Chapter 43 - Charlie #2
“I spent years of my life being resentful of my mother, of my birth father, of Ledger, of hockey, even of Nova. I was sick. I hated my life. Every single day, I’d come home from work, and the silence in the house was so loud I’d need to drown it out.
” He huffed out a breath and inhaled deeply.
“Then I spent years avoiding being that person. When I was told my medicine wasn’t going to be prescribed, I was scared that if I didn’t have it, I would fall right back to the old me.
It helps me, I can’t deny that, but what I missed was that I had so much more internal strength and happiness than I realized.
Yet somehow my hyper-independence kicked in. ”
“No. I agreed to us whether it was a sham or not because I wanted to have a friendship with you too. We both agreed to have or establish that friendship first.”
“Yeah, but I never wanted to be your friend, Charlie.”
“W-What?” I asked, confused.
“I never wanted to be your friend. I wanted you to be my wife. The whole time. I wanted to marry you because I was . . . am madly in love with you.”
I shook my head. “You didn’t even know me.”
“No, you’re wrong. You never judged me for the mess I was.
You didn’t hold my past against me. You let me be myself, let me heal.
You always put me first, even when you didn’t have to.
I know you think you’ll never be my first, but that’s not what matters.
Sure, I was married before. Yes, I have a child now.
But you, Charlie, you’ll be my last. You’re the one I’ll fight for every single day.
If it takes me begging on my knees to show you how much you belong in my life, I’ll do it.
I’ll do it until you see what I already know. ”
He closed his eyes, his voice raw, and something inside me cracked open.
I shifted, moving so I was facing him, my knees pressing into the bed. I cupped his cheeks, his stubble rough against my palms. His vulnerability, his honesty, was as devastating as it was beautiful. I couldn’t look away.
“Life after addiction is quiet. The kind of quiet that feels unbearable at first. You lose the chaos, the constant noise of needing something to survive. But then you’re left with everything you tried to avoid.
All the mistakes, all the hurt. And it’s hard.
God, it’s hard. But it’s worth it because, in that quiet, you start to rebuild.
You find pieces of yourself you thought were gone forever. You start to feel whole again.”
He hesitated, sliding his hand over mine, his thumb brushing lightly against my skin. “But these last few days . . . that quiet wasn’t peaceful. It was empty. It was so loud, like a scream I couldn’t escape. I’ve worked so hard to rebuild, but without you, nothing felt steady. Nothing made sense.”
He dropped his gaze briefly before meeting mine again.
“Loving you is like finding light after the storm has passed. Everything is still broken and messy, but that light makes it all worth it. You make it worth it. You’re the reason I believe in more—more love, more life, more than I ever thought I deserved.
You’re the kind of love that makes life feel like poetry, Charlie.
And I’d spend forever proving that to you, if you let me. ”
His words hit me like waves, filling all the spaces I didn’t even know were empty. My chest tightened, tears brimming, and all I could do was hold onto him, afraid I’d fall apart if I let go.
“Let me love you, Charlie. Be my wife.”
I laughed. “I am your wife, silly.”
He shook his head, his eyes locked on mine. “No. My real wife, Charlie. Marry me all over again. Choose me. Start this life with me for real. Walk with me, through everything.”
I let myself picture it—what life with him could really look like.
Not perfect, but full. Mornings filled with Scarlette’s laughter as she ran through the kitchen, summer afternoons at farmers’ markets picking out flowers and fresh fruit, movie nights on the couch with popcorn spilled everywhere, and the kind of chaos that felt like home.
It wouldn’t be easy—co-parenting and all the unexpected hurdles—but it would be worth it. A life built on love, connection, and the kind of happiness you fight for. Looking at him, I realized it was a life I wanted more than anything.
“I want that,” I whispered as salty tears touched my lips.
He reached around and grabbed my waist, lifting me onto his lap. I wrapped my legs behind him as he held me tight, our hearts beating in sync.
“But promise me one thing, honey.”
“Yeah?”
“I won’t tell you not to run, but I just ask that when you feel like you want to, you tell me first. We can run together.”
I pulled away so that I could look into his eyes. “Always together.”
The moment his hand gripped my waist and pulled me close, his mouth captured mine, hot and demanding. I melted into him, my body pressing against his as his tongue swept over mine, a low moan rumbling from his chest. His lips were relentless, claiming me like he couldn’t get enough.
“You said my brother isn’t here?” I managed, my breath ragged between kisses.
He nodded, his mouth never leaving mine, his hands roaming possessively over my body. We kissed like we were trying to make up for every second we’d been apart.
I broke away, panting, my gaze dropping. “I look awful,” I murmured, shaking my head. “I don’t know how you could find me attractive right now.”
He tilted my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. His voice was deep, steady, and commanding. “We’ve talked about this. You are beautiful, and I’ve shown you in the mirror. Now let’s show everyone else.”
“Everyone else?” I asked, confused, my words catching as his hands slid lower, gripping me firmly.
Before I could say anything more, he lifted me effortlessly, carrying me to the window.
The town below was lit by the glow of Christmas lights, but I didn’t have time to focus on the view. His lips found my neck, biting softly, his breath warm against my skin.
“Yes,” he growled, his voice dripping with intent. “Everyone. Let’s show them how fucking beautiful my wife is.”
My pulse raced as he gripped my hips, trailing his mouth down my throat. There was no hesitation in his touch, no doubt in his words.
He slammed my back against the glass, the cold biting through my thin pajamas and making me wince, but I barely registered it before his mouth was on me again. His lips trailed from mine, down my neck, and lower, leaving a path of heat as he kissed along my décolletage.
With a quick, fluid motion, he pulled the straps of my pajamas down, exposing my breasts. He slid his hands over them, his breath hot against my skin.
“I’ve missed these.”
For a fleeting moment, the insecurities bubbled up.
I thought about how big they were, how my nipples sometimes pointed in different directions, or how one was slightly larger than the other.
The criticisms my mother had instilled in me tried to surface, but I shoved them down, refusing to let them steal this moment.
Instead, I let the heat rising inside me take over.
“Suck on them,” I demanded, the words laced with newfound confidence.
His eyes darkened as a slow grin spread across his lips, and without hesitation, he obeyed, his mouth claiming me with a hunger that sent a jolt of pleasure through my entire body.
Latching onto my nipple, he sucked hard.
He tugged with his teeth, pulling just enough to make me whimper.
He gripped my other breast firmly, rolling and pinching the nipple, teasing it until it was stiff and aching.
He switched sides, his lips fastened onto the neglected peak, sucking and tugging as his growl vibrated against my skin.
My body was a live wire, trembling as I clung to him. My legs, still wrapped around his waist, began to shake uncontrollably. As though he felt my body giving way, he pulled back, his teeth dragging lightly over my sensitive skin before letting me slide down onto unsteady feet.
Without a word, he turned and grabbed the leather chair in the corner, dragging it toward me. He sank into it, spreading his legs wide as he leaned back, the bulge in his pants impossible to ignore. His eyes burned into mine.
“Strip, wife. Let me be your mirror and show you just how fucking perfect you are.”
I swallowed. My tits were already out, so there wasn’t much left, but with an encouraging nod, the corner of my lips twisted into a smirk.
“Okay.” I grabbed the hem of my shirt, lifted it over my breasts, and threw it in his direction. He let out a low chuckle. “Tell me what you see.”
He dragged his gaze over me, taking in every curve, every inch. The intensity made my skin prickle, but instead of hiding, I let my confidence grow. I gave my chest a little jiggle, my tits bouncing just enough to grab his attention, and his reaction was instant.
“Char,” he groaned, his voice raw as he raked his hands through his hair. “Fuck. Okay. Fuck.”
I laughed, the sound light and teasing, loving how flustered he was getting.
“You want to know what I see?” he asked, his tone dropping into something rough and primal.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes locked onto mine like I was the only thing that existed.
“I see my wife standing there,” he growled.
“I see curves that I want to run my hands over, to grab, to hold onto while I bury myself inside you. I see places for my hands to grip while I watch us take every ounce of pleasure we can from each other. I see that thick lower lip you’re chewing on, like you don’t know how fucking irresistible you are.
I see a fucking queen standing in front of her king, and all I want is to worship every inch of her. ”
I was the center of his attention. I was worshipped. I didn’t know why I was so scared of being put second because right now, I was nowhere near a runner-up. His attention was drawn toward me, waiting and watching for what I’d do next.