I stood, joints protesting. “I’ll warm the bottle.”
“I’ve got it.”
“Violet.” I caught her arm gently. She stopped. “I’ve got it.”
She hesitated, then nodded. Transferred Hazel to me.
Our hands brushed. That same electric awareness.
Neither of us moved.
Hazel fussed, and the moment passed.
I took my daughter to the kitchen, cradling her against my chest while Violet prepared the bottle. We worked in silence, settling into the easy rhythm we’d developed.
When the bottle was ready, I tested it on my wrist. Perfect temperature. Look at me, learning.
I settled on the sofa. Hazel latched on immediately. Violet curled up on the opposite end, book in hand, but I didn’t think she was reading. Her eyes hadn’t moved in five minutes.
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
She looked up. “For what?”
“The distraction. I needed it.”
Something softened in her expression. “You’re welcome.”
Hazel’s eyes drifted shut, milk-drunk and peaceful.
And for just a moment, sitting in this too-beige suite with my daughter in my arms and Violet Carter six feet away pretending to read, I felt something I hadn’t felt in weeks.
Not trapped.
Not restless.
Just... settled.
Which should have been comforting.
Instead, it scared the hell out of me.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
GRIFFIN
“You’re late.” Liam stood by his bike, arms crossed, looking far too awake for this ungodly hour.
I rolled my eyes, adjusting the strap on my helmet. “By two minutes.”
“Two minutes is the difference between pole and P20.”
“This isn’t qualifying, it’s a training ride.”
Liam grinned, already swinging onto his bike. “Everything’s qualifying with you.”
He wasn’t wrong. I’d spent my life treating every interaction like a race. Something to win, to dominate, to control.
Except lately, I couldn’t seem to control anything. Not my life, not my career, and definitely not whatever was happening between Violet and me.
