Page 80 of Hunter

He flinches, but nods. “Okay. Yeah. Whatever you need.”

I take a shaky breath, the words I’ve been turning over all day finally rising to the surface.

“I’m in love with you, Hunter. I think I started falling for you that day you helped me with my panic attack. And it’s been amazing the last few weeks. I thought…” I clear my throat of the growing emotion and look away again. “I thought I was ready for a forever relationship.”

“Don’t say you're not.”

I roll my lips together, wanting to keep the next words inside. “We aren’t.” I shift my gaze back to his, where he’s watching me with all the hurt and pain I’m feeling. “Hunter, I can’t do this. Love isn’t enough to heal either of us.”

“We don’t need to have sex, Charlie. I’m okay with everything else we’ve been doing.”

“It’s not about the sex. I’m sorry I panicked the other night. I did think I was ready. I wanted you so badly. But my body remembered things my mind wasn’t prepared for. And I’m sorry I made you leave. But I also need you to know that I can’t do that again. Not like that. Not until I’m stronger. And maybe not until you are, too.”

I swallow hard, eyes stinging.

The fountain splashes softly behind us, indifferent to the way my world feels like it’s cracking open.

Hunter just stands there, hands still in his pockets, looking at me like I’m breaking his heart and he’s letting me.

I hate this.

I hate every word I just said.

But I know they’re true. We’re both too broken right now. Pushing forward is only going to hurt us more.

“I still want you in my life,” I whisper, voice cracking. “Just…not like this. Not until we both get help. Real help.”

The late afternoon light catches the tired lines on his face. He looks like he hasn’t slept either. I wait for him to say something—anything—while my heart feels like it’s ripping itself in half.

Because even though this is the right thing…

It still feels like goodbye.

Chapter 32

Hunter

I stand there, frozen, as Charlie’s words hang in the air between us.

“I still want you in my life. Just…not like this. Not until we both get help. Real help.”

My throat closes. My chest feels like it’s caving in. Every instinct screams at me to argue, to pull him close, to tell him I’ll do better, that I’ll fix myself, that I’ll never push him again.

But I nod.

On autopilot. Like my body is moving without me.

“Okay,” I say, voice hoarse and flat. “Yeah. You’re right. We both need to heal.”

The words taste like ash. I don’t mean them. Not really. I want to fight for him. I want to tell him I’ll go to more meetings, I’ll stop drinking, I’ll do whatever it takes if he’ll just stay.

But I don’t.

Because the last time I didn’t let someone go when they needed to leave…they died.

Robby’s voice is quiet for once, but I can still feel him there—watching, waiting, reminding me what happens when I hold on too tight.

Charlie looks at me for a long moment, eyes glistening, as if he’s waiting for me to say something more. To fight for us. When I don’t, he nods once, small and sad, and turns to walk away.