Chapter 38
Nick thought life would return to normal after the court case.
Remy was safe. Charlie had full custody again, and Ben—thank God—was finally facing real consequences, possibly even jail time, for the years of abuse he had inflicted. That should have been the end of it. The beginning of something new, something better. He and Charlie should be celebrating, drinking wine, leaning into each other in the way they had started to before everything unraveled. They should be laughing, finally able to breathe, maybe even rekindling whatever it was they had been building before Ben forced his way back into their lives.
But nothing is ever that simple.
Instead, Nick feels stuck in a strange limbo—hovering between wanting to reach out and knowing he probably shouldn’t. He and Charlie haven’t really talked. Not beyond the few strained conversations where Nick passed along the video footage, the secret recording that ultimately sealed Ben’s fate in court. A few words exchanged, nothing more. And after the verdict was read, after Ben was led away and his attorney scrambled to save face, Charlie had simply gathered Remy in his arms and walked out of the courtroom with Tori and Michael, leaving Nick standing there, watching them disappear.
Not a glance back. Not a thank you. Not even a nod of acknowledgment.
And maybe that’s fair. Maybe that’s what he deserves.
Remy still isn’t in his class, and Nick knows that’s for the best, at least for now. He hasn’t been able to apologize, to explain, to fix things between them. He doesn’t know if he ever will. He doesn’t even know if he has the right to. He doesn’t know if he deserves to have any kind of place in Remy’s life—or Charlie’s.
But he had thought—hoped—that when it was all over, things would go back to the way they were. That they would find their way back to each other.
Instead, he’s standing in the courtroom, stomach twisting as he watches Ben’s attorney talk to him, likely trying to negotiate, to weasel him out of a harsher sentence. And Nick can’t stop thinking:
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
But nothing is ever that easy, is it?
Maybe love should be easy. Maybe it should be simple, effortless—something that just happens, like breathing. But for Nick, it never has been. And maybe, maybe he should just let this go, should guard his heart, should convince himself that this isn’t worth the risk.
But how can he?
Because for the first time in his life, he is truly, utterly in love. And he hasn’t even told Charlie that yet.
Nick thinks, in some part of his mind, that he’s always known he was bisexual. Even as a kid, before he had the words for it, before he fully understood what it meant, there was always this quiet, lingering awareness. A pull. But it seemed like his dad saw the signs too—because every time Nick showed even the smallest hint of softness, his father would push him toward something more traditionally masculine. Football. Fishing. Learning how to change the oil in a car at ten years old. Camping trips in the freezing cold. Things that he should have enjoyed. Things that, maybe, a part of him did.
But they were never his choices.
The first time he really remembers looking at a boy and thinking, oh, he’s cute, was when he was a sophomore in high school. There was a guy on his football team, Evan, who had freckles scattered across his back and a laugh that lit up every conversation. Nick remembers watching him talk to his friends, watching the way his whole face changed when he smiled. And there was a flutter in his chest. A moment of realization.
But he shoved it down. Ignored it. Let it sit at the back of his mind, buried beneath football drills and his father’s expectations.
The first time he knew—knew in a way that was undeniable, that lived in his bones—was when he kissed Grant. And Grant, well. Grant was good. At times. When they were together, when things were easy, it was really good. But when they were apart, it was really bad. And eventually, those two things started bleeding together—until even when they were together, it felt wrong. Off. Like something was missing.
Nick liked Grant. He could have learned to love Grant, maybe. But he doesn’t think Grant ever truly loved him. Not the way he wanted to be loved.
Not the way he loves Charlie.
Because this—what he feels for Charlie—is nothing like what he’s felt before. It’s deeper. It’s real. It’s terrifying and overwhelming and consuming, but it’s also warm and safe and steady in a way he’s never known. In a way that settles into his bones and makes him sure.
So no. Maybe love isn’t easy.
But Charlie is worth it.
So, Nick squares his shoulders, forces himself to take a steady breath, and walks out of the courtroom. His hands are in his pockets, fingers curled tight, but his face stays neutral, calm. Resigned.
When his eyes meet Charlie’s, something in his chest tightens—because there’s still love there, still something unspoken, something unfinished. But Nick? Nick knows when to step back. Knows when to let go, even if it hurts.
So instead of going to him, instead of trying to fix something that maybe isn’t ready to be fixed, he lifts a hand, gives Charlie a small wave—one that’s more of a promise than a goodbye. Then he turns and keeps walking.
Because if Charlie wants space, he’s going to get it.
Nick loves him enough to let him go. Or at least to give him space. Give him time. Time to breathe, to heal, to untangle himself from everything Ben has put him through. Time to remember that love isn’t a chain, it’s a choice. And right now, Charlie needs to make that choice for himself.
So Nick doesn’t fight it.
Instead, he slips into his car, exhales long and slow, and lets his head fall back against the seat. His heart aches in that deep, quiet way that means this won’t be easy, but he won’t make it harder than it has to be.
After a beat, he pulls out his phone and dials the one number that has always, always answered.
His mom picks up on the second ring.
“Nick, sweetheart,” she says, warmth threading through her voice. “What’s wrong?”
He lets out a breath, a little shaky but still steady, and closes his eyes.
“Nothing,” he lies, or maybe it’s not a lie at all. Maybe it’s just… a different kind of truth. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”
Nick exhales slowly, gripping his phone a little tighter as he hears the familiar warmth of his mother’s voice on the other end.
"Well, Nicky, you're not usually one to call me out of the blue like this. Are you sure you're okay?" she asks, her voice gentle, laced with that ever-present concern only a mother could carry.
He swallows. He shouldn't have called. He should've just kept it bottled up, the way he's always done, the way he thought he had to. But instead, he's here, feeling like he’s drowning.
"I'm... yeah. I'm okay, Mom," he lies, and God, it sounds so fake, even to his own ears. He clears his throat, tries again. "I just... I miss you. And I feel like everything is moving too fast, and I can’t keep up. Work has been stressful, and... I don't know, I just haven't talked to you in so long."
There's a pause on the other end before she says, softer now, "Oh, sweetheart. What do you mean? What’s going on with work? I thought it was going well."
Nick exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "It... it is. It has been. But..." He hesitates, licking his lips before forcing himself to say it. "I met someone. A guy. And I think—I think we’re on a break now. And it’s—God, it’s just making everything so much harder. Work, myself—just everything feels like it’s slipping out of my hands, and I don’t know how to stop it."
His mother is quiet for a moment. Not the bad kind of quiet, not the judging kind, but the kind that means she’s listening, really listening.
"Oh, sweetheart," she murmurs, and there’s so much love in her voice, it nearly breaks him. "I know you've texted me about some of this, but why haven’t you called me sooner? Or visited? You know you can always call me, right?"
Nick squeezes his eyes shut. "I know, Mom, I do. I just..." He hesitates, voice cracking slightly as he exhales, "I didn’t want to worry you."
"Nick," she says firmly, but not unkindly, "I am always going to worry about you. You’re my son. That’s just part of the job."
"Yeah, but..." His throat feels tight. "I didn’t want you to think it was bad again. Like it was after Otis."
A heavy silence stretches between them.
Then, her voice, small and careful. "Is it that bad again?"
Nick opens his mouth, but nothing comes out at first. He rubs his palm over his face, shaking his head as if she can see him. "I... I don’t know. I don’t want it to be, but..." He swallows hard. "I feel so fucking angry all the time. Sad and angry and lost, and I don’t know how to stop it. I keep pushing people away. I let the anger speak first before I even try to talk. And there’s this... this itch, like if I could just make everything stop, maybe it’d feel better. But I know it wouldn’t, not really."
His mother inhales sharply, and for a second, he hates himself for putting this weight on her. For making her hear this again, after all these years, after everything.
"Nick," she says, steady, gentle, but with an edge of worry she can’t quite hide. "Oh, sweetheart, you don’t have to do this alone. You know that, right?"
Nick breathes shakily, blinking back the sting behind his eyes. He nods, even though she can’t see him.
"Yeah," he whispers. "I know."
Nick grips his phone tighter, trying to steady his breath, but it’s useless. His voice is already breaking. He shouldn’t have called. He doesn’t even know why he did—just that, for the first time in a long time, he needed his mom. And Sarah, ever perceptive, picks up on it immediately.
“Nick, sweetie,” she says, gentle but firm, “you gotta tell me something, okay?”
Nick swallows hard, blinking up at the ceiling. “Yeah? Okay, Mom.”
There’s a brief pause, the kind that makes his stomach twist before she continues. “Are you safe right now? Are you in a place where you feel like you might want to hurt yourself?”
“No,” Nick says quickly, a little too quickly. “No, I—Mom, I’m not—I’m not like that. I’ve never... I’ve never actually—”
“I know that, sweetheart,” Sarah says softly, but there’s something in her tone that makes Nick feel like she’s reaching through the phone, like she’s trying to see him even though she can’t. “I do. But after Otis, you were... showing some signs. And I just—I need to make sure you’re okay. It’s not like you to call me out of the blue like this.”
Nick lets out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. “I just... I wanted to talk to my mom,” he admits, voice cracking. “I thought maybe you’d have some advice or something.”
“Okay, sweetheart.” There’s another pause, then: “What advice do you need?”
And that’s when it happens.
Nick tries—God, he tries—to keep it together, but the words come out in a messy, desperate rush, his voice thick with unshed tears. “I just—I really love Charlie. I love him so much. And I love his son, Remy, too. But I feel like I’m doing it all wrong, like I don’t know how to do it right. And I—” His breath stutters, his chest tight, everything tight. “I love my job, I do, but what if this isn’t what I want to do for the rest of my life? And if it is what I want, why do I feel so... so trapped sometimes? Like I can’t breathe? Like I’m stuck, and I don’t know why, and I don’t know how to fix it? I don’t know if it’s this town, or my house, or if it’s just me—but it feels like everything’s been weighing on me, and I can’t figure out why.”
The tears finally spill over, hot and relentless. His voice is barely a whisper now, but it still feels like a scream in his chest.
“I just... I really love Charlie. And I don’t want to have to let him go.”
“It’s just a break, right?” she says, her tone comforting, like she’s trying to assure him, trying to make it sound like it’s not the end of the world. “You know, sometimes breaks are good for people.”
Nick exhales, shaking his head even though she can’t see him. His fingers drum restlessly against the wheel. “Yeah,” he mutters, “but that’s what you and Dad said, too. You and Dad said it was just a break, and then four months later, you guys were filing for divorce. And I haven’t seen him in how many years?”
There’s silence for a moment on the other end of the line, just the soft crackle of static, before she sighs. “Well… that’s because… I don’t know if me and your father were ever really in love. Not in the way that lasts. We shared moments that were full of love, and I’ll always be grateful for that, because it gave me you and David, but Nick… my relationship with your father was different than this. Than what you have with Charlie.”
Nick swallows hard, his throat tight. He tilts his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes. “But what if it’s not? What if this is just some fleeting thing, and I’m too blind to see it?” His voice is raw, weighed down by something thick and aching. “It feels right, Mom. Charlie feels like the one. And I know that sounds crazy because it’s only been a few months, but I just—” He stops, dragging a shaky hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to let him go.”
There’s another pause, his mother’s silence carrying the weight of understanding.
“I feel like I’m a terrible boyfriend,” he admits, voice small, hoarse. “So maybe giving him space is the right decision. Maybe I should let him go. But what if… what if he just needs time, and I don’t give him that? What if in the end, we’re meant to be, and I just walk away?”
His mother hums softly, and he hears her shifting, like she’s settling into a chair, like she’s bracing herself to say something important.
“Nick,” she says, and it’s so soft, so full of love. “If you love him, you’ll know what to do.”
Nick lets out a shaky breath, his chest constricting. “I do,” he whispers. “I really, really do. I haven’t even told him yet, but… I love him. And he’s been through so much, Mom. His ex-husband is—he’s not a good man. He’s hurt Charlie in ways I can’t even begin to understand, and I just—I want to do right by him. I want to be right for him.”
There’s a long pause, then his mother sighs, something gentle but knowing in her voice. “Then be there, Nick. Even if he needs space. Even if it’s hard. Be there in the way he needs.”
Nick nods, even though she can’t see him, even though his chest still feels like it’s being crushed under the weight of uncertainty. But her words settle something inside him, just enough.
Be there in the way he needs.
“I hope I don’t lose him,” he murmurs.
His mother’s voice is warm, steady. “I don’t think you will.”
He exhales shakily. “Can I—uh, can I maybe come over?” His voice wavers, and he hates it. “I—I mean, I can just go home if that’s easier. If that’s better. I know you’re probably busy, and I don’t want to—” He stops himself, running a hand through his hair. “I just... I miss you. And I really want a hug right now.”
There’s a pause, just for a second, and then, without hesitation, she says, “Of course, sweetheart. My home is always open to you. You know that.”
Nick squeezes his eyes shut, relief washing over him. “I know,” he murmurs. “I do. I just... I feel like I’m taking up too much space lately. Like maybe people don’t want me around as much as I want to be around them.” He laughs, but it’s hollow, bitter. “I don’t know."
His mom hums softly. “I miss you too,” she says, gentle but firm. “Why don’t you stay the night? We can talk about all of this in the morning if you’re up for it. And maybe, if you’re feeling ready, you can tell me about this Charlie boy.”
And that—God, that sounds really good.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, okay. I’ll see you in about an hour.”
“Okay, sweetheart. Be safe.”
“I will,” he promises.
When Nick arrives at his mother’s house, it’s like stepping into a memory, like walking straight into the past where everything was warm and safe and familiar. It feels like home in a way nothing else ever truly has—not his dorms in college, not his first apartment after graduation, not even the flat he has now. Those places have walls and roofs, places to sleep and eat, but they don’t feel like this. They don’t feel like home.
And if he thinks about that for too long, it’s kind of heartbreaking.
He barely has time to fumble for his keys before the door swings open, and then suddenly, he’s breaking. Just shattering into pieces as he falls into his mother’s arms, sobbing before he can even get a word out.
She holds him like she always has, like he’s still her little boy, her hands finding his hair, cradling the back of his head as she presses kisses to his forehead and cheek. She rocks him, murmuring soft reassurances, whispering that she’s here, that she’s got him, that he’s okay.
The sobs come without warning, raw and unrelenting, shaking his entire body as he clings to his mother like he’s five years old again, scraped knees and trembling lips, seeking comfort only she could give. She holds him, cradles him, one hand smoothing over his hair, the other rubbing slow, steady circles into his back. And it only makes the tears fall harder.
“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, voice barely a whisper, but desperate, broken. “I know—I know I’ve been a bad son. I know I haven’t been calling, that I’ve been avoiding you, and I don’t—I don’t know why, I just—” His breath hitches, and he presses his face into her shoulder, shaking his head as more tears spill over. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Something’s wrong, Mom. I can feel it, but I don’t know how to fix it.”
She doesn’t shush him, doesn’t tell him he’s fine or that everything is okay when it’s so clearly not. She just holds him tighter, letting him fall apart in her arms, grounding him with her presence, the way she always has.
She softens, stepping forward, her voice gentle but firm. “Why don’t we come inside, yeah? Just a little closer. Let me shut the door, and we can sit on the couch, okay?”
Nick hesitates, shifting his weight like he wants to run, like the door being open is his only escape route. “But... I just—” His voice breaks, raw and unsteady. “I hate you seeing me like this.”
His mother exhales, reaching for his hand, squeezing lightly. “Nick,” she murmurs, her eyes full of nothing but warmth, “I’ve seen you in every stage of your life. Every high, every low. This isn’t any different. You’re my son. You’re my baby. And I love you, no matter what.”
Nick’s throat tightens, his defenses wavering, and when she tugs gently, guiding him inside, he doesn’t resist.
His mother gently guides him to the couch, her touch soft but firm, and he sinks into the cushions without protest. The moment he sits, his hands instinctively find one of the throw pillows, pulling it into his chest like a lifeline. He hugs it close, pressing his chin against the fabric, before his gaze drifts downward to the small, snoring lump curled up beside him.
Henry.
His old pug, graying around the muzzle now, his breathing a little slower, a little more labored. He’s not as spry as he used to be, his energy fading with the years, but he’s still here. Still steady. Still Henry. And as Nick reaches down to scratch gently behind his ear, Henry lets out a wheezy little grunt, shifting closer as if he can sense the storm raging in Nick’s chest.
Nick’s fingers curl in the soft fur, grounding himself.
His mother lingers nearby, watching him with that same quiet concern she always has when she knows something is wrong but is waiting for him to speak first. She doesn’t push. Instead, after a moment, she asks, “Do you want some tea? Or coffee? Something warm?”
Nick shakes his head, swallowing. “No,” he murmurs, voice thick, still petting Henry absently. “I already have a hard time sleeping as it is.” He lets out a humorless chuckle. “Probably not great.”
His mother doesn’t argue, doesn’t lecture. She just nods, a soft hum in the back of her throat, before settling beside him, letting the silence stretch, letting him breathe.
Henry shifts again, pressing against Nick’s leg with a quiet sigh, and Nick presses his palm to the tiny rise and fall of his pug’s chest, focusing on the rhythm.
Steady. Solid. Here.
His mom sighs, giving him that familiar, knowing look that only a mother can. “Nick, do you want to take me to the truth today, love? You say you’re struggling with sleep, you’re calling me at odd hours just to chat. And I know you’re saying it’s because of this break with Charlie, but… is there more to it?” She pauses, studying him carefully. “You seem distant. Closed off. Like you’re carrying something too heavy to hold alone. And honestly, it’s worrying me a bit, sweetheart.”
Nick swallows hard, looking down at his hands. He knows she’s right. Of course, she’s right. She always is.
“I’m… I’m doing better, Mom,” he says, forcing a small, tight-lipped smile. “Really, I am. I’m talking to someone now, and I know that’s a step in the right direction. But I guess… I guess it’s been a lot. Trying to work through everything. To relive everything, just so I can finally move on.” He lets out a breath, shaking his head. “It’s just… a lot.”
His mom tilts her head slightly, her expression warm with curiosity. “Oh? You’re seeing someone?”
Nick nods, exhaling softly. “Yeah… his name’s Justin. He’s—he’s pretty cool, actually. Doesn’t push me to talk, which is nice. I mean, if you’re going to be a therapist, that’s probably a good trait to have, but it’s more than that. He actually gets me, you know? And that’s rare. I’ve only met him twice now, but somehow… I don’t know. It feels different.”
He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck, before letting out a short, dry laugh. “It’s been good to talk to someone outside of my usual circle—someone who wasn’t there for everything that happened. Someone who didn’t see me right after I lost Otis. I think that helps. Talking without the weight of history attached to it.”
His fingers tap idly against his thigh, a nervous habit, a grounding mechanism. “But it’s also hard. Really fucking hard. Opening up like that. Saying things out loud that I’ve buried so deep I almost forgot they were there. And I guess, between that and everything I said to Charlie…” He swallows thickly. “I don’t know. I’ve just been struggling a bit.”
His mom watches him, her gaze soft with understanding, and for once, Nick doesn’t feel the urge to deflect. Doesn’t feel the need to pretend. He just lets the words hang there, lets himself be seen.
Nick’s mom looks at him with that familiar mix of love and concern, the kind that makes his chest ache, because she’s always been able to see straight through him.
"Nick," she says gently, "I know you’ve been carrying a lot for a very long time. Ever since Otis..." She trails off for a moment, watching him carefully. "It’s been years, and I know losing him changed you. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it. And I understand why. But you’ve never really talked to anyone about it, not really. Not me, not anyone. You’ve kept it all locked up inside, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to tell me everything—I would never ask that of you. But, sweetheart, you don’t have to keep carrying it alone."
Nick swallows hard, looking down at his hands. She reaches for him, squeezing gently.
"And I think it’s good that you’re finally letting some of that weight go, even just a little bit," she continues, her voice warm but firm. "Letting yourself feel again. Letting yourself live again. And I’m glad you have Charlie." She pauses, watching him carefully. "From what little you’ve told me, it sounds like you really care about him. And I have no doubt he cares just as much about you. I know things are complicated right now—you’re both on a difficult road. But love isn’t always easy. It’s messy, and painful sometimes, but it’s worth it."
Nick lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. His mother squeezes his hand again, smiling softly.
Nick sighs, running a hand through his hair, his voice quieter than he intends. “I just... I really do love him. I love Charlie, and Remy too, and I want to give them everything. But I—I need to work on myself first. I need to figure out how to be better before I can give them the love they actually deserve.”
His mother watches him for a moment, her expression soft with understanding. “Nick,” she says, her voice steady, unwavering, “if there’s one thing I know for certain, it’s that you have the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met. You have a heart that loves so deeply, so freely, and I am so incredibly proud of the man you’ve become because of it.”
She squeezes his hand. “But sometimes, because of that big heart, you try to protect it. You close yourself off, afraid of what might happen if you let people in. Afraid of losing them. Afraid of the hurt that comes with love. And I get that, sweetheart, I do. But I need you to understand something.”
Nick swallows, his throat tight.
“What happened with Otis,” his mother continues, her voice impossibly kind, impossibly gentle, “was not your fault. It never was. And letting go of that pain—moving forward, allowing yourself to be happy again—it doesn’t mean you love him any less. It doesn’t mean you’re forgetting him.”
Her hand tightens over his. “You deserve happiness, Nicholas. You deserve love, and to be loved in return. And I know it’s scary. I know opening your heart again after loss feels impossible sometimes. But love isn’t something you have to earn or prove yourself worthy of. It’s something you already have in you. Something you already give so freely.”
She smiles, her eyes warm with something that feels like certainty. “Charlie and Remy don’t need you to be perfect, sweetheart. They just need you to be there. And you? You deserve that, too."
Nick exhales shakily, rubbing at his face before looking up at his mother with tired, grateful eyes. “Thank you, Mom. I… I really needed to hear that.” His voice wavers, thick with exhaustion and something rawer, something more vulnerable. “And I promise, I’ll visit more. I’ll call more. I know I haven’t been great about that, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so distant.”
“I know, sweetheart. Life happens, but I’m always here.” Then she nods toward the stairs, her touch lingering, warm and steady. “Why don’t you go up to your old room? Get some rest. Maybe take a nap. When you wake up, I’ll make dinner, and if you want… you could call Charlie. See how he’s doing.”
Nick swallows, a small, tired smile curling at the corner of his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, I think that’d be good.”
His mom gives his hand one last reassuring squeeze. “I love you, Nick.”
Nick breathes in, steadies himself, and squeezes back. “I love you too, Mom.”
Nick is going to be okay.
He has to be okay.
Love is messy. Love is complicated. Love is everything, all at once—joy and fear, warmth and ache, the best and worst emotions tangled together in a knot that refuses to be unraveled. Love can be cruel, controlling, suffocating. It can make a person feel trapped, lost, like they’re drowning in something they thought would keep them safe.
But love can also be something else. Something softer. Something tender and sincere, something beautiful.
And with Charlie, it is beautiful.
With Charlie, love is warmth on a cold morning, quiet laughter in the dim light of the kitchen, the weight of another body tucked against his in sleep. Love is Remy’s sleepy voice whispering Papa, love is the way Charlie reaches for him without realizing it, love is the way they fit. Even in the mess. Even in the chaos.
So he’s going to be okay.
He’s going to be okay because he has to be. Because he wants to be. Because Charlie and Remy deserve that from him, deserve someone who is steady, who can be relied on, who won’t flinch away when things get difficult.
He’s going to grow. He’s going to learn.
He’s going to be better—for himself, for the memory of the friend he lost, for the little boy who looks at him with wide, trusting eyes, for the man who has somehow, against all odds, given him the kind of love that feels good.
And he’s going to be even better to Charlie.