “You were so damn happy the first time I took you there. Figured their truffle fries might put that same smile on your face.”
The words landed somewhere deep, warm, and unexpected. “They probably will,” I said softly, smiling despite myself.
He chuckled, that low, easy sound that always managed to find its way into the cracks of my bad days. “Good.”
Zeke spotted me and grinned. “Mom! Hunter let me help! I got to set the table!”
“I see that,” I said, my throat tightening a little.
Hunter turned, plates in hand, and nodded toward a chair. “Come sit. Everything’s ready.”
We listened to every one of Zeke’s stories, reveling in this moment. Hunter handed napkins to the twins without missing a beat, cut their food, and made sure I actually ate before I started cleaning up.
I sat there, just watching him. The way he moved around my kids as if he’d always been part of their orbit. The way he glanced at me every few minutes, checking to make sure I was still okay. There was no pity in his gaze, no tension, just a quiet steadiness.
When the chaos died down and the kids drifted off, Hunter helped me carry dishes to the sink. He rolled up his sleeves again, forearms slick with water and soap.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” I said softly, drying a plate beside him.
“I know.” He smirked, not looking up. “I wanted to.”
My chest tightened. I turned to say something, but he set the plate down and faced me instead.
“He’s not going to hurt you again,” he said, voice low, deliberate.
His words didn’t cut. They settled over me, calm and certain, a kind of safety I hadn’t known I needed. A wall between me and the ghosts I kept running from.
I reached up, fingers brushing his jaw, rough with stubble. “Thank you,” I murmured.
He shook his head slowly. “Don’t thank me. Just… let me help carry it, okay?”
That settled deep in me. He wasn’t just talking about the call or my ex. He meant all of it. The years spent holding everything together, pretending I was fine, never letting anyone see how heavy it really was.
I didn’t argue. I just nodded.
Later, I curled up next to him on the couch. The TV was on low, some movie neither of us was watching. My head rested against his shoulder, his arm stretched along the back of the couch, fingertips tracing slow circles against my arm.
I still worried about being too much, about my chaos spilling into the lives of people I cared about. But when he shifted, tucking me closer like I belonged right there, the worry faded. It softened into something quieter.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everything.
” My voice was barely above a whisper as my hands rubbed them over my thighs.
“About him.” I hesitated, swallowing hard, the silence stretching between us as I struggled to find the right words.
Hunter’s expression shifted, his shoulders tensing just slightly, but he didn’t say anything.
He waited, unmoved and patient as always, letting me take my time.
“After he signed over his parental rights, I thought it was done. I really did.” My voice cracked, and I forced a shaky breath.
“But he started calling again. From different numbers. Leaving messages, threats that he’d come back and take the kids.
Sometimes, just breathing on the other end.
And then one night, he showed up outside my mom’s.
Said he was there to take the kids, and either I went with him or he’d never see them again.
” I swallowed hard, heat rising behind my eyes.
“That’s when I got the restraining order. ”
Hunter’s jaw worked, a muscle flickering near his temple. “When was that?”
“About a year ago.” I looked down at my hands. “He left me alone for a while, but sometimes…he still calls.” I exhaled, the air shaking out of me.
“I keep telling myself I’m past it, that I’m stronger now. But moments like today…” I trailed off, helpless.
Hunter shifted closer, the space between us shrinking. “Moments like that don’t mean you’re weak,” he said softly. “They mean you survived something that shouldn’t have happened. You don’t have to worry about that anymore. Nothing will ever happen to you or the kids. I promise.”
The pent-up emotions inside me let go. The guilt, the fear, the way I was always bracing for the worst. It all blurred as I leaned in, allowing his arms to envelop me in protection.
For a long moment, we just breathed. His breath steady, mine uneven.
The kids’ voices floated from the bedroom, a fragile piece of normal in a night that felt anything but.
The adrenaline faded, leaving behind a hollow ache. Not fear now, but the kind that comes when you realize how close you came to losing the thin thread of peace you’ve built.
“Stay with me tonight?” The words came out small, as if I was asking for time I didn’t quite believe I deserved.
Hunter’s eyes flicked toward the kids. Zeke was already slumped against his blanket, the twins curled together like a pair of kittens. Then his gaze came back to me, unwavering. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I finally knew the words to put to this feeling: Trust. Safety. Because Hunter never made me feel like a burden. He made me feel chosen, and in that moment, I knew that love could feel like this. Unwavering, safe, and real.