Damon doesn’t push for more. He doesn’t ask the question I can feel lingering in the air.
Are they mine?
The image is seared there: Ella, clutching her stuffed unicorn, chatting with him as if she’d known him her whole life. Damon hadn’t hesitated. His large, calloused hand had cradled her back with surprising gentleness, and he’d listened to her chatter with a patience that felt too natural, tooright.
Watching them together, something inside me cracked open. A glimpse of what might have been. The kind of father he could have been. Should have been. Strong, steady, protective, but warm, too, in a way Jason never could be.
And Ella had seen it, hadn’t she? She’d felt safe with him in a way I hadn’t expected. I can’t take it anymore.
“I’ll bring you some coffee,” I say and hurry into the kitchen and lean against the counter, trying to calm myself. He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know.
I start getting the coffee ready, putting the grounded beans into the coffee maker. I’ve lost track of the number of times Idrink coffee in a day. Caffeine fuels me, it keeps me awake and alert to make sure I don’t miss anything.
When I turn around, Damon is there, leaning against the doorframe. His broad shoulders seem too big for the narrow space, his tattoos peeking from under his rolled-up sleeves like secrets begging to be told. He’s watching me, his gaze steady and unyielding, like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle with too many missing pieces.
I turn back to the counter, focusing on the small task of scooping coffee into the filter. Something, anything, to keep my hands busy.
“Mia,” Damon says, his voice low, cutting through the quiet. He doesn’t move closer, but he doesn’t have to. His presence is enough to fill the space, to make it impossible to ignore him.
I swallow hard, my hands shaking as I pour water into the coffee maker. “I think I’ve told you everything you needed to know. Do you want to scope out the house?”
He doesn’t answer right away. When he speaks again, his tone is softer but no less insistent. “You don’t have to handle this alone anymore.”
The words hit me harder than they should. My throat tightens as the coffee begins to drip.
I turn to face him, my hands gripping the edge of the counter. “It’s not that simple,” I say.
Damon takes a step closer, just one, but it’s enough to make my pulse quicken. “Then explain it to me.”
The words tumble out before I can stop them. “Jason wasn’t always like this. Or maybe he was, and I was just too blind to see it. He seemed so stable, dependable. When I found out I was pregnant, I was terrified, and he was there. He promised to take care of me and the baby. I thought he meant it.”
I look down at my hands, my knuckles white against the counter. The words come faster now, like a dam breaking. I didn’t tell him everything… back when we were together.
“At first, everything seemed fine. He was supportive, protective even. But then... little things started to change. He became controlling. Dismissive. Then angry. By the time I realized how dangerous he was, the twins were already born.”
I pause, the memory cutting through me like a knife. “He told everyone on base they were his. He acted like they were his property. LikeIwas his property.”
Damon’s jaw hardens, his hands curling into fists at his sides. I know what he’s thinking. He was on that base with us, but he never saw the signs. But I don’t blame him in any way. I was too good at doing what I did—hiding my bruises under long-sleeved tees, putting on too much makeup, flashing bright smiles that hid the pain. Nobody ever tried to look past that.
“Jason has this way of making you feel like you have no options,” I say. “Like he’ll destroy anyone who stands in his way.”
“I wish you had told me,” Damon says. “I wish I had known.”
“What would you have done differently?” I ask.
He looks up at me. “I would have killed the bastard.”
My heart skips a beat. Would he have, really? I don’t know. He and Jason used to be friends, or at least a semblance of it, when they were still on active duty.
“You should have told me, Mia,” he says.
I let out a shaky breath. “I told you, nothing about Jason is simple. The one time I tried to leave, he found out. I don’t even know how, but he did. And the consequences...” I stop, swallowing hard. “I couldn’t risk it. Not again.”
The room feels too small, too warm. I move to the sink, gripping the edge as I try to steady myself.
“I’m not him,” he says, his voice quiet but firm. “Whatever he did before, whoever he hurt—he’s not going to do it again. Not while I’m here. And I’m not making the same mistakes.”
His words should comfort me, but they don’t. Not entirely. Because Damon doesn’t understand. Jason isn’t just a man. He’s a shadow, a storm that never really passes.
