I lifted my head, meeting his eyes. The look he gave me was unguarded in a way I’d rarely seen, open and quiet, honest. My thumb brushed the compass again, right over where his heart beat steadily beneath it.
“You found it,” I whispered. “Your way back.”
He studied me for a moment, then smiled, small and crooked. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Maybe I did.”
He leaned in and kissed me, slow and unhurried. It wasn’t about heat or urgency, but about grounding, about presence.
When he pulled back, I rested my cheek against his chest again, my fingers tracing the lines of ink over his skin. The compass, the sparrows, the words—they told his story. Each tattoo carries its own memory. The koi fish from his time in Hawaii, the “Semper Fidelis” on the back of his arm for the young marine fresh out of boot camp, and the sparrows, a quiet reminder to never lose himself.
“Hunter?” My voice cracked, fragile.
“Yeah?” His tone was rough, uncertain, but open.
The words slipped out, fragile as glass. “I love you.” It felt like standing at the edge of a cliff, the ground uncertain beneath me. What if his silence lasted forever? What if I’d read it all wrong? The quiet stretched, my mind racing with the fear that saying it could mean losing him, but not saying it meant losing myself. My heart pounded in the hush.
The silence stretched, my chest tight, but then his hand cupped my cheek, tilting my face so I had to meet his eyes. “Say it again.”
My breath hitched, but I didn’t look away. “Well, technically, you said it first. You said earlier, loving me was easy… I love you, Hunter.”
It was like watching his koi fish come alive, colors shifting under water. I felt it in the way he kissed me, slow and certain, nothing held back. When he pulled away, his forehead rested against mine, his voice raw, every wall gone. “I love you too, Camille. Probably love you more.”
Tears slipped free, but I laughed through them, burying my face in his chest. A giggle bubbled out, muffled against his skin, because the relief was overwhelming. His fingersthreaded through my curls, his lips pressing against the top of my head, and I realized I was smiling so wide it almost hurt.
In his arms, I didn’t feel like too much. I didn’t feel broken. With him, I could set the weight down because I found what I’d believed was possible. Outside, the world remained as it was. But inside, I could feel him breathe, the air between us warm and still. And in that moment, I realized that maybe neither of us was lost anymore. We’d both just been finding our way home.
Chapter Thirty One
Hunter
Repeating her words.I love you.
She’d cried, laughed, buried her face in my chest like she couldn’t believe it was real. And I’d held her, threading my fingers through her curls, breathing her in, whispering it again against her hair because once wasn’t enough.
All I could think was, this woman had every reason not to say those words. In her words, she’d been bruised, abandoned, and left to raise three kids. She has carried scars no one should carry alone. And still, she chose to love me.
All my life, I’d been taught love was weakness. That showing it, saying it, meant you were soft, vulnerable, open to being broken. But in that moment, with her heart pressed against mine, I realized the truth: Loving her wasn’t a weakness; it was the bravest thing I’ve ever done.
The drive back to her apartment that night was quiet, the kind of silence that held meaning rather than emptiness. She sat beside me, curled slightly toward the window, her fingersabsently twisting the hem of her shirt. I didn’t need her to say anything. I could feel it. The guilt. The tug of two worlds she was constantly balancing. One part of her wanted to stay, to let the night linger, to fall deeper into us. The other part was already back home, where three little hearts depended on her.
I tightened my grip on the wheel, not out of frustration, but to remind myself that this wasn’t about what I wanted. It was about meeting her where she was. She’d already let me closer than I ever expected, already trusted me with parts of herself most people never saw. That mattered more than anything.
The truck rumbled beneath us, the glow of streetlights washing in and out like waves. I kept my eyes ahead, letting her have the quiet. She bit her lip, shoulders tense, the kind of small tell that said more than words could. almost reached for her hand to tell her she didn’t have to explain, but I held back. Sometimes the quiet said it better.
When we pulled into her complex, she finally turned toward me. Her eyes were soft, almost apologetic, but I shook my head before she could speak. “You don’t need to explain,” I said quietly. My voice came out rough, but steady. “I get it. You’re a mom first. That’s who you are. And that’s one of the things I love about you.”
Her lips parted, wanting to argue, but then she stopped. I saw the tension in her shoulders ease, just slightly, like maybe she believed me.
I parked in the same spot as always, the truck idling low. She fiddled with her bag strap, reaching for the handle, but I caught her wrist. Not to stop her, just to anchor her for a moment. “Camille,” I murmured, waiting for her eyes tomeet mine. “Tonight was…” I trailed off, searching for words that always felt too big. “…real. And I’ll take real over perfect any day.”
Her throat worked as she swallowed, eyes glistening in the glow of the streetlamp. She leaned in, pressing a quick, soft kiss to my cheek before slipping out of the truck.
“Thank you…for understanding. I enjoyed tonight.” She whispered.
“Anytime, Beautiful,” I murmured back.
I watched her walk toward her building, her shoulders squaring as if she was pulling her armor back on. Just before she disappeared inside, she glanced back. The smallest smile tugged at her lips, and it was enough.
I let out a long breath, leaning back against the seat once she was gone. Part of me wanted to chase after her, to tell her she didn’t have to run, that she could stay, and the world wouldn’t fall apart. But I knew better. She wasn’t running from me. She was running toward the people who needed her most.
