He brushes a hand down her back. “Had to make sure you and your mom were okay.”
She yawns, patting his shirt. “We’re okay.”
“I know.” His voice cracks. Almost imperceptibly. “Still needed to see it.”
I press my fingers to my mouth, swallowing the ache building behind my eyes. Junie suddenly perks up, squirming out of his arm just enough to reach for something on the coffee table. She grabs a folded piece of construction paper covered in pink and purple crayon streaks.
“Look,” she says proudly. “I made this for you.”
His brows lift. He takes it carefully, opening it like it’s fragile. And then he freezes. It’s the same drawing she showed me yesterday—stick figures with unruly hair and scribbled smiles. Three people. Saxon on one side, holding Junie’s hand. Me on the other side. And above us, a house with a crooked chimney puffing scribbled smoke. His shoulders go rigid. His jaw works once. A tiny muscle jumps at the corner of his eye.
“You drew this?” he asks, voice barely a whisper.
Junie nods, suddenly shy. “It’s you. And Mommy. And me.”
He swallows hard. I can see it—his throat moving, a tremor running down his spine. Junie leans closer, poking the drawing. “That’s our house. And that’s you holdin’ my hand.”
Silence stretches. Charged. Heavy. Beautiful. Then she asks it. The question. The one that knocks the air out of my lungs even before she finishes it.
“Are you gonna be my daddy now?”
Saxon’s breath punches out of him. Not softly. Like a rib just cracked. Like someone ripped the ground from beneath him. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. His eyes shine—barely noticeable but unmistakable.
Junie cuddles deeper into his chest. “I want you to.”
He closes his eyes. Just for a second. Not to hide. To survive. When he opens them again, they’re wet. He cups the back of her tiny head, pressing his lips to her hair.
“Yeah, baby girl,” he whispers, voice breaking. “I’d be honored.”
Junie smiles into his shirt, a soft content little hum vibrating against him. She snuggles deeper in his lap, curling her legs to the side. Saxon holds her like he’s holding something sacred. Something he never thought he’d touch again. My hand flies to my mouth. Tears slide down my cheeks before I can stop them. He lifts his gaze—and sees me. He doesn’t drop it. Doesn’t hide the emotion. Doesn’t try to pull back into captain mode.
He just looks at me. And everything he’s feeling is right there, raw and open and real.
I step toward him—slow, careful, like approaching a wild animal I don’t want to spook.
His eyes track every move as I stop beside the couch. Junie’s already half-asleep again, tucked under his chin. I brush a curl from her face, fingers trembling. When I straighten, Saxon looks up at me again—and this time his expression hits with enough force to steal the air from my lungs. It says everything. Everything he didn’t say last night. Everything we both pretended wasn’t real. Everything that could break us or save us.
I sit beside him.
His thigh presses against mine—solid, warm, grounding. A simple touch, but my whole body lights like he flipped a switch inside me.
“You okay?” I whisper.
He scoffs softly. “Not even close.”
His voice shakes. Just barely.
I swallow. “She meant that. Every word.”
He looks down at Junie again, brushing his thumb across her cheek with impossible gentleness. “Yeah. I know.”
“She’s never asked anyone that,” I say quietly. “Not even her… not even him.”
I don’t sayfather.It doesn’t fit. Saxon’s jaw tightens, anger flickering in his eyes at the mention of my ex. But he softens again as soon as he looks back at Junie.
“She deserves someone who shows up,” he murmurs. “Every day.”
“She thinks that’s you.”
