Page 94 of Hunter

“It is. But the good kind.” He looks at me for a moment, studying me the way only someone who’s dragged you out of burning buildings can. “You look good today, Hunter. Clearer. How’s the head doing?”

I turn the mug in my hands. “Still loud sometimes. But quieter the last couple of weeks. Therapy’s helping. AA too. My sponsor’s a hard ass, but he calls me every night. Keeps me honest.”

Ramirez nods slowly, approval in his eyes. “Proud of you, man. Real proud. We were all worried for a while.”

It feels weird to have him tell me he’s proud that I stopped drinking and I’m taking care of myself, so I shrug. “One day at a time, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, leaning back in the booth. “One day at a time. But you’re doing it. That’s more than a lot of us can say when shit gets heavy.”

We sit in comfortable silence for a minute, the clatter of plates and low morning chatter filling the diner. It feels good—normal in a way I haven’t had in a long time. Ramirez has always been solid, the kind of guy who shows up without making a big deal about it.

Eventually, he grins again, changing the subject. “So… this dinner tonight with the artist kid. You nervous?”

“Terrified,” I admit with a short laugh. “I haven’t seen him since the gallery opening. I don’t want to fuck it up again. I’m just… trying to show him I’m different now. That I’m actually trying.”

He studies me for a second, then nods slowly, the kind of nod that says he gets it without needing all the details.

“That’s good, man. Real good. Sounds like you’re going in with the right mindset this time.” He takes a sip of his coffee, then grins a little. “Just remember—don’t overthink it. Show up as you are now. The rest will figure itself out.”

I let out a breath. “Yeah. That’s the plan.”

We finish our coffee and talk about lighter things: station gossip, how the new rookies are terrified of Captain, how Ramirez’s wife is making him drink kale smoothies now. It feels easy. Comfortable. Like I’m slowly getting pieces of my old life back, only better. Cleaner.

When we step outside, the early morning light is soft and golden. He claps me on the shoulder, firm and brotherly.

“Text me after dinner. I want to know how it goes. And Hunter—you’ve got this. I mean it.”

“Thanks, man. Really.”

He heads toward the firehouse, and I start walking the other way, hands in my pockets, the cool fall air clearing my head. Leaves crunch under my boots with every step.

Tonight I get to see Charlie.

Not as the broken, desperate version of me who showed up drunk at his door. Not as the guy who pinned him down and triggered him.

Just… me. The version that’s been showing up to therapy, to meetings, to life.

I’m nervous as hell.

I pull out my phone and check the time. Still hours until seven.

I smile to myself and keep walking. Nothing can bring me down today.

Chapter 38

Charlie

“You look fine, better than fine. You’re hot,” Lucy says from my couch, while absently petting Sofia.

“But like, not trying too hard hot?” I ask, still staring at my reflection.

She snorts. “I’m sure you could wear a paper bag and Hunter would think you’re hot.”

I nibble on my lower lip, turning slightly to check my ass in the jeans. They’re tight but not obscene, and the crop top rides up just enough to show the slight divots in my lower back when I move. I’m not usually insecure about how I look, but tonight feels different. It feels like a first date.

Not that I’m calling it that. He just said dinner to talk… not a date.

I run my hands through my curls one more time, making sure they fall the right kind of messy, then turn to face Lucy.