“Hey, baby,” I say, scooping her up. “Best damn hider ever.”
She nods against my neck, and her voice is a whisper. “I heard him.”
“I know.” My throat closes; I push past it. “You did perfect.”
“Was Kate scared?” she asks into my shoulder.
“For a minute,” Oakley answers from the bottom of the stairs, honesty soft and fierce. “But then I remembered the game.”
Aubrey leans back to look at me. “You scared?”
“Only until I got here,” I tell her, because I don’t lie to her and because it’s true.
She considers that with the solemnity only kids have. “Okay,” she says finally, and tucks her head under my chin with a little sigh that shoves something broken inside me closer to right. “Bubba?”
“Yeah, little bit?”
“Can you call and check on my mom? I don’t want to talk to her, but I don’t want him to hurt her either,” she whispers, and I think the sound of her plea may be more heartbreaking than anything else I’ve heard today.
We pile onto the couch together as I promise to call her mom’s center once we’ve had a few hours of sleep—Aubrey sprawled half on me, half on Oakley, our own little triad of limbs and heartbeats. I wait until her breathing evens out then shift just enough to pull the blanket over her. The snow globe on the counter catches the lamp and throws a scatter of glitter across the ceiling. I hate it and I leave it there anyway, because the little girl in our lap smiled at it.
Oakley watches me watch it. “You think that was him?”
“No. I think he’d have asked you about it or bragged in some way.” The honesty sits heavy between us as I make a promise to the three of us. “There won’t be a next time.”
Her eyes find mine. “How can you know that?”
“Because I’m done playing his game.” The words come slow, like I’m laying bricks. “He wants us rattled. He wants a reason to say I’m unstable. He expects me to be his carbon copy. I’m not giving him any of it.”
“Then what?”
“Quiet,” I say. “We lock it down. Keep the lawyer in the loop. She’s already got a protective order drafted and ready to file. I’ll add a few more cameras, including one angled toward that sidestreet. You don’t open the door for anyone without calling my name first even if you think it’s Santa Claus.”
Her mouth twitches. “If it’s Santa, I’m opening the door.”
“Fine. But only if he knows what you asked for when you were five.”
It wins a fragile laugh that does more for my lungs than oxygen. “Okay, Captain.”
A text from Noah lights up my phone:
Noah: Want me to swing by in the morning? Coffee + donuts + glare into space?
I send thumbs-up emojis, because my hands are busy holding the two people who make life worth living.
“Si?” Oakley says after a minute.
“Yeah?”
“I was terrified.” She doesn’t look at me when she says it.
“I know.” I squeeze her fingers once. “Me, too.”
“I haven’t been that scared since we lost our baby boy. I just kept thinking ‘I will not let him take our girl,’” she says, like she’s reminding both of us of a truth we keep forgetting.
I look down at the little blonde head breathing even and sure against my chest. At the woman whose hand is laced in mine like there was never any other way it fit. The anger in me doesn’t go away. It changes temperature. It turns into a low, steady heat I can use.
“I need you to hear me,” I say, quiet enough that it’s only for her. “He will never get her. This little girl is ours. And the minute you are ready to add your name to her custody papers, we will start the paperwork.”
