Chapter Thirty Five
Hunter
The drive home should’ve been quiet. The twins had drifted off before we even made it back to their apartment, Zeke dozing off with his cookie still clutched in his hand.
The night settled quietly around us, the steady hum of the truck the only sound as the red light spilled through the windshield, painting Cami in soft, borrowed color beside me.
But my head wasn’t quiet.
It was buzzing. Loud. Alive. I was replaying every moment of the day.
Zeke squealed when I lifted him onto my shoulders.
The twins’ little fists pressed against the glass, babbling “fishy!” as jellyfish glowed above their heads.
Camille’s laugh was soft, cautious at first, but freer every time I cracked a joke to ease the tension.
The way she looked at me when I handed her wipes from the console, struggling to believe I wasn’t mad about spilled milk.
And that kiss at her door. Damn, that kiss.
It wasn’t fireworks or desperation; it was anchored.
The kind of kiss that doesn’t fade when the night ends, that makes you think about mornings, and staying, and everything after.
About all the things I swore I wasn’t cut out for anymore.
Because yeah, I’d done the car seats, I’d carried Zeke, I’d made her laugh.
But there’s a difference between surviving a day at the aquarium and surviving the long haul.
Between being the fun guy with cookies and being the reliable man who shows up through tantrums, sickness, and exhaustion.
I gripped the wheel tighter, knuckles white.
A year ago, my marriage had ended because I couldn’t be what my ex needed.
I’d been too guarded, too scared from deployments, too…
me. And now here I was, driving away from a woman who carried more weight than anyone I’d ever met—and asking myself if I could actually help carry it, or if I’d just add to it.
But the thing was… I couldn’t walk away without trying.
Because Camille wasn’t just another woman I’d met on a dating app. She was it.
The way she fought for her kids, the way she kept moving even when life knocked her down, the way she looked at me tonight, was equal parts terrified and hopeful.
And I did. I wasn’t sure I deserved her.
Hell, I wasn’t sure I deserved the chance to be in her kids’ lives either.
But tonight, walking them to the door, holding her in my arms, I’d felt like an urge to fight for it, for them.
For her. Even if it terrified me more than the silence waiting upstairs.