DEE
Colt doesn’t leave my side all night.
Even when I go to the bathroom, he follows like a damn bodyguard. It’s sweet, and okay, maybe a little suffocating. But I let him. Because I know he’s trying to make up for everything. And because, deep down, I need the reassurance anyway.
I can tell the day’s events hit him hard—seeing Caleb again, connecting with him, realizing just how fragile his son’s future is. But there’s this light in him that I haven’t seen in a while. He’s not diving headfirst into fatherhood, demanding Caleb call him Dad, or making grand gestures. He’s just quietly present. Observing, absorbing, and getting to know his son.
And I hate that it’s breaking me.
Because I want to be happy for him.
And I am.
But then I’m mad.
Not at Colt. Not even at Caleb.
Just, frustratingly mad.
Mad that this came out of nowhere.
Mad that I’ll never know what it feels like to look into a child’s eyes and see myself in them.
Mad that Colt gets this one thing we both wanted, but not with me.
Then, of course, I get angry at myself for being mad.
It’s a loop I can’t escape.
I don’t want to dump it all on Colt. He doesn’t deserve to be dragged down with me. But my head’s a battlefield, and my heart feels like it’s being pulled in a dozen directions.
Eventually, we make it to bed. I’ve thawed out from our hot bath enough to feel like I’m not made of ice anymore. I climb into bed in my thickest pajamas while Princess curls up at my feet. Colt strolls out of the ensuite in his boxers, like it’s not freezing and we don’t live in a perpetually damp, old English house.
He slides into bed beside me and lies on his side, facing me. “I haven’t asked you something,” he starts, his voice low. “And I should have.”
I blink over at him, suddenly tense. “Asked me what?”
His knuckles brush my cheek, soft and slow. “How do you feel about me being tested for the transplant?”
Ah.
He’s observing me, like he expects me to lash out. Maybe even forbid him. But I’d never do that.
“He’s your son,” I say quietly. “And he needs help. Of course, you’re going to try to help him. I just… I worry, Colt. If you’re not a match, I know what that’ll do to you. And if you are? Surgery’s a risk. You going under…” I pause, making sure the words are right. “God, I don’t even want to think about it.”
His jaw tics. “That means a lot to hear you say that. I didn’t want to assume I had your support.”
I let out a bitter little laugh. “It’s not about support. It’s about what I’m terrified of losing.”
He sighs, shifting a little closer. “I get it. I do. But I’ve stared death in the face more times than I can count, Dee. A transplant? That’s not gonna be the thing that takes me out.”
I roll my eyes. “Says the man who thinks he’s invincible.”
He smirks, but it fades quickly. “I’m not invincible. But I’m not going down easy either. Not when I have you.”
My throat tightens.
I nod and reach out, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Just promise me you won’t try to be the hero at the cost of yourself.”
