Chapter 18
Charlie’s day had started off... less than ideal.
Scratch that—it started off downright miserable. Waking up to a full-blown tantrum from Remy wasn’t exactly the dream. Nothing seemed to calm him down. Every word, every explanation Charlie tried to offer about why the bookshelf incident happened, about how Nick had been so sorry and it wasn’t entirely anyone’s fault, was met with more yelling, stomping feet, and tears.
And then came the toy throwing. “Remy!” Charlie had said in that stern-but-trying-to-be-patient tone he reserved for mornings like these. “I understand you’re upset, but throwing your toys isn’t okay.”
But Remy didn’t care. He’d stomped his little foot and shouted, “I don’t like Mr. Nicky! And I don’t like you, Daddy!”
Yep. That stung.
Charlie sighed, trying to remind himself that this was just a four-year-old being a four-year-old. Still, every time Remy got like this, Charlie couldn’t help but see glimpses of Ben in him—the way Ben used to throw fits when he didn’t get his way, the way his anger would fill the entire room. It wasn’t a great comparison, and Charlie hated thinking it, but it crept in anyway.
To make things worse, nothing Charlie said or did seemed to make a dent. He tried sitting Remy down and explaining, again, that Nick hadn’t meant for him to get hurt, that climbing bookshelves was dangerous, and honestly, Daddy should have checked to make sure it was secure in the first place. But it wasn’t enough.
It led to food being thrown during breakfast. It led to Charlie firmly taking away Remy’s toys for the morning. It led to tears—loud, angry tears—and an even more frustrated Charlie.
Charlie doesn’t do well with anger.
It’s a combination of things, really—years of living under Ben’s shadow, where denial of cheating would escalate into shouts, slaps, and thrown glass. Nights where Ben was too tipsy, too horny, and too aggressive, and Charlie was the one shoved against the wall, left to pick up the pieces of himself after. Charlie learned to break quietly, to fold himself into smaller and smaller spaces.
To endure.
Now, sitting in the front seat of his car, knuckles gripping the steering wheel, all he wants is five fucking minutes of peace.
But that’s not in the cards today.
Getting Remy into his car seat had been a Herculean task, filled with kicking, crying, and more than one sharp scream of “No!” His son was clearly set on punishing him for the lack of a donut. Charlie had thought he could push through—just stop by the coffee shop, grab Nick’s coffee, no donut, and get through the morning. But every choice seemed to backfire.
By the time Charlie pulls into the school parking lot, he’s exhausted. His nerves are frayed, his patience paper-thin, and when Remy sniffles from the backseat, Charlie thinks it’s just going to be another whimper.
But then Remy says it. “Dada, I don’t like Mr. Nick. He’s a bad man. Bad men take things!”
Charlie’s head snaps so fast it’s a miracle his neck doesn’t crack. He twists in his seat to face Remy, heart pounding.
“What?” His voice is sharper than he means it to be, and it makes Remy shrink slightly. “What did you say, sweetheart?”
Remy sniffles again, wiping at his red, tear-streaked cheeks with his little fists. “Bad man. He’s a bad man.”Charlie stares, stunned and confused, his mind already spiraling.
The thing about Charlie is that he’s spent every second of Remy’s life trying to protect him. During the early months of the custody battle, when Remy was just one—a sweet, soft baby—Charlie had done everything in his power to shield him.
Ben, of course, had been Ben.
Hot-headed, cruel, and convinced he had a right to the child Charlie had raised nearly single-handedly. Back then, Charlie hadn’t known how to fight back. Not really. He’d tried his best, but Ben had been relentless, arguing that he should be able to hold his son, care for him, be a father.
It was laughable.
Charlie remembers those early visits, the way Remy had cried in Ben’s arms. Maybe even as a baby, Remy had understood that yelling was bad. Maybe he’d felt the difference between Charlie’s soft hands cradling him and Ben’s callused grip. And now, hearing those words come from his son’s mouth—bad man—Charlie feels a lump rise in his throat.
“Remy,” he says softly, forcing himself to keep calm. “Why do you think Mr. Nick is a bad man? Did... did he take something from you?”
Charlie feels the words like a sucker punch to the gut. “Bad man try to take me away from Dada,” Remy says, his little voice trembling but firm in its conviction. “Mr. Nicky is taking you away from me. He’s bad. Bad man.”
Charlie’s breath catches. He almost cringes, the weight of his past pressing against his chest like an iron weight.
He’d tried—he’d really tried—to keep his past with Ben private. To not let it seep into the life he built with Remy, this fragile, beautiful life he’s clawed and fought for. But children notice things. Even when they’re young, even when they can’t quite understand, they notice the cracks in the foundation. And Remy, sweet, observant Remy, must have pieced things together over time.
Maybe it was overhearing conversations Charlie had with his therapist late at night, when he thought Remy was fast asleep. Maybe it was the phone calls with Tao and Elle, or Issac, during the chaotic months when he was fighting for custody and then after, trying to move. The frantic whispers, the muffled cries. Maybe it was the tension that Charlie couldn’t quite hide, the way he always made sure the doors were locked, double-checking everything as though Ben could somehow waltz back into their lives.
Remy had been too young to really understand what was happening during the custody battle. Too young to comprehend the shouting matches, the court dates, the moments where Charlie thought he might lose everything. Too young to see that one parent had all the love in the world for him, while the other only had love for control.
But children are perceptive. They pick up on the things we wish they wouldn’t.
Charlie turns in his seat to face Remy, his chest tight. “Baby,” he starts, his voice soft but trembling, “Mr. Nick isn’t taking me away from you. He’s not a bad man, I promise.”
Remy sniffles, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “Bad men take things. They take you, and they take me, and... and I don’t want Mr. Nicky to take you, Dada.”
Charlie’s throat tightens. He reaches out, gently brushing his fingers through Remy’s hair. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “No one is taking me away from you. No one. You’re my everything, okay? My whole world. Mr. Nick isn’t like that. He’s... he’s kind. He’s a good man. And he cares about you too.”
Remy frowns, his little brow furrowing. “But he made me bleed. And... and bad men made you cry and bleed, Dada. I don’t want that to happen again.”
Charlie feels the sting of tears welling in his eyes. He leans forward, cupping Remy’s cheek gently. “Baby, listen to me. What happened before, with... with the bad man, that’s over. He’s gone. He can’t hurt us anymore, okay?”
Remy looks at him, his wide, tear-filled eyes searching Charlie’s face. Charlie continues, his tone steady but warm. "Do you see Daddy crying? Or bleeding? No... Daddy's okay now. We're okay now. I promise."
Remy sniffles, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his shirt, and nods hesitantly. "But... but what if a bad man comes back? What if... what if Mr. Nicky turns into a bad man?" Charlie feels his heart break a little at the fear in his son's voice.
"Sweetheart, I know you're scared, and I know why you feel that way," Charlie says gently. "But Mr. Nick isn't like that. He's not a bad man, and he's not going to hurt us, okay? He's a good person. He cares about you, and he cares about me."
Remy stares at him for a long moment, his little face scrunched up in thought. "You sure, Daddy?"
Charlie nods firmly. "I'm sure. And if anything ever made me think differently, I would never let him near you, okay? You're my number one, Remy. Always."
The reassurance seems to calm Remy, who relaxes slightly in Charlie's hands. "Okay, Dada," he whispers.
Charlie leans forward, pressing a kiss to Remy's forehead. "That's my boy. We're a team, you and me, right?"
Remy nods, a small smile starting to form. "Right."
"Good," Charlie says, brushing away the last of his son's tears. "Now, how about we go inside, and maybe tonight we can watch a movie? Just you and me?"
Remy’s smile widens. "Can we watch the train one?"
Charlie chuckles, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. "Of course, bud. Anything you want."
And as they step out of the car, hand in hand, Charlie silently promises himself to keep proving to Remy that they are safe, that the bad man is gone, and that they have a future filled with nothing but love and joy.
And so, his day starts out less than ideal. He wakes up to a tantrum from Remy, a rushed breakfast, and the lingering exhaustion that refuses to lift. By the time he arrives at the school, he's too early—too early to even drop Remy off properly.
To make matters worse, there’s the awkward run-in with one of Nick’s coworkers, Mr. Greene. The man’s disapproving tone and veiled comments make Charlie's skin crawl. It's not a direct confrontation, but it’s enough to leave him feeling off-kilter.
So, Charlie is forced to retreat, walking back to his car with Remy in tow. Remy, thankfully, is quiet for once, though his silence feels heavy. The little boy looks out the window, his thumb brushing his baby blanket as Charlie starts the engine, resigned to waiting in the parking lot until the official opening time. Once the clock ticks over and he’s able to drop Remy off, he should feel better. Lighter.
But instead, his thoughts spiral. He tries to keep them at bay. He really does. He hums along to the radio. He thinks about the errands he needs to run, the bookshelf he needs to replace. But it’s no use.
Ben creeps in, like he always does.
The living room is dimly lit, the soft glow from the corner lamp casting long shadows as Charlie rocks a sleepy one-year-old Remy in his arms. The baby’s tiny hand grips his shirt, and Charlie hums softly, hoping to lull him into deeper sleep.
But the atmosphere is anything but peaceful. Ben is sitting on the couch, leaning back like he owns the place, one arm draped casually along the backrest. His eyes are sharp, following every movement Charlie makes.
The tension in the room is suffocating, and Charlie’s chest tightens with each passing second.
Charlie finally speaks, his voice low but firm, careful not to wake Remy. “Ben, I don’t even understand why you’re here. Why now? You haven’t seen him in months.”
Ben shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “I’m his father, Charlie. I don’t need to explain myself to you.”
Charlie lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he looks down at Remy’s peaceful face. “Father? Is that what you’re calling yourself now? You’ve been gone for months, Ben. No calls, no visits, nothing. And now you show up, sitting on my couch like you have a right to be here?”
“I do have a right,” Ben snaps, his voice sharp. “He’s my son.”
Charlie’s grip on Remy tightens instinctively, his free hand clutching the edge of the rocking chair. He glances at Ben, his eyes blazing.“You’re not acting like it. Fathers don’t disappear. Fathers don’t treat their children like an afterthought.”
Ben leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his expression dark. “You think you’re so perfect, don’t you? The doting single dad, always doing what’s best for his kid.”
Charlie glares at him, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and exhaustion. “I don’t think I’m perfect, Ben. I’m terrified every day that I’m not doing enough for him. But at least I’m here. At least I show up.”
Ben scoffs, leaning back again. “You think showing up is enough? You can barely keep your life together, Charlie.”
Charlie feels the words like a slap, but he refuses to let Ben see the sting. Instead, he takes a deep breath, rocking Remy gently. “He doesn’t need perfection, Ben. He needs love and stability. And you can’t just show up whenever it’s convenient for you and expect to play the role of ‘father.’ It doesn’t work like that.”
Ben narrows his eyes. “Don’t lecture me about how to be a parent.”
“I wouldn’t have to if you actually acted like one,” Charlie fires back, his voice sharp but controlled. He glances down at Remy, who stirs slightly, and softens his tone. “He’s not a trophy, Ben. He’s not some game piece you can move around to suit your ego.”
Ben stands abruptly, the sudden movement making Charlie flinch. He takes a step closer, towering over the rocking chair. “You don’t get to decide how I’m involved in his life.”
Charlie looks up at him, unflinching now, his grip on Remy protective. “I don’t have to. You’ve already decided by not being here. By putting your pride and your control issues above your own son.”
Charlie doesn’t have time to brace for the slap; it happens in an instant.
The sharp crack echoes in the small room, and his cheek burns with the impact. He stays rooted in the rocking chair, his body curling protectively around Remy. The baby stirs, a soft whimper escaping his tiny lips, and tears spring to Charlie’s eyes—not just from the slap, but from the overwhelming weight of it all.
Ben’s sneer is sharp as he steps closer, looming over Charlie like a shadow. “You can’t even keep this place afloat. Do you even hear yourself, Charlie? What are you living off of? The little money you got from pawning the wedding band I bought you? You’re pathetic.”
Charlie’s stomach twists, a sharp pang of guilt hitting him even though he knows he did what he had to do to survive. He pulls Remy closer, his hand gently cradling the back of his son’s head as he whispers, “Shh, baby, it’s okay. Daddy’s got you.”
Ben doesn’t stop. His voice grows colder, sharper, as he jabs his finger in Charlie’s direction. “This boy—my son—deserves better than you. He deserves toys, a proper home, blankets that aren’t threadbare. All you’re offering him is this shitty little studio you can barely afford. You’re a joke, Charlie.”
Charlie bites the inside of his cheek, trying to steady himself. He’s heard these accusations before, countless times in the quiet hours of the night when his own fears whispered the same things. But it’s different hearing them come from Ben. It’s crueler. It’s heavier.
Still, he doesn’t rise. He doesn’t let Ben see the way his legs are trembling under him, the way his heart is pounding so loudly he’s sure Ben can hear it. Instead, he keeps his eyes on Remy, who is blinking up at him with teary, sleepy eyes, a small fist clutching at Charlie’s shirt.
“Ben,” Charlie starts, his voice shaky but firm. “You haven’t seen him in months. You haven’t called, you haven’t checked in. Why do you even care now?”
Ben scoffs, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorframe. “Because you can’t do this alone. And I’m not going to stand by while my son grows up in squalor.”
Charlie lets out a shaky breath, his grip on Remy tightening as he rocks the chair slightly. “You don’t get to come in here and act like you care. You don’t get to act like you want what’s best for him when all you’ve ever wanted is control.”
Ben’s eyes narrow, and for a moment, there’s something almost unreadable in his expression—something that could almost be regret, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. “Control?” he sneers. “I just want him to have a decent life, something you can’t give him.
Charlie finally looks up, his eyes locking with Ben’s. His voice is steadier now, fueled by the love he feels for the child in his arms. “A decent life isn’t about money or things, Ben. It’s about love. It’s about safety. It’s about knowing someone is there for you, no matter what. And I’ve given him that every single day, while you’ve been gone.”
Ben doesn’t respond right away. He just stares, his jaw tightening as he takes a step back. “You’ll lose, Charlie. You’ll lose everything.”
Charlie doesn’t flinch. Instead, he rises to his feet, holding Remy close to his chest. “Maybe I will. But I’ll fight for him. I’ll fight with everything I have because he’s worth it. He’s worth more than you’ll ever understand.”
Ben stares at him for a long moment before turning on his heel and slamming the door behind him. The sound reverberates through the room, leaving silence in its wake.
Charlie sinks back into the rocking chair, his legs trembling as he kisses Remy’s forehead, whispering, “I’m so sorry, baby. I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”
Charlie doesn't know what takes over, but he cries at the memory. He’s spent so long trying to shield Remy, and yet, here he is, realizing he’s failed. He’s failed because he wasn’t quiet enough during his meetings with Geoff, because he wasn’t strong enough to keep the tears at bay when he called Elle or Tao, because he wasn’t strong enough to have Remy grow up in a world where he never questioned how adults could be so cruel.
The memory of Ben, of everything he endured, feels like a fresh wound tonight. He doesn't know how long he's been crying—minutes, hours, hell, it feels like years. Years spent trying to patch himself together after the damage Ben left behind, years spent carrying the weight of trying to be enough for Remy, trying to give him a life that wouldn’t make him question whether the world was safe. The tears come harder, his shoulders shaking as he sits on the couch with his head in his hands.
He doesn’t stop. Not until he hears it—the persistent sound of his phone ringing, cutting through his spiral. It rings over and over and over again, vibrating against the coffee table. He curses under his breath, grabbing it with shaking hands and seeing the screen light up with three missed calls from the school and four from Nick.
His heart sinks.
He checks the time and curses again, realizing he’s dissociated so long that he’s completely forgotten to pick up Remy. “Shit,” he whispers, immediately pressing on Nick’s name in his call log. It rings once. Twice. And then Nick picks up on the second ring.
“Charlie!?” Nick’s voice comes through, frantic. “Jesus, are you okay? I’ve been trying to reach you, and I haven’t been able to. I got so paranoid I looked up if there were any crashes nearby, and I just—Jesus, are you okay?”
“I’m okay!” Charlie blurts out, his voice breaking slightly. “I’m so sorry, Nick. It’s just... a bad mental day. Where’s Remy? Can I speak to him?”
There’s a beat of shuffling, and Charlie hears Nick muttering something softly in the background before a bright, cheerful voice comes through. “Hi, Daddy!!! I miss you!” Remy chirps, his excitement clear. “Mr. Nicky has a better car than you, ya know! And a nice, nice seat! This one’s comfy and holds me tight!”
Charlie feels a wave of relief wash over him, his lips twitching into a small smile despite the heaviness still sitting in his chest. “Hi, baby. I’m so sorry. Wait... you’re in Mr. Nelson’s car?”
“Mhmmm!” Remy hums happily. “He’s driving me home! He’s even got blankets back here!”
Charlie blinks, and in the background, he hears Nick yell, “Don’t worry, I have a car seat! We have extras at school!”
I’m always good!” Remy says indignantly, and Charlie hears Nick’s light laugh in the background, the sound grounding him for just a moment.
Charlie clears his throat and raises his voice slightly. “Nick?”
The shuffling happens again, and Nick’s voice filters through the line. “Charlie, I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to leave him at school any longer. And I was freaking out and you weren't answering and I thought something bad happened but I didn't want to leave him and I figured I’d check your house. Are you sure you’re okay?”
Charlie closes his eyes, his hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Thank you, Nick. I’m... I’m okay, really. I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” he says, his voice trembling slightly. “I’ve just... my brain’s been all over the place today, and I lost track of time. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I—I’ll explain when you get here, okay?”
“Alright,” Nick says softly. “We’re almost there.”
Sure enough, ten minutes later, there's a knock on the door, and Charlie is running to answer it. When he opens the door, he’s met with Nick standing there, holding Remy’s hand. Remy is smiling—beaming, really—happier than Charlie has seen him around Nick since the bookshelf incident. It’s a relief and a surprise all at once.
Charlie drops to his knees, holding his arms out as Remy lets go of Nick’s hand and runs into his embrace. “I’m so sorry, baby,” Charlie says, his voice thick with emotion. He hugs Remy tightly, pressing kisses to his curls. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Remy pulls back slightly, looking at him with wide, innocent eyes. “It’s okay, Daddy,” he says softly. “Mr. Nicky isn’t a bad man. Not yet. Not ever.”
Charlie’s breath hitches, and he nods quickly, pressing another kiss to Remy’s head. “No, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “No, Mr. Nicky isn’t a bad man. Not ever.”
When he looks up, his gaze meets Nick’s, and tears are already brimming in Charlie’s eyes. Nick stands there, looking hesitant, almost shy, his hands tucked into his pockets as if unsure of his place.
“Thank you,” Charlie whispers, his voice trembling but full of sincerity. “Thank you so much.”
Nick shakes his head, offering a small, soft smile. “It’s nothing, really. I’m just glad Remy’s okay.”
Charlie bites his lip, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He shifts Remy onto his hip and says quietly, “Stop standing out there. Come in, Nick. Please.”
Nick hesitates for a moment but steps inside, the tension in the air beginning to melt away as Charlie closes the door behind them.
Remy instantly beams the moment Nick steps inside and looks up at Charlie, his small hands clutching Charlie’s shirt. “Did you get a bookshelf, Daddy?” he asks eagerly, his eyes wide with hope.
Charlie sighs, guilt flashing across his face as he shakes his head. “Not yet, baby. I’m sorry.”
Remy frowns for a moment, his lips curving downward in disappointment, but then he shrugs, his expression softening. “It’s okay,” he says quietly, looking at the floor. “Sorry for throwing stuff before... I was scared of Mr. Nicky, but now I’m not. He’s kind, and he held my hand and wiped my tears while we waited.”
Charlie’s chest tightens at those words, and he glances at Nick, who’s looking down at Remy with such tenderness that it almost undoes him.
“Thank you,” Charlie says softly, directing his words to Nick. “Really, thank you for being there for him.”
Nick just smiles, giving a lopsided grin as if everything that happened—the chaos, the tears, the fear—was no big deal. It’s effortless, unassuming, and so very Nick.
In that instant, it hits Charlie like a freight train: Nick is not Ben. He’ll never be Ben. There’s no harshness in Nick, no cruelty or manipulation hiding behind a fake smile. Nick isn’t trying to take control or belittle him; he’s trying to build trust and care.
The sharp contrast makes Charlie’s chest ache with both relief and longing. Nick is patient, kind, and understanding in a way Charlie never thought he deserved. He doesn’t demand perfection or compliance. He doesn’t take more than he gives. Nick is everything Ben wasn’t, everything Charlie has been afraid to hope for.
And in Nick’s easy, lopsided grin, Charlie sees not just a partner but someone who could love both him and his son the way they deserve.