“I’ll carry him in,” he said simply, as though it wasn’t even a question. I swallowed hard, nodding.
Together, we moved up the steps. I carried Chloe and Avery, their warm little bodies limp with sleep, while Hunter balanced Zeke against his shoulder like he’d done it a thousand times. He carried the diaper bag, too. Of course he did.
As we reached the front down, I turned to him, my hands full of curls and sleepy sighs. “Thank you,” I whispered.
He smiled, shifting Zeke slightly. “Always.”
After the kids were tucked into their beds, Hunter lingered at the door. He leaned down, close enough that I caught the warmth of his cologne, and kissed me softly. My knees wobbled, my heart stumbling in my chest.
“Goodnight, Beautiful.” he murmured, brushing a curl from my face.
And then he was gone, walking back to his truck like it was the easiest thing in the world to carry my chaos and still want more.
???
Later, when the kids were asleep and the house was still, I sat on the edge of my bed, fingers pressed to my lips wherehis kiss still lingered. He hadn’t shown any sign of being overwhelmed or frustrated. Not at the aquarium, not at the spilled milk, not at the mess of bedtime and bags and bottles. He’d just stayed. And that scared me more than anything, because if he kept staying, I might actually start to believe he meant it.
And if I believed… there would be so much more to lose.
But even with that fear whispering in the dark, I couldn’t stop the smile tugging at my mouth. Because it felt like maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t carrying the weight alone anymore.
Steam curled around me as I stood under the shower, the water pounding against my shoulders, washing away the smell of sunscreen, spilled milk, and faint aquarium salt. But it didn’t wash away the thoughts spinning in my head.
I closed my eyes, letting the heat soak into my tired muscles, but all I could see was him carrying Zeke on his shoulders, steadying the stroller with one hand, leaning down to kiss me at the door like it was the easiest thing in the world.
And the mess. The spilled milk in his spotless truck. The dread that had gripped me, certain he’d finally see me for what I was: messy, too much, not worth the hassle. But he didn’t run. He grabbed wipes from his own center console, cracked a joke, and made me feel safe when I was seconds away from falling apart. I braced my hands against the cool tile, the water mixing with the sting in my eyes.
Why did it feel so impossible to believe someone might actually stay? Because history had already written its story for me. My dad had left when I was a little girl. Sometimes he’d call, sometimes he’d send a card, but he was neverthere.I grew up watching my mom hold everything together, and I swore I’d never repeat that cycle. But here I was, trying to dothe same thing. I leaned my head against the wall, the water cascading down, whispering into the steam, “Men always leave.” That was the story my life kept writing.
By the time I slipped into bed, hair damp, body heavy with exhaustion, my phone glowed on the nightstand. I picked it up, thumb hovering. My instinct was to say nothing, to let the silence keep me safe. But tonight felt different.
Me:Thank you. For today. For not
making it feel like too much.
The three dots appeared almost instantly, then stopped, then blinked again.
Hunter:Thank you for letting me be
there. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
My chest tightened, tears blurring my vision.
Chapter Thirty Five
Hunter
The drive home should’ve been quiet. The twins had drifted off before we even made itback to their apartment, Zeke dozing off with his cookie still clutched in his hand. The night settled quietly around us, the steady hum of the truck the only sound as the red light spilled through the windshield, painting Cami in soft, borrowed color beside me.
But my head wasn’t quiet.
It was buzzing. Loud. Alive. I was replaying every moment of the day.
Zeke squealed when I lifted him onto my shoulders. The twins’ little fists pressed against the glass, babbling “fishy!” as jellyfish glowed above their heads. Camille’s laugh was soft, cautious at first, but freer every time I cracked a joke to ease the tension. The way she looked at me when I handed her wipes from the console, struggling to believe I wasn’t mad about spilled milk.
And that kiss at her door. Damn, that kiss.
It wasn’t fireworks or desperation; it wasanchored.The kind of kiss that doesn’t fade when thenight ends, that makes you think about mornings, and staying, and everything after. About all the things I swore I wasn’t cut out for anymore. Because yeah, I’d done the car seats, I’d carried Zeke, I’d made her laugh. But there’s a difference between surviving a day at the aquarium and surviving the long haul. Between being the fun guy with cookies and being the reliable man who shows up through tantrums, sickness, and exhaustion.
