Chapter Thirty Seven
Hunter
Camille’s apartment door was unlocked when I got there. That alone set off all kinds of alarms. I knocked anyway, giving her the chance to tell me to leave if she wanted, but when no answer came, I pushed it open.
The living room was dim, lit only by the glow of a cartoon on the TV.
Toys littered the floor. The twins had fallen asleep curled against each other on the couch, pacifiers half-slipping from their mouths.
Zeke was slumped in the recliner with a blanket, his chest rising and falling in the slow rhythm of deep sleep.
And then I heard a soft, muffled sound. I followed the sound and found her in her room.
It was small, but it was her. The walls were crowded with snapshots.
Her kids at the park, messy hair and toothy grins; a few of her and Dani mid-laugh; even a couple of faded Polaroids tacked up like tiny treasures.
A stack of textbooks slumped against the nightstand, pages flagged with neon sticky notes.
Tiny heaps of laundry dotted the floor, folded halfway or waiting to be.
Her bedspread was covered in faded flowers, the fabric soft from years of washing.
On the dresser sat a vase with the first flowers I’d ever given her.
Long dead now, petals brittle and curling, but she hadn’t thrown them out.
And next to them, still somewhat presentable, were the flowers I had given her when we went to the aquarium.
And then there was her.
She was curled up on the bed, knees drawn tight, her face buried in her hands. Shoulders trembling. Her phone lay face down beside her, screen still lit from the unanswered call I’d made on my way over.
“Cami,” I said softly, leaning against the door frame.
She flinched, then looked up, eyes red-rimmed, cheeks wet. “Hunter… what are you doing here?”
“You didn’t sound okay,” I said simply. “So I came.”
She shook her head, trying to swipe at the tears with the back of her sleeve. “You shouldn’t see me like this.”
I stepped closer, my voice low. “Why not?”
Her lips trembled, and then the words spilled out. “Because it’s too much. The kids, school, work. Him.” Her throat caught on that last word. “Their father hasn’t even bothered this month. Not a dollar. Nothing. And I can’t do it all, Hunter. I thought I could, but I can’t.”
My jaw clenched so hard it hurt. I didn’t know every detail about their history, though she had been open and shared as much as I think she felt I wanted to know, and enough for me to hate the guy.
From that day in the park, I’d known there was more to the story; more than just his absence that made her flinch at the sound of his name.
But that hadn’t been the time to ask, and maybe I wasn’t ready to see the look in her eyes again if I did.
I still couldn’t fathom how the hell any man could walk away from kids like hers. Kids who ran barefoot across the living room, giggling like sunshine, who clung to her like she was their whole world. Because she was.
And him? He wasn’t even showing up.
The thought alone made me want to track down this man and make good on the promise I had made.
But that wasn’t what she needed. Not tonight.
Instead, I decided to focus my energy differently.
I sat down on the edge of the bed, careful, steady.
“You don’t have to do it all alone.” Her eyes lifted, searching mine, wanting to believe me, but didn’t know how.
I forced my voice softer. “You’re not failing.
You’re fighting. And I’ve seen a lot of fighters in my life, Beautiful. You’re one of the strongest.”
Her breath hitched, and then she leaned forward, burying her face into my chest. The sobs shook her body, cries muffled against me. I wrapped my arms around her, hand steady at her back, cradling her close.
And as I held her, breathing in the faint floral notes from her hair, the rage in me quieted.
Beneath it lingered a trace of vanilla, warm and subtle, the kind that reminded me of comfort after long days.
It wrapped around me, steady and grounding, softening the edges of the storm that always seemed to churn inside me.
Because more than anything, I wanted her to feel safe.
Wanted her to know that no matter how heavy the load felt, she didn’t have to carry it by herself anymore.
We stayed that way until the tears slowed, until her breathing evened out. When she finally pulled back, her voice was a whisper. “I don’t want to scare you off.”
I brushed a curl from her damp cheek, my thumb lingering just a little too long. “You couldn’t, even if you tried.”
Her laugh came out soft and gentle as she buried her face in my chest again, giggling against me despite the tears.
“I shouldn’t dump this on you,” she whispered. “It’s too much.” She pulled back, wiping her face with the heel of her hand, eyes shining and raw.
“Camille,” I said quietly, steady. “If you’re carrying it alone, then it’s already too much. Let me share some of it.”
For a long moment, she stared at me, unsure if I meant it. Then, her lips trembled, and the words began to spill.
“He wasn’t always like that. When we met, he was charming.
Fun. But… he drank. More than I realized at first. And I was so young when I had Zeke, I just pushed myself to overlook it and try to make things work.
But then he turned to abusing pills, and things just got worse.
” Her fingers twisted the blanket in her lap, the one covered in faded flowers.
“By the time I was pregnant with the twins, I barely recognized him. The anger, the shouting…it became more than just words.”
My chest tightened, heat crawling under my skin. I didn’t need the details—I already hated the son of a bitch. The thought of anyone yelling at her, hurting her, using that same soft voice she saved for her kids made my fists curl.
“I stayed too long,” she said, voice cracking.
“I thought I could fix him, maybe if I just loved him enough, he’d stop.
But he didn’t. It just kept getting worse.
And then one day…” She trailed off, tears filling her eyes again.
“One day, I packed everything I could fit into the car, buckled the kids into their car seats, and I just… drove. I didn’t even tell him where.
My mom met me halfway and helped me start over here. ”
She broke then, covering her mouth with her hand, trying to push the sobs back down. “And I still feel guilty. Like I failed them. I should have known better, done better, protected them sooner.”
I wanted to tell her she was wrong. That leaving took more courage than staying ever could. That guilt had no place on her shoulders. But the words stuck in my throat, tangled up with the anger burning low in my gut.
I couldn’t stand the guy. He left bruises on her heart, made her question her own worth, and abandoned kids who deserved the damn world.
Every mark he’d left on her lived under my skin now, turning my calm into something sharp.
I didn’t care what it cost me. I’d burn the world down before I let him hurt her, or them, again.
“I don’t understand him,” I said finally, my voice low, rougher than I meant. “I don’t understand how anyone could walk away from you. From them.”
Her eyes snapped up to mine, wide and glassy.
“You didn’t fail them, Camille,” I added, softer now. “You saved them. You saved yourself.”
Her lip trembled, and before I could say more, she leaned into me again, burying her face into my chest. This time, it wasn’t desperate; it was surrender.
I wrapped my arms around her tighter, steady, promising silently that I’d never be the man who left her to cry alone in a small room filled with dead flowers and unfinished laundry.
Because if I had anything to say about it, she would never carry that weight by herself again.