Chapter Thirty Nine
Hunter
Her breathing was paced now, warm puffs against my chest, the kind of rhythm you don’t fake unless you’re deep in sleep. I kept my hand moving gently through her curls, careful not to wake her, but maybe more careful not to let myself stop.
She looked so small like this. Not fragile, never that, but small in a way that made me want to protect her. And that scared the hell out of me because big emotions weren’t my thing. They never had been. My dad had hammered it into me young: boys don’t cry, men don’t complain, feelings are weak. The Marines doubled down on that lesson, ten years of it. Of shutting it down, push it away, mission first. There was no room for softness in combat.
So I learned to live without it. Without letting anyone close enough to see me crack. Without sitting still long enough to feel anything deeper than adrenaline. But here I was with her asleep against me, curls tangled in my fingers, her weight tucked into my side. And I felt everything. I hated knowingwhat her ex had done to the girl I loved. She hadn’t given me all the details, but she didn’t have to. I thought back to the call back at the park, the entitlement in his tone. And I’d heard enough to know he didn’t deserve her, didn’t deserve the kids, didn’t deserve a second thought. The part that gutted me most was that he’d walked away like staying was optional and showing up for his own kids was negotiable.
I couldn’t understand that. Couldn’t even wrap my head around it. Those three little ones… they were part of her. And anyone who couldn’t see that as a gift? A man like that didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as her.
My chest tightened. Anger simmered low, dangerous, the kind I’d only ever felt in combat. The instinct to track him down, make him feel every ounce of the pain he’d left behind, resurfaced sharp and hot in me. But then she shifted in her sleep, scooting closer, and it soothed me. My fist unclenched and returned to leaving lazy circles on her warm skin. This wasn’t about him. This was about her. About being the man she needed now, not the one who’d already failed her.
I wasn’t good at this part. Sitting with the heavy stuff, letting myself feel it. It made me itch, restless in my own skin. But when I looked down at her, the blanket tucked under her chin, the dried flowers I’d given her still sitting on her dresser like she couldn’t bear to throw them away… I realized something.
I’d learn. For her, I’d figure out how to sit with all of it, the grief, the fear, the weight of everything she carried. Because she was worth it. She was worth breaking every rule I’d ever been taught about what it meant to be a man. Her curls tickled against my chin when she stirred, a soft sound escaping her, not quite a word. My arm tightened instinctively, pulling hercloser.
With her this close, holding onto someone no longer felt like a weakness. It felt like the bravest damn thing I’d ever do.
???
The soft morning light slipped through the thin curtains, casting shadows across Camille’s. Her head rested against my chest, curls splayed everywhere, warm breaths tickling my skin. I’d woken before her, but I didn’t move. Not yet.
The night still sat heavy in me, the way the words had cracked something open deep inside that I didn’t know I’d been holding shut. I’d said it back, meant it deeper than anything I’d spoken in years. I brushed my hand gently along her back, slow strokes over the curve of her shoulder. She stirred a little, sighing, before burrowing closer, not quite ready to let the world in. I could’ve stayed like that forever. But the thought of three kids barging in made me huff a laugh against her hair.
My thumb brushed across her shoulder where the blanket had slipped down. Her skin was warm, her body soft against mine. She shifted, eyelids fluttering, still fighting the pull of sleep.
“Morning,” she whispered, voice rough, barely awake.
I smiled, brushing a curl from her face. “Morning.”
“I better get going before the kids come in and see me,” I murmured, my voice low, rough with sleep. Half teasing, half serious.
Her hand fisted in the fabric of my shirt, stopping me. She tilted her head up, her eyes heavy but sure. “Stay. They loveyou. They’ll be happy to see you. They ask for you whenever you are not here.” Her voice still thick with sleep.
The words hit deeper than I was ready for. They weren’t casual, not for her. Those kids were her world; she protected them, saying that left me with a kind of aching gratitude I didn’t have words for.
I kissed her hair, whispering against her curls, “I love you.” Saying it felt easier this time, not like a leap off a cliff but like solid ground under my feet. She looked up at me, and I said it again, firmly: “I love you, Camille.”
Her smile was tranquil, soft, the kind that could undo me in an instant.
The moment barely settled before I heard the patter of small feet down the hall. The door creaked open, and Zeke appeared first, his blanket trailing behind him, those guarded brown eyes scanning the room. The twins were right behind, giggling, one clutching a stuffed bunny by the ear.
I froze for half a second, waiting for the judgment, for the distance, for Zeke to tense the way he used to. But instead, he climbed onto the bed without a word, wedging himself between his mom and me like it was something he’d done hundreds of times before. His little head found her shoulder, but his small hand rested on my arm, testing, almost claiming. That small gesture was a wordless attempt at connection, a tiny hand showing so much courage. In that moment, I felt a shift; it underscored the trust that had been carefully built between us. I knew how much it took for him to reach out, and I silently vowed not to break that trust.
The twins scrambled up too, squealing, piling across Camille’s legs. One plopped right onto my chest, grinning down at me like I was a jungle gym.
Camille laughed, her eyes crinkling as she tried to wrangle them. I couldn’t help laughing too, even with a five-year-old elbow digging into my ribs.
The familiar scent of vanilla and lavender lingered around us, a comforting reminder of the warmth and safety of Camille’s room. In the chaos of blankets and giggles, her laughter undercut by the gentle hum of the TV playing softly in the background, I felt a profound sense of completion, as if life had come full circle. The memories from the night before echoed softly in the air, anchoring us to this newfound peace.
And right there, in the chaos of blankets and giggles and sleepy hair sticking up in all directions, I realized this was it. This was what love looked like for me. Not mornings alone, not control, not perfection. But this, messy, loud, unconditional.
I tightened my arm around Camille, let the twins climb all over me. In that room, I didn’t feel like an outsider in my own life. I felt like I belonged.
The weight of those words settled deep, heavier than any battlefield gear I’d ever carried. They love you, too. She wasn’t just talking about herself anymore. She was talking about Zeke, about the twins, about all the trust I’d been trying to earn piece by piece.
I swallowed hard, tightening my arm around her. “I love you,” she said. No hesitation at all. Just the truth. “More than I ever thought I could.”
