Chapter Fifty Two
Hunter
Ihadn’t planned on saying anything. Hell, I’d barely planned on leaving the apartment but I was stuck in my head.
My boots thudded against the hardwood as I dropped them by the door, jacket slung over the back of the chair.
The shadow box Camille had made me sat where it had for weeks, on the dresser in my bedroom. I’d look at it sometimes, just long enough to feel that familiar ache in my chest, then turn away.
I told myself I wasn’t ready. That those medals, those ribbons, weren’t about me.
They were about the men who didn’t make it home.
But tonight, I stood there longer. The black frame caught the low light, the glass reflecting back my face.
Her touch was all over it, the careful way she’d arranged the rows, the way she’d included that worn patch I thought was worthless, the photo of my unit tucked into the corner.
She hadn’t just made a display. She’d made a reminder, something she’d said I should be proud of, not ashamed.
Her voice echoed in my head: You shouldn’t hide it. You should honor it.
But I wasn’t ready for that. And after three nights of staring at the ceiling and two skipped texts I couldn’t bring myself to answer.
I put my boots back on and ended up at Mike’s place. Mike had been in my unit. We’ve seen the same sand, heard the same blasts, and carried the same ghosts. If there was anyone I could halfway talk to, it was him.
He shoved a beer into my hand the second I walked in. “You look like hell, man.”
I snorted, collapsing onto his worn-out couch. “Thanks for the warm welcome.”
“I doubt you’re here for compliments, Bennett.” He dropped into the recliner, studying me like I was a puzzle missing half its pieces. “So. What’s eating you? Work? Nightmares? Or…” He paused, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “…woman trouble?”
I glared at him over the rim of the bottle. “Don’t start.”
“That’s a yes,” he said, grinning like he’d scored a point.
I scrubbed a hand over my face. “It’s… complicated.”
“Complicated how?”
I hesitated. Saying it out loud felt like ripping a scab. “She’s good. Too good. And I’m… not.”
Mike raised a brow. “Translation?”
“You know how it is, little stuff sets me off. Sometimes I pull away, sometimes I get pissed.”
Mike leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Let me get this straight. You’ve got a woman who actually likes you. Hell, from what you’ve told me, loves you. And kids who look at you like you hung the damn moon, and you think the right move is to ghost them?”
I stiffened. “I’m protecting them.”
He barked a laugh. “Bullshit. You’re protecting yourself. Big difference.” The words hit harder than I wanted to admit.
I sat back, staring at the beer bottle in my hands. My chest was tight, my throat burning with all the things I couldn’t say.
Mike shook his head. “You survived ten years in the Marine Corps, Bennett. Four deployments to the middle of Afghanistan. But you’re about to blow up the best thing you’ve got because you’re scared she’ll see you bleed. Newsflash: she already knows you bleed. And she’s still there.”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because the truth was, he wasn’t wrong, even if I wished he was.
“She’s not Kelsey.”
Mike’s tone was even, but there was weight behind it. “Never liked her for you, by the way. But I saw you with Camille. The night you brought her over. You weren’t as rough that night.”
“I know she’s not like Kelsey,” I said, my jaw tightening. “Not even close.”
And damn, did I know it.
Cami was warm—bright in a way that didn’t fade when things got hard.
She showed up for people without needing a reason, without keeping score.
Kelsey, my ex-wife… she’d been the opposite.
Cold. Calculated. The kind of woman who turned love into leverage.
I’d spent years walking on eggshells, trying to keep the peace.
And when I came back and needed her to step up for me, she’d quickly forgotten it all.
Mike leaned back, his expression grim as he turned the bottle in his hands, watching the way the light caught the glass. “You know,” he said after a long pause, “you’re not the only one who tried to run.”
I frowned, glancing at him. “What do you mean?”
“Sarah,” he said. “When we first started dating, I damn near ruined it. Same crap you’re pulling now. My fuse was short, and I thought the only way to keep her safe from me was to push her away.”
I raised a brow. “You? Didn’t see that coming. You two look solid.”
He chuckled, humorless. “Now, yeah. Back then? I ghosted her for a week once, just a couple months in. Told myself I was sparing her the mess. Truth was, I was scared as hell. Scared she’d see me shaking in the middle of the night, scared she’d look at me differently.
” He shrugged. “Guess what? She already knew.”
“Didn’t mean it was easy,” he went on. “I blew up at her once, snapped at the wrong moment. She almost left. And you know what changed it? I finally admitted I needed help. Not from some VA doc, not from a checklist. From her. From the people I wanted to build a life with.” I stared at the bottle, his words hitting harder than I wanted to admit.
Mike’s gaze sharpened. “So tell me, man. Do you want Camille and those kids in your life, or do you want to keep hiding until you’re sitting alone in this dump with no one left to fight for?”
I swallowed hard, throat tight. The picture of her flashed in my head with her curls spilling over her shoulders, her laugh when Zeke told some ridiculous story, the twins climbing into my lap like I’d always been there.
I wanted it badly. But wanting and thinking I deserved it?
Two different fights. I shook my head, a bitter laugh. “You make it sound simple.”
Mike’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not simple. But it’s not impossible either.”
“You don’t get it,” I muttered, jaw tight.
“Sarah didn’t have to watch you freeze up every time the world got loud.
Never saw you bolt awake, drenched in sweat.
The night of that party, I woke her up screaming in my sleep.
She looked terrified. I should be the one making her feel safe.
Instead, I was the reason she was scared.
Camille’s got three kids, Mike. She doesn’t need another thing to take care of. ”
Mike leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “So what you’re telling me is she already knows? She’s already seen it, months ago, and was still there?”
I looked away, heat crawling up my neck. “Not all of it. If she did…” I trailed off, throat thick. “If she did, she’d realize I’m not what she needs.”
“Bullshit,” Mike shot back. “That woman looks at you with hearts in her eyes. Those kids? They already see you as family. You want to be the guy who teaches them men bail when things get hard?” That hit like a punch to the gut.
Exactly what I swore I’d never be. Especially not after what they’ve all been through.
I clenched the bottle, voice rough. “Better I leave now than before they get too attached.”
Mike stared at me like I’d grown another head. “That’s not protecting them, Hunter. That’s running. And we both know running never fixed a damn thing.”
I rubbed my beard, fighting that familiar sting. I wanted to believe him, wanted to let myself think I could be what Camille and those kids needed. But every bit of me felt it was a lie.
I set the bottle down, pushing up off the couch. “Thanks for the beer,” I muttered. “But I should go.” Mike started to argue, but Sarah stepped in from the kitchen, towel in hand, eyes sharp, reading the whole room in a heartbeat.
“Giving him the tough-love speech again?” she asked Mike, eyebrows up.
“He needs it,” Mike said gruffly.
She crossed the room and handed me a folded card. “And he needs more than pride and beer.” Her voice was softer, empathy lacing each word.
I frowned and took the card without thinking. Just a name, a number, and a clinic logo I didn’t know.
“She works with veterans,” Sarah said. “The real kind, not just numbers on a file. Mike won’t say it, but he went to see her. More than once.”
“Sarah…” Mike muttered, shifting in his chair, but she shot him a look that shut him up.
I blinked between them. “Mike, of all people, Mr. ‘Suck it up, Marine’, sitting in a therapist’s office?”
Sarah’s tone softened, her hand on my arm. “You don’t have to carry it alone, Hunter. Pushing Camille away doesn’t protect her. It just hurts both of you. If you want to fight for her and those kids, fight for yourself first.”
The card felt heavy in my hand. I wanted to shove it in my pocket and forget it existed. I wanted to believe I could grit my way through like always. But the part that saw Camille’s tears, Zeke’s confused little face, the twins’ wide eyes knew Sarah was right. And maybe grit wasn’t enough anymore.
She leaned forward. “That’s a good place to start.”
Sitting there in that living room, I didn’t feel picked apart. I felt like maybe someone was willing to help me dig out, not just cover it up.