Page 38 of Free

Angela swats his arm. “Let her breathe, Garrett. She’s allowed to have coffee with a friend.”

I flash her a grateful smile. “Exactly. Friends. That’s all it was. But it was… nice.” My voice softens as the word escapes, and I feel the weight of their eyes on me. “It felt good to spend time with him again. It reminded me of how easy things used to be between us.”

Garrett crosses his arms, the scowl deepening. “You’ve been through a lot, Charlie. So has he. It’s okay to be cautious.”

“Cautious?” I scoff, throwing my hands in the air. “It was coffee, Garrett. Not a proposal.”

“It’s not about coffee,” he says with a long sigh. “It’s about everything else. The history. The emotions. The way you lit up when you walked in here just now.” He pauses, his eyes searching mine. “The two of you deserve good things, Charlie. But rushing into something when you’re both still picking up the pieces? That’s a recipe for more heartache.”

I tilt my head, staring at him for a moment. “You sound like you’re worried about him too.”

Garrett doesn’t deny it. “Nick’s a good guy. He’s been through hell, and he’s trying to find his way back. I don’t want to see either of you hurt. You could be great for each other, and I’m rooting for that, I really am, but...”

“But what, Garrett?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“When way-too-soon meets way-too-broken, the odds of a happily-ever-after don’t seem great. You guys might need to be free from your pasts before you can have a future.”

Angela shifts Elise onto her lap, her voice gentle as she looks at me. “He’s just saying to take your time. It sounds like today was really good, and that’s wonderful. Just… let it be what it is for now.”

I sigh, stroking Fluff’s back as he curls up beside me. “I hear you. I do. But can we not overanalyze this? It’s one good day. Let me have that without turning it into something bigger than it is.”

Garrett’s gaze softens slightly, and he nods. “Fair enough.”

“Thank you.” I stand, pressing a kiss to his temple. “You’re a good brother, Gare Bear. Overbearing, but good.”

He groans at the nickname, and Angela giggles, bouncing Elise on her knee. “She’s got you pegged.”

The tension in the room breaks, replaced by the easy rhythm of family life. Orange hops down from the couch to investigate Elise’s squeals, while Fluff stretches lazily, as if declaring the matter resolved. I move to the kitchen, drawn by the savory aroma of garlic wafting from the stove.

Dinner chatter flows easily, punctuated by laughter and the occasional squeal from the baby. But as I sit there, the glow of the day still warming me, I can’t help but replay the moments with Nick in my head. The way he smiled at me over his coffee cup. The way his hand lingered against mine, just a fraction too long. The way my heart felt lighter, like it hadn’t in years.

I let myself savor it. One good day. No overanalyzing. Just this.

For now, that’s enough.

TWENTY

Nick

I crack open an eye, blinking against the early morning light filtering through the blinds. On the plus side, I didn’t wake up sweating and screaming, shocked awake by a nightmare like I usually do.

On the not-so-plus side, my body feels like it’s been run over by a truck.

Twice.

In opposite directions.

I groan as I shift in bed, wincing when a sharp pain shoots up my inner thigh. Instinctively, I grab for the aching muscle, only to discover a twinge in my shoulder—deep in some tendon I didn’t even know existed. My abs, my arms, hell, even the bottoms of my feet feel like they’re staging a protest. I’ve been through enough grueling military training to make most people cry, but yoga? Yoga somehow found a way to hurt me in ways the Marines never could.

“What fresh hell is this?” I mutter to the ceiling, shifting ever so slightly in search of comfort.

My body responds with a charley horse that starts in my big toe and snakes its way up to my groin, bending me like a pretzel against my will. I arch my back, sucking air through my teeth, cursing under my breath. “Oh, this is just great. Fantastic. Thanks, yoga. Really appreciate it.”

I shuffle into the kitchen, one groaning step at a time, every movement reminding me of new muscles I didn’t know I had. My joints crackle like bubble wrap. Sunshine trots over, her nails clicking against the tile, head tilted as she stares at me like she’s trying to decide what the heck is wrong with me this morning.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I mutter, waving her off. “Just dying a little.”

She tilts her head the other way and lets out a soft whine, pressing her cold nose against my leg. It’s equal parts comforting and judgmental, which feels right for this moment. Sunshine’s seen me in bad shape before—physically, emotionally, the whole nine yards—but I must be setting a new bar for ridiculous this morning.

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