-HUNTER-
Theke cabin is too quiet.
Thate quiet.
At gives me too much time to think, and thinking leads to ces I don’t want to go.
Like how three days away from them feels like three years. Like how I’m standing outside this door with my arms full of packages, trying to work up the courage to knock.
Courage.
What a joke. I have closed billion–dor deals without breaking a sweat, but the thought of facing Celine makes my hands shake.
use my key instead.
“Hunter?”
Her voice hits me like a punch to the chest.
She appears from the kitchen wearing one of the sweaters I had delivered, her hair in a messy bun that makes her look younger.
Softer.
The way she used to look when she would wake up in my bed after many countless sex”
“What are you doing here?”
“I brought some things.” I set the packages down, keeping my face nk. Professional. Like this is just another business transaction.
“Art supplies for you. Educational toys for Caesar.”
But it’s not just another transaction. It’s me, desperate and pathetic, trying to buy my way back into their lives with overpriced guilt gifts.
Her eyes widen when she sees the professional–grade paints and brushes.
She wraps her arms around herself–a sign I have memorized because she does it every time she’s trying to protect herself from me.
“Hunter, this is too much. I can’t ept….”
“You can and you will.”
The wordse out harsh. Too harsh. I am supposed to be getting better at this, but apparently, I’m still failing.
Caesar bounces around the packages like it’s Christmas morning. “What do you say, buddy? Want to see what I brought you?”
“Yes, Papa!” He ps his hands together. “Did you bring me books?”
Papa.
God, I love it when he calls me that. It makes me feel like maybe I’m notpletely screwing this up.
<b>12 </b>
“Better than books.” I pull out wooden puzzles and building blocks, my voice automatically softening for him. It’s the only time I sound human anymore.
“These will help you learn while you y.”
Celine watches with that look–the one that says she’s grateful but doesn’t trust me, Can’t trust me. And why should she? I’m the man who’s keeping her prisoner in the name of protection.
“You don’t have to keep buying us things.”
“I want to.”
Liar. I need to. Because if I stop giving them things, what’s left? What reason do they have to keep me around?
“Besides, you’re carrying my child. You both deserve the best.”
Caesar tugs on my sleeve. “Papa, will you help me with the puzzle?”
“Of course.”
I settle onto the floor beside him, and for a moment, I forget about the tension.
I forget about the lies and the maniption and the way Celine looks at me like I’m a stranger wearing the face of someone she used to love.
“But first, how about some lunch? I could make us something.”
“You cook?”
The skepticism in her voice shouldn’t sting, but it does. Because she’s right to be skeptical. The old Hunter….the one from before I lost everything…..couldn’t even make toast without burning it.
“I learned.”
And I did.
I learned because I imagined mornings like this.
I learned because I wanted to be the kind of father who could make his children smile over something as simple as breakfast.
I learned because I’m desperate to be someone worth loving.
“Pancakes? Caesar loves pancakes.”
Caesar jumps up and down. “Yes! Papa makes the best pancakes!”
The best. God, if he only knew how many I burned before I figured out the right temperature. How many YouTube videos I watched.
How many times I practiced because I wanted to be perfect for him.
“When did you learn to make decent breakfast?” Celine asks as we move to the kitchen.
The truth burns in my throat,
I learned because I was nning a future that included them. I learned because I thought maybe, if I could just be better, be different, I could
have this.
“I learned,” 1 say quietly. “Does <b>it </b>matter why?”
She studies my face, and I can see the questions there. But she doesn’t push. Maybe she knows the answer would hurt us both.
The morning passes in careful domesticity.
Caesar chatters about everything and nothing, clueless to thendmines between his mother and me. I catch myself watching them both, memorizing every detail.
This is what I want. This is what I’m fighting for.
Even if I’m going about it all wrong.
“I’m staying tonight,” I announce as we finish lunch.
Celine’s fork tters against her te. “What?”
“Security reasons. There could be more threats.”
It’s a lie. There are no more threats. I just can’t bear the thought of another night in that empty Mansion, wondering if they’re safe, if they’re thinking about me, if Caesar is asking where Papa went.
“Hunter, no. You can’t just….”
“I can and I will.” I stand, carrying my te to the sink with deliberate calm, “I won’t let anything happen to you or Caesar.”
“This is exactly what I’m talking about! You can’t just make decisions for us.”
But I can. I will. Because the alternative is losing them, and I won’t survive that. I barely survived it the first time.
“We’ll discuss thister.”
The afternoon stretches with unspoken tension.
I work on puzzles with Caesar while Celine withdraws to the art supplies. Despite her protests, I can see the longing in her eyes as she
examines the paints.
“Mama’s really good at drawing,” Caesar tells me, struggling with a puzzle piece. “She draws me pictures of dragons and princesses.”
“Does she?” I nce at Celine, who’s pretending not to listen. “Your mama is very talented.”
She is. She’s talented and beautiful and stubborn and everything I don’t deserve.
“Will you read me a story tonight, Papa?”
The question hits me in the chest. “If you want me to.”
“I do! Mama has a nice voice, but yours is different. It sounds like… like thunder, but not scary thunder.”
Despite myself, my lips twitch. “Thunder, huh?”
“Good thunder. The kind that makes you feel safe.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Celine’s brush pause mid–stroke. Safe. When’s thest time she felt safe with me?
Eveninges with its own tensions. I insist on cooking dinner, and Celine epts the meal with grudging thanks.
1738 Thu?c <b>Auto </b>
Caesar fills the silence with his innocent chatter, and I find myself rxing for the first time in days.
“When did you be so domestic?” she asks as I clear dishes.
“Recently.” I rinse a te, hyper–aware of her presence behind me. “Turns out I’m full of surprises.”
“Apparently.”
There’s something soft in her voice, almost wondering, before she catches herself and looks away.
But I heard it. That tiny crack in her armor.
Bath time is Caesar’s domain, and when he insists I help, Celine hovers nearby. Ready to take over if I screw up. Which I probably will.
“Papa, can you make the water warm but not too hot?”
“Like this?” I adjust the faucet, my voice automatically gentling for him.
“Perfect! Now the bubbles!”
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I add bubble bath, watching his face light up as foam begins to form. These simple moments feel more precious than any business deal I’ve
ever closed.
“Mama, look! Papa made good bubbles!”
Celine leans against the doorframe, and for a moment, her guard slips. I see something soft in her face before she schools her features back
to detachment.
Story time is in Caesar’s bedroom. His bed is small, covered with a handmade quilt, and I settle beside him, acutely aware of Celine in the
doorway.
“This one, Papa!” Caesar holds up a book about a little boy who goes on adventures. “It’s my favorite.”
I read, doing my best to give each character a different voice. Caesar giggles at my attempts, and even Celine’s lips quirk upward before she
catches herself.
“And so the little boy learned that the greatest adventures happen when you’re brave enough to try,” I read the final line.
“That’s like you, Papa. You’re brave.”
“Am I?”
“Uh–huh. Mama says brave people do scary things to protect the people they love.”
I nce at Celine, who’s suddenly very interested in the floor. Brave. If only he knew how terrified I am. Every day. Every moment.
“Will you be here when I wake up?”
The question is innocent, but it cuts deep. “I’ll be here.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
After Caesar falls asleep, I find Celine in the kitchen, making tea. She doesn’t look at me when I enter.
“He’s asleep,” report quietly.
“Thank you. For… for being good with him.”
“He’s my son too.
“I know. I just… I didn’t expect you to be so… gentle with him. So patient.”
“Did you think I’d be cruel to a child?”
“No, 1…” She sighs. “I don’t know what I thought. Everything’s soplicated.”
I step closer, drawn by the sadness in her voice. “It doesn’t have to be.”
“Doesn’t it?” Sheughs, but there’s noedy in it. “You’re keeping me prisoner here, Hunter. How is that notplicated?”
“I’m keeping you safe.”
“By taking away my choices?”
“By taking away the opportunity for you to make the wrong choice.”
The wordse out harsher than I nned, and I see her flinch. God, I’m such an asshole.
“And who decides what’s wrong? You?”
“When ites to your safety? Yes.”
She turns away from me, reaching for a mug on the high shelf. She’s too short to reach itfortably, stretching on her tiptoes.
Without thinking, I move behind her, my chest pressed against her back as I reach over her head.
The contact is electric. I can feel her breathing, can smell her shampoo, can sense the way her body stiffens at my closeness.
For a moment, we’re frozen–her trapped between my body and the counter, both of us breathing too hard.
“Here,” I whisper, setting the mug down beside her.
She turns in the cage of my arms, and suddenly we’re face to face, mere inches apart. Her eyes are wide, dark with something that might be desire or might be fear.
“Hunter…”
“I know you hate me,” I say quietly, my hands braced on the counter on either side of her. “I know you think I’m controlling. But I need you to understand something.”
“What?”
“I would rather have you hate me and be alive than love me and be gone.”
Her lips part, and for a moment, I think she might cry. Instead, she whispers, “You’re impossible.”
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“You have a strange way of showing it,”
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“To protect Caesar.”
“And what’s to stop you from deciding you need to protect him from me?”
The question hangs in the air between us. We both know the answer. if I became a threat to Caesar, she would run.
In a heartbeat.
“You see?” I step back abruptly, my mask sliding back into ce. “I can’t trust you not to run, and you can’t trust me not to hold too light We’re at a standoff”
“So what do we do?”
“We figure it out. Together.”
She studies my face for a long moment. “You’re really going to sleep here tonight?”
Yes.”
“Fine. But the couch is all yours. And Hunter?”
“Yeah?”
“Next time you want to help me reach something, just ask. Don’t… don’t do that again.”
But even as she says it, I catch the slight tremor in her voice, the way her eyes stays on my face for just a moment too long. She felt it too- that spark, that pull between us that neither of us can deny.
“Noted,” I say quietly.
She disappears down the hallway, leaving me alone in the kitchen with the echo of her words and the memory of her body against mine.
I know I’m being possessive. I know I’m crossing lines. But I can’t stop myself.
The thought of losing her, of losing Caesar, of losing this chance at the family I never thought I would have–it’s unbearable.
Tomorrow, I’ll try to be better. I’ll try to give her space, to respect her boundaries.
But tonight, I’ll sleep on her couch, and for the first time in days, I’ll be close enough to protect what matters most.
Ever
AD
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