A figure steps into my periphery. Damon.
I glance up at him, and for once, he looks unsure of himself. His hands are shoved into his pockets, his usual confidence replaced by something else. Something softer.
“How are they?” he asks, nodding toward the twins.
“They’re okay.” I brush my fingers over Emma’s damp curls, then Ella’s tiny hand. “We all are.”
Damon exhales, shifting his weight like he’s trying to find the right words. Finally, he just says it. “I’m sorry.”
I tilt my head. “For?”
He sighs, running a hand over his jaw. “For how I acted before. For pushing you away when I should’ve just... been there.”
I study him, seeing the exhaustion in his face, the lines of worry that have deepened over the past few days. “You were scared.”
His gaze flicks to the girls, who are now wrapped in a blanket together, murmuring to each other in that secret twin language of theirs. For once, Damon doesn’t try to deny it.
“Yeah,” he admits, voice rough. “I was.”
“It’s good.”
“They did good today,” he says, looking at the twins.
“Asher’s ridiculous lessons paid off,” I say.
Damon continues to look at them, something unreadable in his eyes. And then, something shifts. The weight lifts from his shoulders, and in its place, something else settles.
Pride.
I see it in the way a smile sneaks up his face.
Emma shifts, her blanket slipping from her shoulder. Damon moves on instinct, tucking it back around her. And just like that, the last bit of distance between them vanishes.
Ella watches him carefully, then whispers, “Are you gonna stay?”
Damon freezes.
I hold my breath.
His hand settles on the top of her head, fingers threading gently through her curls. “Yeah, baby,” he says, his voice quieter now. “I’m staying. I’ll always be there for you.”
The police station is colder than I expected. Or maybe it’s just me, still coming down from the adrenaline. The girls are asleep in the next room, tucked onto a bench with blankets a kind officer found for them. Damon sits beside me, his broad shoulders squared as he speaks to the detective taking our statements.
“…And that’s when we found her in the clearing with Jason,” he finishes. His voice is steady, but I know him well enough now to hear the undercurrent of anger beneath it.
The detective nods, scribbling something onto his notepad. “Yeah, this guy has a list of warrants the length of his arm. I don’t know who’ll get him first—state or federal—but he’s going to prison for a long time.”
I exhale, tension leaving my body in increments. Jason is finally out of my life. Out of my girls’ lives.
The door opens, and Asher and Zane step inside.
Zane takes a quick survey of the room before his gaze lands on me. I see it in his face—his own way of checking, assessing, making sure I’m okay. His eyes linger on the bruises forming on my wrist from Jason’s grip, and his jaw clenches.
Asher, on the other hand, walks straight to me, crouching in front of my chair. “How are the girls?”
“Asleep,” I say, my voice softer now.
“They did really good today,” Asher says.
