Chapter Fifty
Hunter
The door slammed harder than I meant it to, the echo rattling through me like an aftershock.
I didn’t stop walking. Down the steps, across the grass, and into the truck. My hands shook as I shoved the key into the ignition, but I couldn’t sit still. I had to move. Had to get out before I said something worse, before I broke something I couldn’t fix.
The engine roared to life, but I just sat there, gripping the wheel until my knuckles went white.
Her face wouldn’t leave me. The hurt in her eyes when I snapped, when I told her the part I’ve buried from everyone, that my head’s a minefield, that I’m terrified she’ll see too much and decide I’m not worth it.
Because the truth is, I already believe it.
I told myself I stormed out to protect her.
Protect the kids from seeing me lose it.
But sitting there with the engine running, sweat slick on my palms, I knew the truth.
I ran just like my old man said I would.
I could still hear him, rough as gravel: “Stop crying, boy. Weakness gets you killed. No woman wants a man who can’t control himself. ”
I’d spent my whole life proving him wrong, pushing harder, holding it together, locking it down. And yet here I was, thirty years old, a Marine, sitting in my truck shaking like the scared kid he always accused me of being.
And worse, I’d left her standing there with the kids, her eyes shining with tears I caused.
I hated myself for it.
I knew I should go back up, drop my pride, and tell her that I was scared, that the noise was getting louder, that I pulled away because I cared too damn much.
But instead, I shifted into drive. Because I didn’t know if I could stand in front of her again without breaking. I didn’t even have a destination. Just drove. Past the same streets, same gas station, world blurring into headlights and traffic lights, I barely noticed.
The truck felt too small, too loud, every beat of the engine echoing the pounding in my chest.
As I drove, I replayed the fight on a loop. Her voice breaking as she said, “If you want out, just say it.” The way Zeke had looked up from the floor, confused, holding his toy tighter than he should be. The twins fussed, sensing tension but not understanding why.
And me, walking out.
My hands had been gripping the wheel so tight they ached. I hated myself for leaving, but the shame was heavier than the urge to turn back.
I ended up in an empty parking lot, the kind where no one asked questions. Killed the engine and sat in the dark until my phone buzzed once, her name lighting the screen.
I couldn’t pick it up.
Instead, I dropped my head back against the seat, exhaling hard.
I thought about my dad, how he’d sneered at weakness, how he’d told me emotions made men soft.
And I thought about Camille looking at me like my mess didn’t scare her, like she wanted in, no matter what.
Her eyes could cut through the fog and see the parts I tried to hide.
That last look she gave me held no judgment and stuck with me.
It made me think maybe I wasn’t as broken as I felt.
I wanted to hold onto that, let it anchor me.
Those two voices pulled at me in opposite directions, leaving me stuck in between, paralyzed as I opened the text she’d sent.
Camille: Please be safe.
Not come back to me, not explain, just safe.
Something in my chest cracked. I wanted to turn the key, drive back, and fall at her feet.
The shame of it kept my hands frozen. So I sat in the dark, phone burning in my hand, wondering if this was the moment I finally ruined the best thing I’d ever had.
It should’ve been a relief, but all I could hear was the echo of every other time someone had decided I wasn’t worth the fight.
I rubbed a hand over my beard, jaw tight. I could go back. Walk upstairs, tell her the truth, let her really see me. The nightmares. The shakes. The way every pop of fireworks sent me straight back overseas.
But what if she didn’t like what she saw?
What if Zeke stopped looking at me like I was his hero and started seeing me as another guy who couldn’t hold it together?
What if the twins stopped reaching for me, sensing the storm I tried to keep buried?
What if she stopped looking at me like I was home and started looking at me like I was broken? The thought was unbearable.
So instead of turning back, I sat there telling myself distance was better. It was easier to believe she’d be fine without me and to think she deserved someone steadier, not a guy who flinched at shadows. No woman wants a man who can’t hold himself together.
I had just sabotaged the one good thing I’d found by staying away and convincing myself she’d be better off if I let her go.
???
The next few days blurred into the same routine: work, gym, home.
I avoided Camille’s place entirely, convincing myself that distance was best. My phone buzzed more than once with her name lighting the screen, a reminder of the life I was missing.
Zeke drew something for you. The twins learned a new word today.
Little updates that tugged at me. Each one I read but left unanswered, all the replies that went unsent.
I let the silence stretch, believing it was kinder somehow, that it kept me from saying the wrong thing.
I threw myself into work on base, clocking extra hours I didn’t need.
I pushed harder at the gym, letting the weights grind out what sleep couldn’t.
And at night, when I lay awake staring at the ceiling, I convinced myself this was temporary.
That giving her space now would protect her from the worst of me later.
But the truth was, I missed them.
I missed Zeke’s endless questions, the twins’ squeals, the way Camille laughed when I teased her out of her own head. I missed walking into her world and feeling like maybe, just maybe, I belonged there.
And the more I told myself I was protecting her, the more I knew I was lying. Because deep down, I knew this wasn’t protection. It was fear, and it had me by the throat.