Chapter 21
Nick is failing. He’s failing and falling, spiraling in the moment and unable to find solid ground. He doesn’t understand the words flying at him—Papa from Remy’s teary voice, Ben from Charlie’s choked and panicked one—but they keep hitting him, louder and sharper, and all Nick can feel is the weight of failure pressing down on his chest.
He doesn’t know how to help. He never knows how to help.
He’s bad at helping. He fails, and he fails, and he fails again. Otis flashes through his mind like a warning, and his stomach churns as he sees the same lost, haunted look in Charlie’s eyes. Otis’s face blends with Charlie’s for just a moment—blinking back at him like a ghost, pleading for help Nick doesn’t know how to give.
No. Stop. Not again. He won’t let himself spiral now. He can’t.
Remy’s voice cuts through the haze, shaking Nick back to the present. “Papa? My wrist hurts. Daddy, kiss it better!” But Charlie isn’t responding. He’s in a trance, clutching Remy tightly like the child might disappear if he lets go.
Nick’s eyes dart to Remy’s small wrist, already beginning to bruise. He winces. Ice. He needs ice. But first, Charlie. Charlie is falling apart right in front of him, crumbling under the weight of whatever memory Ben dredged up, and Nick doesn’t know how to catch him. Doesn’t know if he even can.
“Charlie,” Nick whispers, voice trembling. He steps closer, crouching to meet Charlie’s gaze, but Charlie doesn’t see him. His grip on Remy is too tight, his shoulders trembling as tears streak down his face.
Nick’s heart breaks. He’s failing. Again.
“Charlie,” he says louder, more urgently this time, placing a hand gently on Charlie’s arm. “Look at me. Charlie, you’re scaring him. Please. Let me help.”
Remy’s sobs grow louder, and Nick’s chest feels like it’s caving in. “Papa,” Remy cries again, reaching toward Nick with his free hand. His little fingers shake as he clings to Nick’s shirt. “Papa, help Daddy.”
Nick glances at Remy, his tear-streaked face and trembling hands clutching at him for reassurance. His heart aches at the desperation in the boy’s voice, but then his gaze shifts to the parking lot. There are people still there, lingering near their cars, some chatting, others undoubtedly watching the scene unfold. He swallows hard, dread settling in his stomach like a lead weight.
"Remy," Nick says softly, crouching to meet the boy's eyes, his voice trembling. "You can't... you can't call me that here." He shakes his head, his hand brushing lightly over Remy’s hair. "I know you don’t understand, and that’s not your fault, but..." Nick falters, glancing back toward the parking lot. He takes a shaky breath. "If you keep calling me that, then... I might not be your teacher anymore."
Remy’s lip quivers, confusion and fear swimming in his wide eyes. “But... Papa, help Daddy!” he pleads, voice breaking as he tugs on Nick’s shirt. “Please, Nicky! Please, papa, you have to help Daddy!”
Nick squeezes his eyes shut, his chest tightening. He feels like he’s being pulled in two different directions, and both feel impossible. "Remy, please," he whispers, barely holding it together. "Please just... shh, okay? I don’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry, alright? Just... don’t call me that. Not here."
He looks up at Charlie, still sitting on the pavement, his breathing shallow and rapid, his hands shaking. “Charlie, I need you to come back to me,” Nick says softly, his voice strained but steady. “Remy and I—we need you. Okay? Look at me.”
Nick feels like he’s drowning. Charlie is unraveling in front of him, Remy is crying, and the world seems to tilt on its axis. He doesn’t know where to start. His heart is hammering in his chest, the weight of it all pressing down so hard that his legs feel weak. He hears Remy’s small voice again, trembling and tearful.
"Papa, my wrist hurts. Daddy, Daddy, kiss it better."
Nick’s stomach twists. He looks at Remy’s wrist, sees the angry bruise starting to bloom, and feels the guilt claw at him. He should have stopped this sooner. He should have—
No. He shuts that thought down before it can fester. It’s not about his failures. Not now.
He looks at Charlie, still clutching Remy like he’s the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth, his knuckles white and trembling. That faraway look in Charlie’s eyes is too familiar. Nick’s chest tightens as a memory flashes unbidden—Otis, fragile and distant, slipping further and further away until there was nothing Nick could do to bring him back.
"Okay, Charlie. I’m... I’m going to fix this, alright? Just... stay right here, yeah? Just sit tight. I’m going to get a sub to cover my class, and then we’ll go home. We’ll talk about everything, and it’ll be better, I promise.”
But Charlie’s shaking his head violently, his eyes wide and unseeing, panic consuming him entirely. “No, no, no,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “Ben’s going to take him. He’s going to take him. He’s going to take my son.”
Nick feels his stomach twist at the raw fear in Charlie’s voice. He moves closer, gently placing a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Charlie, listen to me,” he says, his voice low and steady. “No one is taking Remy. No one. He’s here with us. He’s safe. Look at him.” Nick gestures to Remy, who is still clutching Nick’s shirt tightly, his face buried in his chest. “He’s right here, Charlie. He’s not going anywhere.”
Charlie’s head shakes again, his breathing uneven. “You don’t understand,” he chokes out. “Ben always wins. He’ll find a way. He always finds a way.”
Nick’s heart aches as he watches Charlie crumble. He leans closer, his tone soft but firm. “Charlie, I do understand. And I swear to you, Ben isn’t taking anything from you. Not Remy, not me, not your life. We’ll figure this out together, okay? You’re not alone in this.”
Charlie looks at him, his eyes swimming with tears, and for a moment, it seems like he’s listening. But the fear is still there, raw and unrelenting, and Nick knows it’ll take more than words to pull him out of it.
“Remy,” Nick whispers softly, glancing down at the boy in his arms. “Hey, bud, can you help me? Can you tell Daddy we’re all safe?”
Remy sniffles, his small voice trembling. “Daddy... we’re safe. Mr. Nicky said so.”
Nick nods encouragingly, his hand squeezing Charlie’s shoulder. “See, Charlie? You’re not alone. Let me help. Please.”
Nick watches Charlie shake his head violently, panic spilling over as he chokes out, “No, no, he’s... I can’t breathe, I can’t, I can’t breathe.”
Nick steps in quickly, sliding his arms gently under Charlie’s shoulders, his voice soft but laced with urgency. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I moved too fast, shit. I should’ve asked if it was okay to touch you. That’s on me, I’m so sorry.”
Charlie doesn’t respond, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps, and Nick looks over at Remy, desperate for help. “Remy,” he says gently, crouching to meet the boy’s tearful eyes. “Can you hold onto my hand, buddy? I need your help.”
Remy sniffles, holding his wrist up, his voice wobbling. “But my wrist hurts, Papa. It hurts, Daddy. Kiss it better!”
Nick nods, his heart breaking at the sight of the little boy’s tears. “I know, baby, I know it hurts. I’ll be gentle, okay? Can you trust me? Just for a second?”
Reluctantly, Remy nods, reaching out with his tiny hand. Nick takes it carefully, so light it’s barely a grip, and he starts leading both Charlie and Remy toward his car. His arm stays firm around Charlie’s waist, holding him steady, while his other hand clasps Remy’s gently.
When they reach the car, Nick opens the passenger door and gently helps Charlie in, buckling him up like he’s fragile glass. “There you go, Char. You’re safe. Just sit here for a second.”
Nick hurries to the back, gently placing Remy in the car seat he never got around to removing. “I’ve got you, buddy,” he murmurs, grabbing Remy’s backpack and pulling out a soft blanket. He tucks it around him, watching as the boy snuggles into the familiar warmth, his sniffles starting to calm.
Closing the door softly, Nick circles back to Charlie, crouching by the open passenger side. “Hey, Char,” he says, his voice steady but soft. “Hey. I’ll be right back, okay? I’m just going to grab someone to cover my class, and then I’ll drive you both home. You’re safe, alright? Remy’s safe. He’s right here in the backseat, and I’ll be with you in just a minute.”
Charlie doesn’t say anything, but his breathing slows just enough that Nick takes it as a small victory. Nick nods reassuringly. “Can you keep breathing for me? Just like that? Good. Okay. I’ll be right back. Just stay right here.”
Standing up, Nick closes the door carefully and sprints toward the school, his mind racing with a thousand things at once but focused on just one: getting back to them as soon as he can.
Nick doesn’t care that he’s breaking every rule in the book by sprinting down the halls. He doesn’t care about the stares of his colleagues or the whispers that follow him. He doesn’t care that tears are threatening to spill over his cheeks as he runs. He’s panicking.
Papa. Papa. Papa. Papa. Papa.
The word echoes in his head like a broken record, each repetition hammering deeper into his chest. If anyone heard Remy call him that, he’s done. His job—gone. At the very least, Remy would be reassigned to another class, forced to start over in a place he’s never fully felt comfortable in. Nick feels like he’s spiraling. He’s not a dad. He’s not a father. He’s not fit for whatever role Remy has decided for him.
His own father was shit. His grandfather wasn’t much better. The streak of bad parenthood seems endless, and Nick is terrified he’s no exception. He doesn’t deserve this title. Papa. The word feels foreign and too big for him, like a crown he hasn’t earned.
And then there’s Ben.
Ben. Ben. Ben. Ben. Ben.
The name repeats in his head like poison. Ben, the man who hurt Charlie, who made him bleed, who belittled him, who twisted love and sex into something ugly and cruel. Ben, the man who tried to take Remy away, who left lasting scars that Nick now sees every time Charlie flinches or his voice breaks.
Nick has to stop himself from punching a locker as he rounds a corner. This isn’t about Ben, it’s about Charlie. The man he’s grown to care for so deeply. The man who looks at him with quiet trust, despite the pain he’s endured. But that far-off look Charlie had—the one Nick knows all too well—it’s what terrifies him the most. Otis had that look before he—
No. No. No. No. No. Not Charlie too. Take anyone but Charlie. Please, not him.
Nick pushes harder, running faster. He has to fix this. He has to be faster, kinder, quicker, better. He skids to a stop in front of the principal’s office, doesn’t knock, and bursts in.
"Nick?" Mr. Singh looks up, startled, his brows furrowing at the intrusion.
Nick doesn’t have time for pleasantries. The words tumble out of him, the first lie he can think of. "My—my mom’s in the hospital. She fell and... and something’s wrong. I need to go. I can’t—please, I need someone to cover my class. Please, please."
Singh’s face softens instantly. "Oh, Nick. Of course. I’ll find someone to step in for you. Are you sure you’re okay to drive? You look a bit... out of it."
Nick shakes his head quickly. "I’m fine. I’m fine. Please just—just find a sub. I’m sorry. Family emergency." His voice cracks on the last two words, but he doesn’t care.
Mr. Singh nods firmly. "Of course. Go, take care of your family. Keep me updated if you can."
Nick doesn’t waste another second. He’s out of the office before Singh can say another word, running back down the hall, his heart pounding. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. Please hold on.
Nick is running. Running and running and running. It feels endless, like the same nightmare on a loop. His legs burn, his chest aches, and his thoughts scream louder than his pounding heart. The ledge is there. He can see it. Did he leave Charlie on a ledge? Did he... Did he leave him up there?
No.
No ledge.
Parking lot. Remember, parking lot.
But his mind doesn’t want to cooperate, flashing between Otis and Charlie, the past and the present, one ghost bleeding into another. He nearly stumbles to a stop when Harry steps in front of him, the interruption jarring him back to reality.
"Whoa! Hey, Nick? You good?" Harry asks, his tone surprised but not unkind.
Nick barely registers the question, shaking his head quickly. "Sorry," he mutters, brushing past Harry without slowing down. He’s running again, and Harry’s voice fades into the background.
He doesn’t care. He has to help. He can’t let another good thing jump away from him. He won’t.
He only skids to a halt when a familiar figure steps into his path: Ben.
Nick freezes, his heart hammering in his chest, his blood running cold. His hands ball into fists at his sides as the man saunters toward him, exuding that same arrogant smirk Nick had seen before. It’s infuriating. Infuriating.
Ben comes to a stop in front of him, his eyes scanning Nick up and down like a hawk circling its prey. "Bit fast to be running halls with little ones running around, don’t you think?" Ben’s voice is smooth, condescending, and it makes Nick’s stomach churn.
Nick grits his teeth, his jaw tightening. His nails dig into his palms as he fights to keep his anger in check. "Sorry, sir," he says through clenched teeth. "My mother just fell. I’m heading to the hospital. They say it’s serious."
Ben raises an eyebrow, his smirk unwavering. "Shame," he says, feigning sympathy that’s as hollow as his words. "Bit late notice to be taking off, isn’t it?"
Nick sees red for a moment, but he forces himself to stay composed. His lips curl into a tight, bitter smile. "Right," he says, his voice sharp as a blade. "I’ll make sure next time my mother plans it better. Good day."
Without giving Ben a chance to respond, Nick moves forward, making sure to shoulder into him as he passes. It’s not subtle. It’s not polite. But Nick doesn’t care. Not right now.
He’s running again, faster this time, as if the act itself will keep the past from catching up to him. Charlie, Charlie, Charlie, Charlie. His name is a mantra, a lifeline, and Nick won’t stop until he reaches him. Until he saves him. Until he keeps him from falling.
Nick spots his car in the distance and lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. No ledge. Parking lot. He repeats the thought over and over, grounding himself as his feet finally slow to a walk. Okay, breathe.
When he reaches the car, he pauses for a moment, steadying his hands before opening the passenger side door. The sound makes Charlie flinch. Nick’s heart cracks at the sight.
"I’m sorry," Nick mumbles immediately, crouching slightly to meet Charlie’s eye. "I’m… I’m sorry. Are you okay?"
Charlie shakes his head, his hands trembling slightly as they rest in his lap. "I’m… No. No, I’m not," he whispers, his voice raw and broken. "I need… I need to go home. I need to be safe. Feel safe."
Nick nods quickly, his voice soft and soothing. "Okay. Okay, Char. Do you have your seatbelt on?"
Charlie nods, though his movements are jerky, uncertain.
"Okay, good. That’s good," Nick says, exhaling slowly. "We’ll drive home, and then we’ll just relax, yeah? We’ll relax. You, me, and Remy."
Charlie’s eyes flicker toward the backseat, where Remy is clutching his blanket, his cheeks still streaked with tears. He’s quiet now, his eyes big and worried as they dart between his dad and Nick.
Nick’s gaze softens as he glances back at Charlie. "You’re safe now, Char. I promise. Let’s get you home."
He straightens up, gently closing the door before climbing into the driver’s seat. His hands grip the steering wheel tightly for a moment before he lets out another shaky breath, his eyes briefly closing as he collects himself. Then, he starts the car, and they drive in silence.
When they pull into Charlie’s driveway, Charlie is scrambling out of the car before the engine is fully off. He’s moving quickly, his hands trembling as he unbuckles Remy’s car seat, murmuring soft apologies that sound like they’re more for himself than for Remy. He hoists his son into his arms, fumbling with the keys to unlock the front door, and stumbles inside.
Charlie doesn’t make it far. He drops to the floor in front of the couch, still holding Remy tightly. He sits there, cradling him like he’s the only anchor Charlie has in a world that’s spinning far too fast.
Nick steps inside, locking the door behind him with a soft click. He watches them for a moment, his heart aching at the sight before he speaks, his voice gentle. “You want any drinks?”
Remy peeks up from where he’s snuggled against Charlie’s chest. “Chocolate milk? Please? But just milk and the chocolate straw. Thanks, Papa.”
Nick freezes, his body stiffening at the title. Papa. The word hangs in the air, heavy and warm and so completely unearned. He opens his mouth, an apology forming on his lips, but Charlie’s gaze snaps to him. For a split second, their eyes meet, and Nick sees the question there, the realization, the understanding—and then the cracks threatening to form.
Before either of them can speak, Remy interrupts, tugging on Charlie’s shirt. “Daddy, kiss my wrist. Kiss it. Please?” He lifts his little arm, his wrist still faintly pink from the earlier grip.
Charlie blinks, his hand moving automatically. “Thank you, Daddy. That’s better,” Remy mumbles, his voice muffled as he burrows closer to Charlie, wrapping his tiny arms around his dad’s neck.
Nick swallows hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak. He busies himself in the kitchen, pouring a glass of milk and grabbing the chocolate straw from the counter. His hands are steady, but his mind isn’t.
“Any drink, Char?” he asks, his voice strained but trying to sound normal.
Charlie hesitates before replying softly, “Uh… Water. Just water.”
Nick nods, grabbing a glass from the cabinet and filling it. “Okay, darling,” he says, the endearment slipping out as naturally as breathing.
He brings the drinks into the living room, setting the milk and straw in front of Remy and handing Charlie his water. Then he lowers himself onto the floor beside them, his knee brushing Charlie’s as they sit together, the silence heavy but not unbearable.
“Thanks, Papa,” Remy says again, happily sipping his milk.
Nick’s gaze flickers to Charlie, waiting for something—anything—but Charlie just sips his water, his expression unreadable.
Charlie’s voice cracks as he finally speaks, his arms tightening around Remy. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Remy, baby. Let me see your wrist.”
Remy, still snuggled against him, lifts his small arm without hesitation. The moment Charlie sees it, a faint purple bruise forming on the delicate skin, he gasps audibly, his entire body tensing.
Nick watches as Charlie gently sets Remy down on the couch, his hands trembling as he stands. “Baby, I’m so sorry. Daddy is so, so, so sorry.” His words spill out in a rush as he moves toward the kitchen, searching for ice. His voice is thick with guilt, and Nick can see the panic still lingering in his movements.
Remy, oblivious to the weight of Charlie’s emotions, wiggles his fingers and looks up at him with big, curious eyes. “Daddy, no being sad. I’s okay,” he says firmly, as if his small voice could somehow erase the burden Charlie’s carrying.
Charlie pauses mid-step, the ice tray in his hand. He turns back to Remy, his expression crumpling as tears threaten to fall again. “But, baby, I hurt you,” he whispers, kneeling beside the couch with the ice in a cloth. “Can you… Can you forgive me?”
Remy’s little brow furrows as he reaches out, patting Charlie’s cheek with his other hand. “Daddy, no being sad. I’s okay. But no being sad, ‘kay?”
Charlie nods, swallowing hard as he carefully places the wrapped ice on Remy’s wrist. “Okay, baby. Okay. No being sad,” he murmurs, his voice shaky.
Nick, still sitting on the floor, watches the exchange with a heavy heart. He knows Charlie’s guilt won’t disappear with a few words, but Remy’s small, innocent forgiveness feels like a salve on an open wound.
“Daddy loves you so much,” Charlie whispers, pressing a soft kiss to Remy’s forehead.
“Love you too, Daddy,” Remy replies, his voice sleepy now as the emotional weight of the day begins to take its toll on him.
Nick leans forward and gently kisses Charlie’s forehead, a quiet reassurance before turning his attention to Remy. “Do you want your blankie, Remy?” he asks softly.
Remy nods eagerly, his eyes lighting up. “Yes, Papa. Thanks, Papa. Papa nice.”
Nick offers a warm smile, his heart twisting at the innocence in Remy’s voice. “Alright, kiddo. Be right back,” he says, standing up and heading toward Remy’s room to grab the blanket.
But the moment Nick steps into the hallway, his smile crumbles. It falls away like a mask he can’t hold up anymore, leaving his face bare and his thoughts raw.
No, no, no.
He rubs a hand over his face, leaning briefly against the doorframe of Remy’s room. The soft colors of the blankets and toys mock him with their quiet warmth. His chest tightens, and a wave of doubt crashes over him.
He’s not fit for this.
Nick pulls the blanket off the bed with trembling hands, clutching it tightly. He stares down at it, the soft fabric a reminder of everything he isn’t.
He isn’t patient enough. He isn’t strong enough. He isn’t good enough.
The title “Papa” rings in his ears, both sweet and unbearable. It feels like a heavy crown he hasn’t earned, a role he’s not capable of fulfilling.
He’s not like Charlie. Charlie is natural at this, even with his fears and guilt. Charlie is a father through and through, the kind of father who sacrifices everything for his son, who kisses bruised wrists and whispers apologies.
Nick… Nick is just a guy. A guy who still wakes up some nights with the ghost of Otis sitting on his chest. A guy who failed at being a friend when it mattered most. A guy who, no matter how much he wants it, might never be enough.
He tightens his grip on the blanket, closing his eyes and taking a shaky breath.
Get it together. This isn’t about you. This is about them.
When he walks back to the living room, his face is calm again, the doubts buried deep. He hands Remy the blanket with a small smile.
“Here you go, bud,” he says softly, kneeling beside him.
Remy hugs the blanket close, his little smile making Nick’s chest ache. “Thanks, Papa.”
Nick glances at Charlie, who’s watching him with quiet gratitude, and for a fleeting moment, the doubts fade. Just a little.
Nick shifts closer, his voice soft as he says, “Okay, now come here. Cuddles.”
Charlie doesn’t hesitate, falling into Nick’s open arms with a sigh, his body heavy with exhaustion. Remy, always attuned to his daddy, follows right after, climbing onto Charlie’s lap and snuggling close. Charlie holds him gently, balancing the ice pack on Remy’s bruised wrist while letting himself melt into Nick’s embrace.
Nick tightens his hold, pressing a reassuring kiss to the top of Charlie’s head. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks quietly, his voice steady but gentle.
Charlie shakes his head, his face pressed into Nick’s chest. “No,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible.
Nick pauses for a moment, his hand stroking slow circles on Charlie’s back. “Char, I really think we should,” he tries again, his tone encouraging but without pressure.
Charlie shakes his head more firmly this time. “Tonight,” he whispers. “Once… once… Just tonight, okay?”
Nick nods, pressing another kiss to Charlie’s hair. “Yeah, of course. We’ll have a great date night,” he says softly.
Charlie lifts his head slightly, his expression conflicted. “Oh, our date. I’m… I’m so sorry.”
Nick shakes his head quickly, brushing away the apology with a soft “shhh.” “It’s okay. We can have a little date here,” he says, his tone warm and reassuring. “Once Remy’s asleep, yeah?”
Charlie takes a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Okay,” he whispers, his voice steadier now. “Okay, yeah.”
Nick smiles softly, squeezing him just a little tighter. “Good. Now let’s just relax for a bit, yeah? Just us.”
Nick feels it creeping in again, the weight of failure pressing on his chest like a lead blanket. He isn’t good enough. He’s never been good enough. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s going to fail. Again. And again. And again. Over and over. No.
His chest tightens. His breath catches.
No.
Charlie isn’t Otis.
Otis is gone, a ghost that haunts Nick every day, but Charlie is here. Charlie is breathing. He’s real and warm and alive, nestled against Nick’s chest with Remy tucked between them. Nick can feel the weight of Charlie’s head, the small shifts of his body as he tries to settle, the quiet tremble in his breath as he fights to stay composed.
Nick’s throat tightens.
He can protect him. He has to protect him.
He won’t fail this time.
Nick presses a firm kiss to Charlie’s hair, his lips lingering there as if the touch could serve as some kind of unspoken promise. He tightens his arms around Charlie and Remy, holding them close, grounding himself in their presence.
He can protect him. He can hold him. He can kiss him and keep him safe.
He won’t let Ben—or anyone—take Charlie away.
He won’t let Charlie become a ghost too.
“I’ve got you,” Nick whispers, his voice barely audible but steady. “Both of you. I’ve got you.”
And this time, he means it.