The phone rang again before she could even lock the screen.
Her hands shook. She tried to hide it, pressing her palms together, but the fear flickered across her face before she could mask it.
“Cami,” I said quietly, stepping closer, “Who is it?”
Her throat worked before she answered. “It’s him.”
I didn’t speak for a second. I let the silence do the work. Let her breathe, let me think, let me plan. She tried to hide the screen behind her thumb, and I moved before I even decided to. My hand closed over her phone, and the vibrations stopped. The missed call glared up at me.
I didn’t say anything at first. Just watched the phone buzz again in my hand.
“He shouldn’t have this number,” she whispered. “I changed it. Twice.”
My jaw tightened. I reached for the phone. “Let me see it.”
She hesitated, then placed the phone in my hand. The missed call notification still burned on the screen:Unknown Number.
The phone lit up again before I could think.
I didn’t even ask. I swiped to answer, placing it on speaker.
“Yeah?” My voice was low and controlled. I kept it even, the kind of voice you use when everything inside is ready to snap, but you don’t want the other person to know you’re rattling.
Silence, then a man’s smug, casual voice responded. “Who the hell is this?”
“You don’t need to know who I am,” I replied. “But you do need to stop calling.”
“Where’s Camille? Where are my kids?” he demanded. She flinched beside me, so I stepped away, taking the call off speaker, shielding her from the sound of his voice.
“They stopped being yours the day you signed over your rights,” I said, stepping away from the kids so they couldn’t hear. “You lost the right to call her. You lost the right to even say her name.”
“You think you can tell me what to do?”
“I don’t have to think.” The heat in my chest rose, a dangerous pressure I knew too well. Combat taught me how to steady that heat, but it also taught me how fast it could turn into a fire I couldn’t rein in. “I’m telling you right now. If you call her again, we’re gonna have a problem.”
He scoffed. “She got you playing bodyguard now? What are you going to do, call the cops? Cute.”
“I don’t need cops.” My fingers tightened on the phone until my knuckles went pale. I leaned forward, letting the silence do half the work. “I can handle you myself. And I will.”
He laughed, the sound like a gutter. “You can’t keep me away. Camille’s mine to call.”
“Say her name again,” I said, each word deliberate, “and I will make sure everything you care about goes up in smoke.” No melodrama, no promises I could not keep. Just an edge sharp enough that it cut through his bravado.
He began to speak, and I spoke before he even had the chance to put together his thoughts. I spoke softer, closer tothe wire. “Keep it up, and I promise I will find you.”
There was a pause. Just breathing. Then that same mocking tone. “You don’t even know who you’re—”
Click. I hung up.
I stood there for a second, breathing too fast, my knuckles white around the phone. The urge to throw it, to break something, todosomething burned under my skin.
“Hunter?”
Her voice was small behind me, careful.
I turned. She was watching me like she didn’t quite recognize the man standing there. And she shouldn’t have. That version of me, the one that spoke in threats and moved on instinct, was the one I’d left behind years ago. The one who solved everything with anger. In those moments, I reminded myself of the promise I made after service: to never let anger be the master of my actions again. All I could think about was protecting the woman I cared about and the kids that have quickly found their way into my heart.
I let out a rough breath and set the phone down on the blanket. “He’s not going to call again.” I said, but it came out too dark, too final.
