He crouched in front of me as I sat on the edge of the bed, his hand finding mine. His touch was gentle, grounding me in a way I hadn’t realized I needed.
“What do you need? Just tell me. I hate seeing you like this.” His voice was compassionate and soft. A tone I don’t think he’s ever used with me.
“I’m okay. It’s okay.” I said, trying to convince myself more than him.
“Go take a shower,” he said softly.
“I’m fine,” I lied, because that’s what I always said when I didn’t know how to untangle the mess in my head.
He raised a brow, that patient kind of look that didn’t needwords. “Cami.” Just my name, but it carried a quiet authority that made it impossible to argue. “You’ve been holding your breath for hours. Go. Take a shower. It helps me when I can’t shut my head off.”
I hesitated, staring past him toward the hallway. “What about the kids?”
“I’ve got ’em.” His voice was smooth, sure. “Go.”
It didn’t sound like a command. His tone was so gentle that it slipped past my usual walls. I nodded, slowly, feeling the ache in my chest loosen, just a little.
The bathroom filled with steam as I turned on the water. The first hit of warmth against my shoulders made me exhale for what felt like the first time all day. I braced my hands against the tile, closing my eyes, letting the sound of the water drown out the echo of my ex’s voice in my head; that sharp tone, the control, the fear.
My mind drifted back to that afternoon in the park, when everything had spun out of control. Hunter was there; phone in hand, voice low but sharp enough to cut through every ounce of fear I’d been choking on.
He hadn’t yelled. He hadn’t postured. But there was something in his tone, that quiet steel, that made it clear he wasn’t bluffing. It was the kind of voice that made men listen. The kind that said:you don’t get to touch what’s mine.
And the strangest part? I didn’t flinch. I didn’t feel the panic I used to whenever voices rose or tempers shifted. I felt… safe. Like someone was standing between me and the storm for once, and I could finally exhale.
It wasn’t about control or ego; he wasn’t trying to own me. He was protecting me.Us.
I’d never hadthat before.
And that version of Hunter— the one who could be calm one moment and terrifyingly certain the next—should’ve scared me. But it didn’t. Because beneath the grit and the threat, there was heart. There was love.
Through the thin walls, I could still hear life happening. Hunter’s low voice rumbling from the kitchen. Zeke’s laughter was loud and unrestrained. The twins were squealing, probably arguing over who got the pink cup. It was a background noise that reminded me what peace actually sounded like.
When I finally stepped out, wrapped in one of my softest towels, the air carried a new smell. My stomach growled before my brain caught up.
I followed the scent down the hallway and froze at the doorway.
The table was set imperfectly. Two forks lay backward, and the napkins didn’t match, but it was beautiful in the most ordinary way. Zeke was standing on a chair, helping Hunter fold the last napkin, and the twins were giggling in their high chairs, each clutching a french fry.
Hunter stood at the stove, sleeves pushed up, and hair messy. He glanced over his shoulder when he noticed me watching.
“Hey,” he said softly, that slow, crooked grin forming. “You look better, Beautiful.”
I smiled, still dazed. “You cooked?”
He gestured to the takeout containers on the counter. “Sort of. Ordered some of those truffle fries you like from Dukes. That counts as cooking, right?”
A laugh broke free before I could stop it. “You remembered?”
“Hard to forget,” he said, opening a container and letting the steam rise between us. “You were so damn happy the first time I took you there. Figured their truffle fries might put that same smile on your face.”
The words landed somewhere deep, warm, and unexpected. “They probably will,” I said softly, smiling despite myself.
He chuckled, that low, easy sound that always managed to find its way into the cracks of my bad days. “Good.”
Zeke spotted me and grinned. “Mom! Hunter let me help! I got to set the table!”
“I see that,” I said, my throat tightening a little.
