I drank my decaf while nursing Savannah, the quiet between us easy, like we’d already settled into something we weren’t quite ready to name. We agreed that until we knew whatthiswas, no one else needed to be involved.Not yet.Not anyone but Savannah—and Paul, if he happened to be awake when Deacon left the building and saw him.
Our focus was clear: my move to Nalani’s and securing my job, and his healing from a concussion he got for defending his friends from a man who wants to use my little girl against me. No promises. No plans. Just that lingering kiss at the door that felt like anythingbutgoodbye. The final confirmation came when he bent over Savannah and said, “See you soon, little one.”
I’d already showered with him in that tiny bathroom after round three, so there was no reason to rush to get to the arena to meet with the Bears about my contract. The clock read just after seven. Two hours before I had to leave.
I decided to check on Paul. Today’s move, even if temporary, was bound to hit him harder than he’d admit.
I packed Savannah’s diaper bag—bottles, wipes, spare onesie, her favorite rattle that somehow sounded like a dying bird—and swaddled her against me before heading downstairs.
At Paul’s door, I knocked softly, not wanting to startle him.
“Come in!” he called, voice rough but not unfriendly.
I opened the door to find him sitting at his kitchen table, a mug of coffee beside him. Spread out before him were old photo albums—black pages curling at the edges, a life’s worth of memories captured in glossy squares.
He glanced up, then back down at a photo he was holding, his thumb brushing over the corner like it was made of glass. “These are from when Patsy and I bought this place,” he said quietly. “Feels like another lifetime.”
I stepped closer, Savannah stirring against my chest, and saw the picture—Paul and his wife posed at the front of the freshly painted deep red door, young and beaming.
He looked up again, smiling faintly. “You know, Claudia, this old house keeps more stories than people realize. I’d never forget a moment, but I sure am glad my wife loved to take pictures.” He traces the side of her face. “She was beautiful here, but each day she grew even more so.” He looks up at me and shakes his head. “No tears, sweetheart. I was the luckiest man alive because she loved me.” He rubs his hand on Savannah’s little back. “You and your mom will have that too.”
A tear slips from where I held them at bay as he looks down at his photo books. “I don’t need these to remember any of that.”
I look around his place and see his things in boxes, some we packed, but now there are more.
“You packed more?”
I had told him I’d do the rest after my meeting at the arena.
“Little bit.”
“Well, let’s get some more done before I need to head out, and then when I get back, it’s?—”
“Moving day,” he smirks and rolls his eyes.
By the timeI reached the arena, the city had shaken off its dawn haze and settled into a rhythm of noise and motion that is so uniquely New York. There’s a pulse here, one that hums beneath the pavement, climbs up the walls of the brownstones and skyscrapers, and breathes through the horns, sirens, and snippets of conversation that blend into the city’s constant heartbeat.
It’s a long way from Houston.
For months, I thought Houston would be my forever place. It had that easy kind of warmth, the kind that seeps into your skin and makes you forget what cold ever felt like. The people smiled at strangers. The skies stretched wide. The pace was gentle enough to trick you into thinking peace was permanent. After years of bouncing through foster homes that smelled like other people’s laundry detergent, I wanted that. Predictable. Safe. Quiet.
New York is nothing like that. It’s messy and merciless and alive. It doesn’t coddle you—it dares you to exist. It’s a place where I considered but knew I would have to fight for my place, and I had done that my whole damn life. But since I boarded that plane in Hawaii, I haven’t fought a thing. I’ve had to open my heart to people who didn’t owe me a damn thing. And somehow, instead of breaking me, it feels a lot like the opposite.
Paul, with his quiet compassion and habit of fixing things that aren’t broken. Nalani, who makes a home feel like a heartbeat. Deacon, who is the kind of protective I never thought I would want, so I never looked for it, I became it.
Noelle, and her sweetness, Sofie with her fire, Koa claiming us as family, and Dash, the younger brother who is so fullof charm and personality that you can’t help but want to be around him. Even the city itself feels like a found family—loud, imperfect, impossible to ignore.
Still, I can’t stop the instinct to brace for loss. To build walls before anyone can leave. It’s the curse I’ve been trying to outrun since I found my mother on the kitchen floor. That night, the world shifted, and I learned that love can vanish without warning. Every move since then—every smile, every goodbye—has carried the echo of that truth.
I can’t let Savannah grow up with that. She deserves to believe in permanence, to trust that people stay, to know that love doesn’t always end in a closed door. So, I fight the reflex to pull back. I breathe through the ache. I try to believe that maybe this time, the good isn’t temporary.
A gust of wind snapped me out of the thought as I reached the staff entrance, my reflection caught in the glass—tired eyes, coffee in one hand, diaper bag slung over the other. I smiled faintly.
I smile for a girl who used to think she’d never have a home; I’ve somehow managed to find one in the middle of a city that never stops moving.
A tall man in a navy jacket—security, judging by the earpiece—checked my name on a clipboard and directed me toward the sign for tour groups in the main concourse.
“Ms. Holloway?” a woman calls, stepping forward with a bright, efficient smile. “I’m Dana. I’ll be showing you around.”
