Camille blinked, surprise flickering across her face before softening into something that made my chest tighten.
We made our way back to the truck with Zeke perched highon my shoulder, directing us like a tiny general, the twins sat quietly in the stroller, and Camille walked close, eyes darting to me every few steps as though she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.
At the truck, Zeke slid down, landing with a thud before proudly declaring, “Hunter carried me!” like it was the highlight of his day.
The twins were fussing by then, tired and cranky, but I leaned close to Camille as we buckled them in. “Everyone’s secure,” I murmured, trying to ease the tension I could still feel rolling off her.
Her lips twitched, exhaustion warring with a smile. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yeah,” I said, brushing my hands off on my jeans. “But I wanted to.”
For the briefest moment, her walls cracked wide enough for me to see the relief, the gratitude, and the tiny spark of hope she was still afraid to name.
And as I slid into the driver’s seat with Zeke already munching his cookie and the twins drifting off in the back, I realized I’d do this again in a heartbeat.
Because maybe this wasn’t just her life anymore. Maybe it could be ours.
Chapter Thirty Four
Camille
The truck rolled to a stop in front of my apartment. The twins were snoring softly in the back and Zeke laid slumped against his booster seat with cookie crumbs on his shirt. I reached across to grab Avery’s bottle from the cup holder…only it slipped from my hand, rolling onto the floor mat and splattering milk across the spotless leather.
I froze. My breath caught in my throat. Hisnewtruck. His perfect, gleaming, not-a-scratch-on-it truck.
Heat rushed up my neck, panic clawing at my chest. This was it. The crack. The reason to sigh, to mutter something about carelessness, to remind me in some small way that this: me, my kids, my mess…was too much.
“I’m so sorry,” I blurted, scrambling for wipes in the diaper bag. My hands shook as I dabbed at the mess, the sour smell already creeping into my nose. “I swear I usually…this doesn’t…”
“Cami” His voice cutthrough calmly.
“I’ll clean it, I swear. Just give me…” I was elbow-deep in the diaper bag, pulling out everythingbutwhat I needed. A pacifier, a toy car, a half-empty snack pouch—no wipes. With a sigh, I grabbed one of the extra shirts I’d packed for the twins and did my best to mop up the spill.
“Camille.” I looked up, expecting the sigh, the edge, the disappointment. He came up beside me, plucked the shirt gently from my hand, and grinned. “Relax. It’s just milk. My truck will live.”
“But it’sso perfect,” I whispered, my voice cracking with how much more I meant than just the seat.
He tilted his head, eyes soft. “So are we. And I’m not gonna let a little spill ruin either.”
The tightness coiled beneath my ribs softened, just a little, as he reached forward, flipped open his center console, and pulled out a pack of wipes without a second thought.
My eyes widened. “You… keep those in here?”
He shrugged, a crooked grin on his face as he knelt to swipe at the spill. “I figured there may come a time when we needed them.”
We.
I stared at him, stunned. The easy way he said it. The way he wiped the leather without a flinch or a scowl. He didn’t make me feel like I’d ruined something precious. He just wiped the spot once more, before tossing the wipe into the bag.
“At least it wasn’t an apple pouch,” he teased. “That would be a real tragedy.”
A startled laugh burst out of me.
“See?” he said, flashing that crooked smile. “Still standing. No one’s running.”
And in that moment, milk splatters, cranky toddlers, and all…I believed him.
Once the mess was cleaned, I looked to the back seat. Zeke’s head lolled to the side, asleep, cookie still clutched in his hand. The twins’ breathing was soft and even, toys tucked against their cheeks. He lifted Zeke gently from the booster, the little boy murmuring but not waking, then nodded toward the stroller still folded in the bed.
