This is all my fault.
Kai always wanted a father. He'd dream of a blurry silver-eyed man. He'd ask me, "When's Daddy coming home?" He'd secretly draw on Father's Day—a tall man holding his hand, labeled "For My Superhero Dad."
Even his bloodline surges... when they first started, Amy told me a father's guidance was best. But I was stubborn, scared. To avoid Kayden, I insisted on medication. I made Kai suffer...
I bit my lip until the cut reopened, blood blooming metallic in my mouth.
I told myself I was protecting Kai. But really? I was weak. Running. Too afraid to face the past. Too afraid to love Kayden again—
But what about Kai? What did he need? He needed a father.
The doorknob turned.
I shot to my feet.
The door opened. Kayden stepped out. His face was pale, forehead sheened with sweat, shirt soaked through and clinging to the ridges of muscle beneath. But he was smiling. Tired, but his eyes shone.
"How is he?" I rushed over. "Is Kai—"
"Asleep," Kayden said. "Peaceful. The guidance went well. He's just exhausted now."
The wire inside me finally snapped. My rigid spine collapsed. Kayden caught me, pulled me into his arms. That embrace was warm and solid, smelling of salt-sweat and his cedar scent.
"Um, I just remembered I might not have locked the car..." Anna looked at us, mumbled some excuse, yawned, stood up, practically fled.
"It's over," Kayden murmured in my ear, hand patting my back. "Layla, it's over."
All the pent-up terror found its outlet. I sobbed into his chest, shoulders shaking violently, breath ragged.
Kayden didn't speak. Just held me, that hand rhythmically patting my back, over and over, soothing a broken child.
"It's over." He kept repeating, like a spell. "He's fine. He's safe."
Eventually, I calmed. Pulled back from his arms, roughly wiping my face with the back of my hand.
"Sorry. I just... lost it."
"No," Kayden said, pulling tissues from his pocket and handing them over. "You were just worried about Kai."
I took the tissues, cleaned up my tears and snot.
Must look like hell. But I was past caring about appearances.
"Thank you." My voice still hoarse, scorched. "Thank you, Kayden."
"He's my son." When Kayden said those words, something I'd never seen before lit his eyes—tenderness, joy, something close to pride.
My son. He was savoring those words.
"Can I see him?" I asked, voice still nasally from crying.
"Of course." Kayden stepped aside. "Dr. Amy said he needs quiet rest. Just don't wake him."
I pushed the door open softly.
A small nightlight glowed in the room, washing the bed in warm yellow.
Kai lay there, color much better than before—no longer that terrifying pallor, but with a hint of healthy flush. He slept deeply, small hand curled into a fist by his cheek, the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
