Chapter Fifty Eight
Camille
For a moment, I thought I had misheard him. Did he say he’d actually gone to my mom and arranged for her to take the kids? It was such a Hunter thing to do. He was reckless, bold, and frustratingly thoughtful all at once.
The hollowness that lingered inside me was knotted with every quiet night between us.
The unanswered texts. The way he’d stormed out and left me standing in the living room with three pairs of little eyes watching me break.
Their confusion and worry mirrored what I felt inside, telling me, without words, that they sensed something was wrong.
The twins continued their babbling of “Hunty,” while Zeke grew quieter, his questions held tightly behind a brave face.
It was like sharing my heartbreak each day, their innocent hopefulness wrapping around my own doubts, pulling them into our uncertainty.
The hurt was still raw, sharp enough to make me hold my ground as I crossed my arms, allowing my bag to slip down my shoulder. “You think one gesture makes up for weeks of nothing?”
His jaw worked, eyes locked on me, pleading. “No. I think showing up is the first step to proving I’m not running anymore.” I hated how much those words cracked me open.
Silence stretched between us, heavy and alive.
Cars passed on the street, the hum of life moving on, while we stood stuck in our own mess.
Part of me wanted to say yes. To slide into the passenger seat and finally hear the explanation I’d been craving.
The other part wanted to walk away, to protect myself before hope sank its claws in again.
So I stood there, torn in two, staring at him, hoping the answer might write itself across his face.
And he didn’t push.
He just waited.
The silence stretched so long I could hear my own heartbeat.
He just stood there, steady, not pushing, not pleading…
just waiting. And maybe that was what undid me.
Because the Hunter who stormed out of my apartment, who shut me out with silence, would’ve already walked away.
But the one in front of me now was still here, even when I hadn’t given him anything back.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “If I get in that truck, Hunter, this isn’t just a ride. This isn’t just a talk. You don’t get to disappear on me again.”
His eyes flickered, somewhere between pain and relief tangled together. “I know.”
I studied him for another beat, my arms still crossed, bag strap digging into my shoulder. My gut twisted with every reason not to go: fear, pride, exhaustion. But underneath all that, the smallest spark of hope still flickered.
And against my better judgment, I leaned into it.
Slowly, I walked past him, opened the passenger door, and slid into the truck. The truck smelled like him, familiar and dangerous all at once.
He exhaled shakily, climbing in beside me. “Thank you,” he said quietly, hands gripping the wheel like it was the only thing holding him there.
I wasn’t ready to forgive, but I was ready to listen.
???
The hum of the truck filled the silence as we pulled away from the clinic parking lot. I stared out the window, arms wrapped around myself, fighting the urge to break the quiet first.
He gripped the wheel tighter than necessary, knuckles pale. Finally, he cleared his throat.
“I’ve been going to therapy,” he said, voice low. “Two times a week.”
I blinked, caught off guard. Of all the things I’d expected, that wasn’t on the list.
“Why are you telling me that?” My voice was sharper than I intended.
“Because you deserve to know. I should’ve told you weeks ago instead of shutting you out. I thought I was protecting you and the kids from… me. From the parts I can’t control.”
I turned toward him, my heart pounding. “Do you really think silence protects anyone? Do you know how much it hurts to wonder if I did something wrong? To watch my kids wait for you?”
His face tightened, guilt flickering across his features. “I know. And I’m sorry. I was scared, Camille. Scared you’d see the nightmares, the panic, the way it still feels like I’m over there sometimes, and decide I wasn’t worth the risk.”
Beneath the frustration and hurt, I could hear the fear. The same fear that whispered in my own head: too much, too broken, too complicated.
We drove a few more blocks in silence, my eyes stinging. ??Finally, I whispered, “I never needed you to be some perfect version of yourself, Hunter. I just needed you to talk to me.”
He glanced at me then, blue eyes raw, unguarded. “I’m trying. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to lose them. But I can’t promise I won’t struggle…”
A shaky laugh slipped out, tangled with relief and something close to grief.
“You think I don’t struggle? I’ve been raising three kids on my own, carrying more than I ever thought I could.
” My fingers drummed against the door handle, restless, the rhythm matching the mess inside me.
??Outside, headlights swept across the dashboard, shadows and light flickering over our faces.
I watched them blur together, the way my feelings did.
“Struggle doesn’t scare me. Lies do. Silence does.” I glanced at Hunter, his eyes softening as he listened.
For a flicker of a second, his facade cracked, revealing a vulnerability that mirrored my own pain and loss.
His breath was coming out unevenly, as if my words had hit him harder than expected.
Seeing him react to my confession, his quiet struggle visible, I felt a flicker of connection.
And for a moment, I let myself lean into that.
“Every twist, every hard day, it’s taught me more than I ever wanted to know. But I’m still here. Still hoping.” The rest I kept to myself, letting the quiet fill with everything I wasn’t ready to say.
There was a shift between us. It was not fixed, not finished, but open. He nodded, gripping the wheel tighter. “Then let me prove I can do better. One day at a time.”
The truck slowed as he pulled into a diner off the highway. A little place with neon lights buzzing in the window and cars lined up outside.
I arched my brow. “Here?”
He cut the engine, glancing at me like he was testing the waters. “I figured since food makes you happy… it might help my case.”
I almost smiled despite myself. “Food fixes everything, huh?”
“Works with Zeke,” he said, and there was that ghost of his old grin, the one that used to melt me before I remembered why I’d built walls in the first place.
For a moment, I hesitated. The smart move was to tell him to take me home, that this wasn’t enough to erase the weeks of silence. But the truth was, I was starving: for food, yes, but also for this. For him trying. For something normal again.
So I followed him inside.
The diner smelled like greasy food and coffee. A waitress with tired eyes and a kind smile led us to a booth in the back. I slid into one side, bag at my side, while Hunter sat across from me, fidgeting with the menu.
We ordered quickly, and for a while, the silence was comfortable. Familiar in a way it hadn’t been in weeks. When the food came, he pushed the ketchup toward me first. “See? Already doing better.”
I rolled my eyes, but the corner of my mouth lifted. “Don’t think ketchup earns you forgiveness.”
“Noted.” He dunked a fry into my ketchup, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Guess I’ll have to try harder.” And just like that, the tension loosened a notch.
I studied him as he ate, the way his shoulders still held tension, though not as tightly, and the way his eyes met mine. He wasn’t fixed, not even close. But he was here. And maybe, for tonight, that was enough.
“Why do you always eat like it’s your last meal?” I teased, raising a brow.
He grinned around a mouthful of fries. “Military habit. You gotta eat fast before you’re out of time.”
I laughed softly, the sound surprising me. It had been too long since I’d laughed around him without it catching on the sharp edge of hurt.
The laughter faded, though, replaced by the question I’d been carrying for weeks. “Why now, Hunter? Why come back after all…that?”
He set his burger down, wiped his hands on a napkin, and for once didn’t look away. “Because I finally stopped lying to myself. I told myself I was protecting you, but really? I was protecting myself. From you seeing the worst of me. From you deciding I wasn’t worth the fight.”
I held his gaze, my chest tight. “You think silence made me feel like you were worth the fight?”
His eyes softened, regret spilling out of them.
“No. But it made me realize how fast I was losing you. And I don’t want to lose you.
Or your kids. Therapy’s helping, but… You help too.
You make me want to be better. When I’m with you and the kids, I feel like I’m actually living.
” I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe this wasn’t another chapter of abandonment.
I leaned back against the booth, biting my lip. “You can’t disappear again, Hunter. I can survive a lot, but I won’t survive letting my kids love you only to watch you leave.”
He nodded slowly, the weight of my words sinking in. “I won’t promise I’ll never struggle. But I’ll promise you won’t go through it blind again. No more shutting you out.”
We sat there in the warm hum of the diner, the clatter of plates and chatter of strangers filling the silence we couldn’t. The ache in my chest wasn’t gone, but it eased. And against my better judgment, I let myself hope again.