Chapter 35
The last thing Charlie expects—or rather, the last thing he wants to expect, but for some reason always does—is the sound of his doorbell ringing in the quiet of the afternoon. It shouldn’t set him on edge the way it does, shouldn’t send that immediate spike of anxiety through his chest, but it does. It always has.
Because unexpected visitors have never been a good thing for him.
People who know him—really know him—understand that. His sister, his friends, even his coworkers. Everyone knows that surprise visits don’t go over well with Charlie. He’s an anxious person, always has been. Timid, wary, always bracing for the worst. But it’s not without reason. Fear is a learned behavior, and Charlie has learned to fear the sound of a knock at the door, the shrill chime of a doorbell ringing at an odd hour. Because for years, that sound meant Ben.
Ben showing up unannounced, without warning. Ben demanding to be let in, demanding to talk, demanding control.
Ben, when Remy was just a baby, showing up whenever he pleased as if he had any right to, barging into Charlie’s life again and again and again until Charlie was finally able to shut the door in his face for good.
But now… now the fear is creeping back up his spine. Because what if it is Ben? What if, after all these years, he’s standing on Charlie’s doorstep? What if he’s here to push his way into Charlie’s life again, into Remy’s life?
Or worse—what if it isn’t Ben at all? What if it’s something worse?
The thought has his breath stuttering, his fingers gripping the kitchen counter as his mind races. But then he glances down the hall, towards Remy’s room, where his little boy is safely tucked away, giggling to himself as he paints, blissfully unaware of the tension seeping into his father’s bones.
Good. Remy is safe. Remy is distracted.
That’s what makes Charlie move.
Because if it is something bad—if it is Ben, or something worse—then Charlie would rather be the one to face it alone. He would rather something happen to just him than to Remy. And with Remy tucked away, his hands messy with finger paints, his mind lost in his own little world, Charlie knows that at the very least, he can warn him to run if he has to.
So, with a deep breath, he steels himself, fists clenched at his sides, and moves toward the door.
And prays that this is all in his head.
When Charlie finally opens the door, Nick is standing there. And oh. Oh, Nick.
Nick, Nick, Nick, Nick.
The name repeats in his head like a desperate prayer, like a song stuck on loop, a rhythm that won’t quit no matter how much he tries to push it away. Nick, Nick, Nick, Nick. His name is a comfort, a curse, a weight in Charlie’s chest that makes it hard to breathe.
Because it’s been days.
Just days.
But it feels like a lifetime.
A lifetime since he’s seen Nick, since he’s heard his voice outside of his own mind, where it plays on repeat—soft, apologetic, cracking with emotion. A lifetime since their last conversation, if it could even be called that. Because their last exchange had ended in disaster. It had ended in tears, in a fight, in Remy sobbing in Charlie’s arms with a bruised cheek and a broken trust. It had ended with Charlie wide awake for nights on end, staring at the ceiling, heart in his throat, fingers curled into the sheets as he tried to hold himself together. It had ended with Charlie finally, finally, making the decision to go to the police.
That decision had unraveled everything.
And now, Nick is standing here.
And suddenly, Charlie doesn’t know what to do with himself. Because Nick is his weakness, his downfall, his one Achilles' heel. And Charlie has spent days convincing himself that he can’t afford to be weak right now, that he has to be strong for Remy, for himself, for the future they both deserve.
But Nick is here. And Charlie feels like he’s unraveling all over again.
His gaze drags over Nick’s frame, taking him in fully. And God, Nick looks... he looks different. Not in a bad way, just—different.
He’s tired. That much is obvious from the dark circles under his eyes, but there’s still something softer about his expression, something real, something that almost reaches his eyes. He’s smiling, just a little, just enough to be noticeable, but there’s something tentative in the way his shoulders are slightly raised, like he’s bracing himself, like he’s holding tension in his body and trying not to let it show. He looks nervous.
And he’s comfortable.
That’s the part that throws Charlie off the most.
Nick is wearing sweatpants. A hoodie. Sneakers—Vans, Charlie thinks, though he doesn’t look long enough to be sure. And maybe to anyone else, it wouldn’t be anything worth noting. But Charlie has known Nick long enough to know that Nick always dresses with intention. At work, it’s slacks and button-ups, colorful socks peeking out from polished shoes. Even outside of work, it’s always something put together, something planned, something carefully selected. But right now? Right now, Nick looks like he just rolled out of bed and walked out the door without thinking about it.
That’s what makes Charlie’s stomach twist uncomfortably. That’s what makes his heart stutter.
Because what does it mean?
Nick looks like someone who has spent days carrying something heavy, something suffocating, something that has weighed on him so much that he simply stopped caring about the little things.
Charlie knows the feeling all too well.
And then, there’s the coffee cup.
Nick is holding it carefully, like it’s something fragile, something precious. And Charlie’s name is scrawled across the side, a little heart drawn beside it in what looks like black Sharpie. Something about it makes Charlie’s throat tighten, makes his fingers twitch at his sides.
He wants to smile.
He really, really does.
But seeing Nick like this hurts.
Because Nick looks comfortable, even with the tension in his shoulders, even with the nervous set of his mouth. He looks like someone who is trying, like someone who wants to be here.
And Charlie?
Charlie doesn’t know if he can handle that.
Because their last conversation had been anything but comfortable. Their last conversation had been a mess. A storm. A disaster. And yet here Nick is, standing on his doorstep, offering coffee and something close to a real smile.
How?
Why?
How can Nick still look at him like that, when all Charlie has done for the past few days is replay every single thing that went wrong? When all he’s done is wonder if this was a mistake, if letting Nick in at all was a mistake, if trusting him was a mistake, if—
“Hi,” Nick says, voice small, careful, like he’s stepping onto a tightrope.
Charlie swallows thickly, his fingers tightening around the edge of the door.
“…Hi.”
It comes out almost like a question, like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to say it. His gaze drops again, taking Nick in once more, his mind whispering Nick, Nick, Nick in a quiet, desperate melody.
He doesn’t know what to do.
Doesn’t know what to say.
Doesn’t know if he should invite Nick inside or close the door and lock it.
Because Nick is here. And Charlie has missed him. And Charlie doesn’t know if he can afford to miss him.
But for now, he just stands there.
For now, he just watches.
And for now, he just lets the name play in his head, over and over and over again.
Nick. Nick. Nick.
Charlie keeps his arms crossed over his chest, not out of defiance, but out of the sheer need to hold himself together. His entire body feels taut, like a string pulled so tight it's ready to snap. Nick stands a few steps away on his front porch, shifting awkwardly on his feet, clutching a to-go cup like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality. His hair is slightly mussed, his eyes tired, red-rimmed.
Charlie should care. He should feel something other than this raw exhaustion, this deep, hollow ache in his chest. But right now, all he feels is the cold weight of what’s been broken.
Nick finally breaks the silence, his voice hesitant, shaky. “Sorry, I, um— I would have texted, but I figured you wouldn’t have read it anyway, and—” He swallows hard. “I just wanted to see you. I, um— I brought you some chai tea. If, um— if you want it. If not, that’s okay, but I just thought—” He stops, inhaling sharply. “I thought I could give you this.”
Charlie exhales slowly, his fingers tightening where they’re tucked beneath his arms. He doesn’t even look at the chai tea. “Nick,” he says, voice flat, tired, “pleasantries aren’t going to make me instantly forgive what happened.”
Nick nods quickly, his grip on the cup tightening like he’s trying to keep himself steady. “Oh, no. I—I know that,” he stammers. “I just— I’m getting help. I, uh— I have a therapist now. His name’s Justin.” He laughs a little, but there’s no humor in it. Just nerves. Just guilt. “And, um— well, I know I’ve said a lot of bad things. Done a lot of bad things. To you. To Remy.” He swallows again, eyes flickering downward. “And it’s been weighing on me. I know it’s only been a few days, but I just—” He sighs. “I thought I could come see you. And if nothing else, just apologize.” He hesitates before holding out the cup. “So… here’s some chai tea. And maybe we can talk?”
Charlie wants to laugh. He wants to cry. He wants to scream. He wants to tell Nick that an apology and a cup of fucking tea aren’t enough to erase what’s happened.
But instead, he just shakes his head. “If we’re talking, we’re talking outside,” he says firmly. “I’m sorry, but I’m not inviting you in. I don’t want you near Remy.”
Nick visibly flinches, like he expected that but still hoped for a different answer. “Oh,” he says, nodding. “Yeah. No, that’s— that’s fine. I get that.” He shifts uncomfortably, then sighs. “But… he is my student, Charlie. I’m going to have to see him eventually. How’s that going to work?”
Charlie clenches his jaw, exhaling through his nose. He knew this conversation was coming, but that doesn’t make it any easier. It doesn’t make it hurt any less.
He lifts his chin slightly, trying to stay steady. “Nick,” he says, voice softer now, but no less firm, “I pulled Remy out of your class.”
Nick freezes, his face going slack with shock. “What?”
Charlie nods once. “I did it today.”
Nick shakes his head quickly, like he can’t process the words. “Wait—when? I— I haven’t been at work the last few days, but— what?” He takes a step closer, desperation creeping into his voice. “Does Remy know that? Does he even want that?”
Charlie stiffens. “It doesn’t matter what Remy wants,” he says, each word slow and deliberate. “What Remy needs is safety. And right now, he is not safe with you.”
Nick’s face twists, hurt flashing through his eyes before something sharper settles there. He scoffs, clapping his hands together once. “Oh, he’s not safe with me,” he echoes bitterly. “But he’s still safe being at a school where your ex-husband works? Your abusive ex, by the way.”
Charlie sucks in a breath, but forces himself to stay calm. He won’t let Nick’s words rile him up. “You can say whatever you want, Nick,” he says evenly. “But at the end of the day, I was able to protect Remy from Ben. I wasn’t able to protect him from you.”
Nick opens his mouth, but Charlie doesn’t let him speak.
“Remy did not get hit by Ben,” Charlie continues, voice tightening with emotion. “Remy has never been hit by Ben.” He takes a step forward, his arms still crossed, his eyes burning. “I was the one that was hit by Ben, Nick. Not my son.” He lets the words sink in, lets Nick absorb the weight of them. “You’re the one who hit my son.”
Nick’s face pales, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. He looks down, breathing shakily, fingers curling into a fist before loosening again.
“So yes,” Charlie finishes, voice firm, unwavering. “I pulled him out of your class. He has a new teacher starting next week. And if Ben is still at that school in three months, then yeah, I’ll finally pull Remy out of that school entirely.”
Nick doesn’t respond right away. He just stands there, shoulders drawn tight, his grip on the chai tea loosening as his fingers tremble.
Charlie exhales, his chest aching, his mind exhausted. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want any of this.
But Remy comes first.
Remy will always come first.
Charlie takes a deep breath, his hands gripping the edge of the doorframe as he looks at Nick standing on his front porch. The tension is thick between them, unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. Inside, Remy’s laughter still rings faintly from his bedroom, a stark contrast to the weight of the conversation about to unfold.
Charlie swallows, his throat dry, and glances back toward the hallway before carefully closing the front door behind him. Whatever they say next, Remy doesn’t need to hear it.
“If we’re going to have this conversation, we’re going to have it out here, with the door closed,” Charlie says softly, stepping onto the porch and folding his arms tightly across his chest. “I don’t want him hearing anything we have to say.”
Nick exhales, nodding slowly. His fingers twitch at his sides like he wants to reach out, to touch Charlie, to ground himself in something steady, but he doesn’t. He just waits, watching, waiting for Charlie to speak first.
Charlie takes another breath, forces himself to meet Nick’s gaze. He sees the exhaustion there, the regret, the pain, but he also sees hope—hope that this conversation might end differently than the worst-case scenarios playing out in both their minds.
“I’m sorry, Nick,” Charlie starts, voice quiet but firm. “I’m sorry if we’ve confused you. But at the end of the day, he’s my son.” He lets that sink in, watching Nick’s face carefully. “And as much as we both feel safe with you, as much as I know that you’d never intentionally hurt him… I have to do what I think is right for him.”
Nick nods stiffly, his jaw tightening as he looks down at the ground. “And right now, that means taking him out of my class.”
Charlie exhales, rubbing his temples. “I don’t know what I’m meant to do here, Nick. I don’t know what the right answer is. But I do know that right now, he’s upset. He’s confused. He’s scared. And all he knows in his little mind is that the person he sees as a father—his Papa—hurt him.” Charlie’s voice wavers slightly, and he grips his arms tighter, as if holding himself together. “And he doesn’t understand why.”
Nick’s breath stutters, and he drags a hand through his hair, frustration, guilt, and sorrow written all over his face. “Charlie, you have to know—I would never try to hurt him on purpose. Never. I—” He shakes his head, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know what happened, I don’t know why I snapped like that, but I wasn’t thinking. I—I guess I have that same thing that David has. That my father has. When we get angry, we lash out. And I fucking hate it, Charlie, I hate that I did that. But I promise you, I swear on everything, I never meant to hurt him.”
Charlie closes his eyes for a moment, breathing through the ache in his chest before looking at Nick again. “I know that,” he says. “I know you’d never mean to hurt him. But Nick… it doesn’t matter whether you wanted to or not. He still got hurt.”
Nick flinches, like the words are a physical blow. Charlie hates saying them. Hates it with every fiber of his being. But he has to.
Charlie swallows, his voice quieter now, but no less firm. “After so many years of trying to protect him, trying to make sure no one could ever make him feel unsafe… I’m sorry, Nick, but I can’t be okay with my first boyfriend after the divorce being someone who hurt my son.” His voice cracks slightly at the end, and he shakes his head as if trying to hold himself together. “I just can’t.”
Nick’s shoulders sag, his entire body seeming to deflate with the weight of the words. “I get it,” he murmurs, looking away. “I do. But Charlie… if I get better—if I work on this, if I figure out how to never let this happen again—would he… would he transfer back into my class? Or is that it? Is it over?”
Charlie hesitates, his heart aching at the question. “I don’t know, Nick,” he admits. “I really don’t. Honestly, I kind of want to pull him out of the school entirely.” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “But at the same time, he’s just starting to make friends. Or at least, I think he is. And I don’t want to take that away from him, I don’t want to uproot his entire world because of this.”
Nick nods, his lips pressed into a thin line. He doesn’t push. Doesn’t argue. He just listens.
“At least if I just change his teacher, he still has the same kids to sit with at lunch. He still knows some of the kids at recess.” Charlie sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. “But if I transfer him to a different school entirely, it’ll be starting from scratch. And I don’t want that for him. I’m sure you don’t want that either.”
Nick lets out a quiet, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Of course not.”
Charlie looks down, his fingers digging into his sleeves. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know if he’s going to be your student again. I don’t know if… if this changes everything.”
Nick’s breath hitches slightly, and he nods, swallowing hard. “It all depends on us,” he says quietly.
Charlie nods. “Yeah.”
Silence stretches between them. Heavy. Unbearable.
Charlie looks at him, eyes serious, but not unkind. “I don’t want him to hear anything that we have to say.”
Nick swallows hard and nods. “Okay.”
Charlie takes another breath and looks away. “Then let’s talk.”
Charlie takes a deep breath, staring down at his hands, at the way his fingers twist together, gripping at the fabric of his hoodie. He doesn’t want to say this. Doesn’t want to open his chest and lay his heart bare, but it’s been sitting inside him, festering, gnawing at his ribs, making it impossible to sleep, to eat, to breathe.
So he swallows hard, meets Nick’s gaze, and finally speaks.
“How,” he starts, his voice trembling, “how am I supposed to know that you’re different from him, Nick?”
Nick’s brows knit together, confusion flickering across his face, but Charlie doesn’t stop. If he stops now, he won’t get the words out.
“I care about you, Nick,” Charlie continues, his voice quiet but steady. “I do. And I think you’re a good person, but you’ve said some really hurtful things. You lashed out at me in a way that—" He swallows, heart pounding. “In a way that reminded me so much of Ben.”
Nick stiffens, his mouth opening as if to protest, but Charlie shakes his head, cutting him off before he can speak.
“When Ben lashed out, I knew what would come next,” he says, voice thick with old pain. “I could read him, understand him. I knew the patterns. I knew what words would lead to what kind of hurt. I knew how to brace myself, how to expect it. But with you, Nick, it was—" He lets out a shaky breath. “It was new. It was unexpected. It was so unlike you.”
Nick looks like he’s about to break, his expression shattered, but Charlie isn’t finished.
“I felt scared,” Charlie admits, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Not because I thought you would hit me, not like that. But because I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t know where it would go. You were yelling, and I—I didn't even understand why at first. It was just a conversation, and then suddenly, it was an argument, and then suddenly, you were blaming me. Pointing the finger at me like I was the bad guy. And Nick, my whole life, I have been trying to fix being wrong.”
Nick shakes his head, his eyes wide, desperate. “Charlie, I would never—"
“I didn’t know that,” Charlie whispers. “I didn’t know that.”
Nick exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, but Charlie pushes forward, his voice rising just slightly, more raw now.
“Nick, you have to understand, I was in a relationship for years where anger meant pain. Where yelling meant I’d flinch and wait for whatever came next. And when you raised your voice at me, I—I didn't know what was coming. I panicked. I felt small. I felt—" He chokes out a breath, his throat tight. “I felt like I was right back in that house. Right back in that marriage. I was scared, Nick.”
Nick looks wrecked, his mouth parted, his hands gripping at his knees like he’s holding himself back from reaching out.
Charlie swipes at his face, trying to keep himself together, but he’s already unraveling.
“You told me there was something wrong with me, that I'm not well,” he says, his voice breaking now. “And maybe I already believed that. Maybe I’ve always believed that. But you—” He shakes his head. “You made it feel real. You made it sound like every bad thing in your life was because of me. Like I was the reason for your pain, like I was the reason for every shitty thing that’s ever happened to you.”
Nick’s face twists in horror, his own eyes glassy now. “Charlie, I—"
“You said awful things, Nick,” Charlie says, his voice so soft now, so small. “Things that have been stuck in my head since then. Things that won’t go away. Things that make it hard to sleep. Hard to eat. Hard to exist.”
He exhales shakily, wrapping his arms around himself, suddenly feeling cold, feeling tired.
“I don’t know what to do with that,” he admits. “I don’t know how to fix it.”
Silence stretches between them, heavy and thick. Nick’s breath is uneven, his hands clenched into fists. Charlie doesn’t know if he’s expecting an apology or if he even wants one. He just needed to say it. Needed Nick to hear it.
Charlie watches as Nick deflates, his entire body sagging with something that looks like regret, like exhaustion, like he's spent too much time fighting himself and finally—finally—he’s caving.
"Charlie," Nick exhales, rubbing a hand over his face before dropping it to his side. "What I said… it wasn’t true."
Charlie stays quiet, watching, waiting.
"I won’t lie to you and say I didn’t mean it in the moment," Nick continues, his voice softer now, edged with something raw. "Because I did. I said it with intent. I wanted it to hurt."
Charlie flinches, because yeah, it did. But he doesn’t interrupt.
Nick swallows hard, shaking his head like he hates himself for admitting it. "But that doesn’t mean I meant the words themselves. You aren't to blame for the title Remy gave me. You aren’t the reason I hate my job. That’s on me. I’m a mess right now, and I don’t know how to fix myself. Justin’s been trying to help me navigate it, but I—" He stops, exhaling harshly, then looks up at Charlie with something desperate in his eyes. "Charlie, you are single-handedly the best thing that has ever happened to me."
Charlie stares at him, heart pounding in his chest, anger and hurt still swirling inside him, tangled together. "Then why hurt me?" His voice cracks, but he doesn’t care. "Why say those things? Why push me away?"
Nick lets out a breath that sounds so, so tired. "Because I’m close to you. Because I care about you. And sometimes," he swallows, his gaze flickering away for a second before meeting Charlie’s again, "sometimes we hurt the people closest to us… because we know they matter. Because we know they could actually break us."
Charlie exhales shakily, his arms tightening around himself. Because that? That he understands. Too well.
Charlie exhales slowly, steadying himself before speaking. His voice is quiet but firm, careful but resolute.
"Nick… I can’t forgive you for that. Not yet." He swallows, gripping his own arms as if bracing himself. "You said things that really hurt me. And even if you didn’t mean them, even if you were just trying to push me away, that doesn’t make it okay. That doesn’t erase the weight of your words." He glances at Nick, searching for something—remorse, understanding, anything. "It doesn’t undo the damage."
Nick nods, eyes cast downward, his jaw tight. “I know,” he says softly. “I know it doesn’t make it right. And I don’t expect you to forgive me just because I regret it. But, Charlie… my life is way better because I met you.”
Charlie stiffens, caught off guard by the sincerity in Nick’s voice.
“For so long, I let my ghosts dictate my life. I let them shape me, keep me inside this… this box built by fear and expectations. People look at me and decide who I am before I even get the chance to tell them. And for years, I let that define me.” Nick exhales sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. "But you—God, Charlie, you showed me that I don’t have to be trapped by that. That I don’t have to be what people assume I am, that I don’t have to fit into their mold.”
Charlie stays silent, watching Nick carefully.
Nick lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “And I hope you know that I care about you. I really, really do. What I did, what I said—it wasn’t about you, Charlie. It was about me. My own flaws. My own fears.” He swallows hard, his voice thick with something raw. “Because the last time I had something good… it died.”
Charlie's breath catches.
Nick shakes his head, voice barely above a whisper. "And I was so scared that you’d leave too. That I'd lose you. And I handled that fear in the worst way possible.”
Charlie’s voice is steady, but there’s an undeniable edge to it, sharp and raw. “You did it in the worst way possible,” he says, eyes locked on Nick’s. “And now you’re here, expecting me to just—what? Forgive you? Move past it like it didn’t hurt? Like you didn’t use me?” He shakes his head, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “Whether you’re sorry or not… I don’t know if that’s enough.”
Nick exhales, running a hand through his hair, his expression open, vulnerable. “No, I know. I know my apology alone isn’t enough. It never could be. But I needed to say it. Because it’s been eating away at me, Charlie. And if—if you give me the chance, if you even think there’s a world where we can try again, I want to make it right.”
His voice wavers slightly, but he presses on. “I want to treat you the way you deserve. I want to protect you, hold you, fall asleep beside you every single night and wake up knowing you’re safe, knowing you’re happy. Because you should be, Charlie. You deserve happiness. You deserve everything you’ve ever dreamed of, and I want to be the one to give it to you.”
He takes a breath, hesitant but hopeful. “And Remy… I know I hurt him too. I want to apologize to him, to earn his trust again, to show him I love him. That I would never hurt him on purpose. I know it’ll take time—I know it’s not something that can be fixed overnight. But if you let me… if you even think you could let me… I want to try.” His voice softens, barely above a whisper. “Because you and Remy, you’re my home. And I don’t want to lose that again.”
Charlie really looks at Nick now. Looks at the way he shifts from foot to foot, nervous and uncertain. The way his brows pinch together in a deep frown despite the hopeful light in his wanderer’s eyes. The way his hands clench at his sides, like he's holding himself back, waiting—pleading—for something, anything from Charlie.
Charlie sighs, rubbing at his temple. “Nick, I’m just... I’m really overwhelmed right now. You’ve been gone, and we haven’t talked, and in just a few days, everything has changed.” He swallows hard, pushing through the weight of his thoughts. “I went to the police. I filed a report against Ben to get him out of my life for good. I’m waiting to hear back about a court date, and that alone is... It’s a lot. A lot to process, a lot to prepare for. And then trying to rebuild something with you on top of all that? It just feels like too much all at once.”
Nick nods, slow and understanding, though his expression falters for a brief moment. “I get it,” he says softly. “I’m proud of you, Charlie. You deserve to be free of him.” His lips press into a thin line, his voice just above a whisper. “And if that means being free of me too, then... I understand.”
Charlie’s chest tightens. “I don’t want to be away from you, Nick. But don’t you think it might be for the best? At least right now?” His voice wavers, betraying the certainty he wishes he had. “With court coming up, do you really want to be caught up in this mess? To be dragged into all of it while we try to figure things out between us? I don’t know how it’s going to go. If it goes badly… how are you going to handle me if I fall apart? And if you have another breakdown, am I going to be strong enough to help you through it? I don’t know if either of us can carry that weight right now.”
Nick doesn’t hesitate. “Charlie, I respect whatever decision you make. If you decide this isn’t something you want, I’ll accept that. But I don’t ever want you to think you’re a burden.” He exhales, eyes never leaving Charlie’s. “If you want me by your side, then that’s where I’ll be. Loud and proud, cheering you on every step of the way. And if you’d rather I step back, then I’ll still be there—just in the background, in the sidelines, always rooting for you. Whatever you need, that’s what I’ll do. Because that’s what you deserve.”
Charlie takes a shaky breath, his heart hammering in his chest. “I just want to be happy, Nick. I want Ben gone, for good. I want Remy to smile and never know what real pain is. I want to love my job without fear hanging over me. And I want a relationship with someone who supports me. Who accepts me.” He swallows hard, voice dipping to a whisper. “And that was you.”
Nick’s breath catches. “Was?”
Charlie hesitates, but then, something shifts inside him. A flicker of courage, of hope. He lifts his chin, meeting Nick’s gaze with quiet certainty. “Could be. Is.”
Nick blinks, as if trying to process the words, and then a slow, tentative smile tugs at his lips. “Yeah?”
Charlie exhales, nodding. “Yeah.”
A beat of silence. A moment stretched between them, fragile but full of something real.
And then Charlie says, “Because I’d like to try.”
And Nick, without hesitation, whispers back, “Me too.”
Charlie takes a deep breath, steadying himself before speaking. “But if we’re going to try—if we’re really going to give this a shot—then you need to understand a few things.”
Nick nods, waiting.
“I’m still going to need space,” Charlie continues. “I can’t just pretend everything is fine. I need time, and Remy needs time. So for now, you won’t be coming over. And Remy won’t be in your class, at least not yet. I need to be sure—really sure—that you’re serious about getting help. And I think I need that time too. I mean, I go to therapy, you know that, but I think taking things slower this time would be good for both of us. We rushed into things before—what we had started with a drunken night at a bar and a hookup. This time, we need to build it differently. If it ever gets to be too much, we can always step back.”
Nick swallows. “So… that means there’s still a chance? That there’s still something here?”
Charlie exhales, glancing away for a second before meeting Nick’s gaze again. “I don’t know what we would call it. I don’t know if ‘boyfriend’ is still the right word for what we are. But I do know that no matter what, my son comes first. And if he decides he doesn’t want you in his life, if he’s still scared of you, then I have to respect that. I have to listen to him.”
Nick nods immediately, his voice quiet but firm. “I wouldn’t want it any other way. You should listen to him.”
Charlie hesitates, then sighs. “I hope you know that I don’t necessarily forgive you yet. But… I hear your apology.”
Nick lets out a small, shaky breath, nodding again. “That’s all I can ask for.”
Charlie glances down at the chai tea sitting between them, his lips quirking up slightly. “The chai tea helps a little.”
Nick huffs a small laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “I figured it might. I wasn’t trying to bribe you or anything, but… I don’t know, it felt right. It’s kind of how we started, you know? At that café.”
Charlie smiles faintly, remembering. “Yeah.”
A comfortable, quiet moment settles between them before Charlie glances toward the front door, “I should probably check on Remy. He’s been finger painting, and the last thing I need is to walk in and find a rainbow masterpiece on my walls.”
Nick chuckles, standing. “Yeah, I should probably head out anyway. I need to pick up some cleaning supplies. My place is starting to look like a disaster zone.”
Charlie nods, “Alright. I guess I’ll see you around.”
Nick hesitates at the threshold, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. “You won’t be seeing me at drop-off anymore, will you?” His voice is careful, guarded. “I mean, since Remy isn’t in my class anymore…”
Charlie studies him for a second before exhaling softly. “How about this—I’ll talk to Remy. See if he still wants you as his teacher. And if he does, I’ll try to reverse the transfer. Make it like he never left your class in the first place.”
Nick’s eyes widen slightly, the surprise giving way to something softer, something hopeful. “If Remy still feels comfortable with me—if he still wants me as his teacher—I’d really like that. I care about him a lot.”
Charlie nods, his voice quieter now. “I know.”
Nick shifts slightly, hesitating for a moment before asking, “Can I hug you?”
Charlie exhales, tension lingering in his shoulders, but he nods. “Yeah.”
The second Nick’s arms are around him, Charlie feels it—the comfort, the warmth, the way his body instinctively relaxes despite everything. It’s familiar now, the way Nick always tucks his head into the crook of Charlie’s shoulder, fitting there like he belongs, even though he’s taller. Nick finds home in him, and somehow, Charlie finds home in Nick too.
There’s still tension between them, unspoken words hovering in the air. The wounds of their argument are still fresh, and the things Nick said still sting, raw and unsettled in Charlie’s chest. But there’s something different about this. About Nick.
Because Nick is here. He’s showing up. He’s apologizing.
And Ben—Ben never did that.
Ben’s words were meant to wound. His actions were sharp, cruel, meant to break. When Ben lashed out, it was calculated. It was purposeful. Nick’s anger, his sharp words, they reminded Charlie too much of the past—but standing here now, held in Nick’s arms, he knows it’s not the same. Nick regrets it. He feels it. He’s here, asking for forgiveness, not demanding it.
Charlie isn’t ready to give it. Not yet. He knows it’ll take time, that the hurt won’t vanish overnight, but Nick’s hands are soft where Ben’s were hard. His presence is warm, steady, where Ben’s was suffocating and cold. And even as the ache lingers, even as Charlie holds onto his hurt, he knows one thing for certain.
Nick is not Ben. Nick will never be Ben.
And maybe, one day soon, he’ll be able to forgive him completely.
Because, really, how could he ever say goodbye to someone he cares for this much?