Chapter Thirty One
Hunter
Repeating her words. I love you.
She’d cried, laughed, buried her face in my chest like she couldn’t believe it was real. And I’d held her, threading my fingers through her curls, breathing her in, whispering it again against her hair because once wasn’t enough.
All I could think was, this woman had every reason not to say those words. In her words, she’d been bruised, abandoned, and left to raise three kids. She has carried scars no one should carry alone. And still, she chose to love me.
All my life, I’d been taught love was weakness. That showing it, saying it, meant you were soft, vulnerable, open to being broken. But in that moment, with her heart pressed against mine, I realized the truth: Loving her wasn’t a weakness; it was the bravest thing I’ve ever done.
The drive back to her apartment that night was quiet, the kind of silence that held meaning rather than emptiness.
She sat beside me, curled slightly toward the window, her fingers absently twisting the hem of her shirt.
I didn’t need her to say anything. I could feel it.
The guilt. The tug of two worlds she was constantly balancing.
One part of her wanted to stay, to let the night linger, to fall deeper into us.
The other part was already back home, where three little hearts depended on her.
I tightened my grip on the wheel, not out of frustration, but to remind myself that this wasn’t about what I wanted.
It was about meeting her where she was. She’d already let me closer than I ever expected, already trusted me with parts of herself most people never saw. That mattered more than anything.
The truck rumbled beneath us, the glow of streetlights washing in and out like waves.
I kept my eyes ahead, letting her have the quiet.
She bit her lip, shoulders tense, the kind of small tell that said more than words could.
almost reached for her hand to tell her she didn’t have to explain, but I held back. Sometimes the quiet said it better.
When we pulled into her complex, she finally turned toward me.
Her eyes were soft, almost apologetic, but I shook my head before she could speak.
“You don’t need to explain,” I said quietly.
My voice came out rough, but steady. “I get it. You’re a mom first. That’s who you are.
And that’s one of the things I love about you. ”
Her lips parted, wanting to argue, but then she stopped. I saw the tension in her shoulders ease, just slightly, like maybe she believed me.
I parked in the same spot as always, the truck idling low.
She fiddled with her bag strap, reaching for the handle, but I caught her wrist. Not to stop her, just to anchor her for a moment.
“Camille,” I murmured, waiting for her eyes to meet mine.
“Tonight was…” I trailed off, searching for words that always felt too big.
“…real. And I’ll take real over perfect any day. ”
Her throat worked as she swallowed, eyes glistening in the glow of the streetlamp. She leaned in, pressing a quick, soft kiss to my cheek before slipping out of the truck.
“Thank you…for understanding. I enjoyed tonight.” She whispered.
“Anytime, Beautiful,” I murmured back.
I watched her walk toward her building, her shoulders squaring as if she was pulling her armor back on. Just before she disappeared inside, she glanced back. The smallest smile tugged at her lips, and it was enough.
I let out a long breath, leaning back against the seat once she was gone.
Part of me wanted to chase after her, to tell her she didn’t have to run, that she could stay, and the world wouldn’t fall apart.
But I knew better. She wasn’t running from me.
She was running toward the people who needed her most.
And if I was going to be part of her world, I had to prove I could handle that.
As I started the truck again, the low, insistent rumble was a comforting backdrop to the whirlwind of thoughts racing through my mind. Her scent still clung to my skin, and the ghost of her kiss lingered on my cheek, a gentle reminder of the night we’d shared.
This evening had been more than just a moment; it was a pivotal shift in my world, one that left me both exhilarated and introspective.
I realized that Camille trusted me enough to let me in, a type of trust I hadn’t been certain I’d ever have with anyone again.
It was as though the walls around my heart had been carefully dismantled, brick by brick, and in their place was new and uncharted but profoundly real.
Driving home, I knew I had to be patient, to prove that I could be part of the world that mattered most to her, the world where she was needed. And despite the uncertainty and the challenges ahead, the feeling that prevailed was worth waiting for, time and again.