Chapter Forty Two #2
I leaned back, the hum of cicadas filling the silence, the glow of the house soft behind us.
For the first time in years, I didn’t feel as though I was caught between two worlds; I felt whole.
And when Camille came outside, sliding her hand into mine, exactly where it belonged, I realized I didn’t just want her in my world.
I wanted to build a new one with her. She’d been nervous walking in, I knew that, but she’d held her own. And I was proud to have her by my side.
???
The hotel was only a few minutes away. The room was simple.
It held neutral walls, a king-sized bed, and a lonely desk tucked into a corner.
Yet standing there with her bag on the chair and her curls spilling over her shoulders, she stood out.
She lingered by the dresser, clearly unsure what to do with herself.
I wanted to close the space between us, to kiss her until she forgot every doubt, but I also knew how fragile this was.
So I sat on the edge of the bed, leaning back on my palms. “You hungry? I swiped extra brownies. Might’ve hidden them in the truck.”
That earned me a laugh, shaky but real. “I can’t believe you stole the brownies and the plate.”
“Yeah,” I said, grinning. “Figured you’d want your usual late-night snack.” Her eyes flicked to mine, and something in her face softened. She crossed the room slowly, then sat beside me. Close enough that her warmth brushed against me.
“You okay?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
She glanced at me, gave a tight little smile. “Yeah. I had fun. I enjoyed seeing that side of you. It’s just hard to be away from the kids. And this just feels different, more at stake.”
I reached over, brushing her hand with mine. “I’m glad you came.” Her eyes softened, and she nodded, though I knew the battle inside her wasn’t won that easily.
For a while, we just sat in silence. The hum of the AC, the muffled sound of a TV, since Cami could never fall asleep without it on subtly in the background.
My pulse was steady, but heavy with restraint.
Except I couldn’t help but kiss her. And when I did, it wasn’t about proving anything.
It was slow, careful, like telling her with every brush of my lips: You don’t have to hide. Not from me.
And with that, I let myself fall asleep listening to the peaceful rhythm of Camille’s breathing against my chest. For a while, the warmth of her weight soothed the edges of my thoughts and anchored me.
But sleep has never been kind to me.
One minute, I was in a hotel bed with her curled against me, and the next I was back in Afghanistan.
The dream was sharper this time. Not flashes, but full color, full sound.
Sand in my mouth. The air was ripped apart by gunfire. My buddy’s scream echoed as the ground exploded. I reached for him. Fingers brushing his sleeve. But then he was gone, swallowed in smoke and silence.
And then, silence turned into screaming. Mine.
“Hunter!”
Her voice cut through, jolting me upright.
Reflexes ready to defend myself and my men.
My chest heaved, lungs burning like I’d run miles.
Sweat dripped down my temple, soaking the sheets.
My hands trembled, fists knotted so tight the nails dug into my palms. And then I noticed that Camille was half-sitting, half-crawling back, curls piled on top of her head, eyes wide and glinting in the dim light.
Fear flickered there, not of me, but for me.
I hated that I put it there.
“I’m sorry,” I rasped, dragging a hand down my face. “I didn’t mean to…”
“You were yelling,” she whispered, still catching her breath. “You scared me.”
Her voice cracked, and shame hit me like a punch. The last thing I wanted was for her to see this, the broken parts I kept buried.
“I’m sorry. It’s just nightmares,” I muttered, trying to pull back. “Doesn’t matter.”
But she shook her head, steadier than I expected. “Of course it matters. This is you. Talk to me.”
I hesitated, jaw tight. I didn’t want to name it. The word was a brand. PTSD. Letters stamped across me as proof that I was damaged.
Finally, I forced it out. “It’s… PTSD. That’s what they call it, anyway. I despise the label. Feels like it defines me, like I’m just a broken Marine with bad wiring.”
Her hand reached for mine, hesitant but sure, fingers uncurling my fists one by one. “You’re not broken,” she said softly. “You’re human. What does it look like for you? When it shows up?” The question gutted me because no one ever asked, not like that.
I swallowed hard. “Sometimes it’s nightmares.
Sometimes it’s the noise of fireworks, a car backfiring.
My chest locks up. Feels like I’m back there, waiting for the next blast. Other times…
” I exhaled, shaking my head. “Other times it’s just me.
Staring at a wall at 3 a.m. because sleep feels like a trap. ”
Her thumb brushed my knuckles, grounding me. “You didn’t have to hide that from me.”
I met her eyes then. They were wide, worried, but steady, allowing me to believe her.
She wasn’t running. Not from the mess. Not from me, and for a long moment, silence hung between us.
My breathing was still uneven, the ghost of sand and smoke clinging to me.
I half-expected her to pull away, to shift to her side of the bed, deciding she didn’t sign up for this.
Instead, she moved closer. Her hands were small and steady as they slid along mine, prying my fingers open gently. She pressed her palm flat against my chest, right over my heart. “You’re here,” she whispered. “Not there. Here. With me.”
The words cut through the fog sharper than anything else. Her touch was grounding, warm, real.
I let out a shaky breath, my forehead dropping to hers. “I hate that you had to see that.”
“I’d rather see it,” she murmured, “than let you fight it alone. Plus, I’ve noticed things before, just never knew how bad it got, I guess.”
I didn’t know what to say. The shame was still there, crawling under my skin, but so was…relief.
She eased us back against the pillows, her body curling into mine, her arms wrapping around me like she could anchor me there. Her cheek rested against my shoulder, her breathing slow, deliberate. “If it happens again,” she said softly, “wake me, please. Don’t carry it by yourself.”
They were words no one had ever said to me, and if they’d come from anyone else, I wouldn’t have believed them. But the way she said it with confidence and empathy, I knew I could trust them.
I pressed a kiss to her hair, inhaling the faint scent of her shampoo, the warmth of her skin. “You don’t know what you’re signing up for,” I whispered.
“Maybe not,” she admitted. “But that doesn’t change anything for me. I know what I want.” Her certainty unraveled me. My hand slid into her curls, tilting her face up to mine. She was so close I could see the flecks of gold in her eyes, even in the dark.
“Camille…” My voice was hoarse. “You’re the only thing that’s felt real in a long time.”
Her lips found mine, soft and lingering, not rushed or desperate, but gentle.
It wasn’t about forgetting the darkness.
It was about us, about this moment, about choosing to be here.
I kissed her back, slow at first, letting her fingers tangle in my hair.
My body, still tense, softened under her touch.
Every pull of her hand broke down more of my walls.
I shifted us gently, easing her onto her back, my forehead still pressed to hers.
Her voice was steady as she said, “I love you, Hunter. Please don’t treat me like I’m fragile.
” The words weren’t just a plea. They were a claim of her own strength.
Even as I wanted to protect her, her gaze told me she was just as strong as I was.
I kissed her again, deeper this time, breathing her in. My hands traced the lines of her body, slow and careful, memorizing the shape of her. She arched into me, a soft sigh escaping her lips.
“Beautiful,” I breathed, my mouth trailing down her jaw to her throat. Her gasp sent a shiver through me.
My hand drifted lower, tracing her hip, slipping under the fabric touching the swell of her breast. Her breath caught, her body moving with mine. She cradled my face, her thumbs brushing my mouth as I moved.
“You’re here.” Her voice airy, the words catching on a soft gasp.
“I’m here.” I echoed, my voice breaking, because it felt true in a way it hadn’t in years.
We moved together like that, slow and deep, the room except for our breathing.
When I finally eased into her, it was slow, steady.
The sound left a fire in my lungs. She clutched my shoulders, nails pressing crescents into my skin.
The stretch of her around me was almost unbearable, tight and hot, but I held back, giving her time, giving us time.
Her lips parted on a shaky breath. “Hunter…”
She kissed my mouth, my cheek, my throat, whispering “I love you” between each press of her lips.
I found a rhythm, not rushed but deep and steady, each movement drawing another sound from her.
Her legs tightened around me, holding me close, her soft cries finding their way through me, filling the quiet with something I didn’t know I’d been missing.
“Look at me,” I whispered.
Her eyes opened, wide and trusting, pupils dark. The connection knocked the breath from my lungs. This wasn’t just her body. It was her, trusting me, choosing me.
With our bodies tangled, I remembered seeing her for the first time: the hidden confidence, a storm in her eyes. I knew then she was strong enough for both our demons. Camille broke the silence with a soft laugh, pressing her palms to my chest and rolling me onto my back.
Her hair fell around us, a dark curtain, as she moved over me, straddling my hips. My hands slid up her thighs, settling at her waist as I looked up at her, undone.
“Cami…” My voice cracked on her name.
She bent low, kissing me slowly and deeply, her body pressed close as she began to move. The pace was hers, gentle, rhythmic, unhurried. Every movement drew a breath from my lips.
She lifted her head, curls falling around her face, as I whispered, “I want you like this. I want to see you.”
Her gaze never left mine as she moved, every rise and fall threaded with trust, every gasp a confession. I reached up, cradling her face, my thumb brushing the corner of her mouth as she trembled above me. “You’re beautiful,” I whispered, voice breaking. “Every fucking part of you.”
Her release came first, shuddering through her, her cry caught in a kiss as I pulled her down against me. The feel of her unraveling pushed me over the edge, my own climax tearing free in a rough groan as I buried my face in her neck.
Afterward, she draped over me, cheek pressed to my chest, breath warm and steady. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close, not wanting to let go.
“Still here,” she whispered, the words humming into my skin.
“Still here.” I echoed, my voice gravely.
I closed my eyes, letting her steady rhythm pull me back from the edge. My body, no longer tense from the nightmare. Her presence filled the cracks the memories had split open. And as sleep threatened again, I wasn’t afraid of closing my eyes.
???
The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the quiet.
It wasn’t the suffocating kind that usually pressed in after nightmares, but a softer, calmer kind since Cami lay next to me.
Her legs wrapped around mine, as the sunlight spilt weakly through the curtains, catching in her curls where they spilled across me.
Her hand was still resting against my chest, right over my heart, like she’d left it there on purpose.
For a second, I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just watched her, trying to memorize the way she looked in sleep. Peaceful. Strong even here, wrapped around me as if she were the one protecting me. Then the shame crept back in.
I’d woken her by yelling. Scared her. Dragged her into the hell I tried so damn hard to keep buried.
And still she’d stayed. Grounded me. Told me not to carry it alone.
The part of me that had lived by discipline and silence wanted to recoil, to put the walls back up before I gave away too much.
But another part, the part that had kissed her forehead and listened to her whisper, she wanted to stay, wanted to hold on.
You said too much. You showed her the cracks. The ugly parts. She’ll change her mind now.
But when she stirred and shifted closer, tucking herself tighter against me, the noise in my head went silent. Maybe she didn’t see me as broken. Maybe she just saw… me.
I brushed a curl from her face, careful not to wake her, and let out a long, shaky breath.
I didn’t know if I was good enough for her. For her kids. For this kind of life. But last night, with her whispering me back into calm, I’d felt something I hadn’t in years.
Like maybe I could be.