“I hate him,” Noah whispers into my shirt. The admission is quiet, terrified. “And I hate myself for hating him.”
I press my lips to his hair. “Both of those feelings can exist at the same time,” I tell him. “You don’t owe him love just because he’s your father. And you don’t owe yourself punishment for recognizing that he hurt you.”
He sniffles, wiping his nose against my sleeve without even realizing it. “I don’t trust myself right now.”
“That’s okay, you can lean on me until you do,” I say, kissing his hair. “Rest now. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
He nods faintly, exhaustion pulling him back under. His eyelids droop, lashes resting against flushed cheeks. “Mien?” he murmurs.
“Yeah, baby?”
He nuzzles my chest and sighs. “I want to get better. I just… I need you. Okay?”
“You’ve got me,” I promise, letting my tears fall where he can’t see. “You’ve always had me.”
The house is still quiet, but it’s less oppressive now. There’s hope in the silence—a new start, a new promise. I’ll take it, whatever it costs, as long as it means I get to keep him. I’ll burn bridges, call in favors, and make enemies if I have to.
Because the boy sleeping in my arms is worth every goddamn battle.
Noah
Thelightintheroom is soft when I open my eyes, and for a second, I don’t know where I am.
I turn my head to find Damien sitting on the edge of the mattress, already dressed in black joggers and a hoodie, elbows braced on his knees, phone loose in his hands. He looks wrecked. Not the dramatic kind—no dark circles or exaggerated misery—but the kind of exhaustion that lives in your bones when you’ve been awake too long and scared even longer.
He notices me moving immediately. Of course he does.
“Hey,” he says softly, turning toward me. “How you feeling?”
I swallow, testing myself. My throat is dry, but not painful. My head aches faintly, like the echo of a migraine instead of the thing itself. “Okay,” I say after a moment. “Tired. But… okay.”
He reaches out, knuckles brushing my hand. “Good. That’s good.”
He keeps brushing his knuckles down my arm. It’s all code forI don’t want to leave you, and I get it. Part of me wants to askhim to stay, to call in sick and skip practice and curl around me all day, protecting me from every bad thought and bad memory that wants to crawl back in.
But I know that’s not possible. I know the game tonight is important, and Damien is needed. I know I can’t be the thing that derails his life every time I fall apart.
He stands then, pacing once like he can’t help it, then stops himself and looks back at me. “I’m not going to class today,” he says immediately. “I told Coach I’m dealing with a family thing. I’ll still be at the game tonight, but—”
“No,” I say, too quickly, and wince when my voice cracks. I push myself up against the headboard, wrapping the blanket tighter around my waist. “You have to go. You can’t skip everything because of me.”
His jaw tightens. “I’m not leaving you. I can stay, you know. Nobody will miss me in the first two classes, and I can always get what I need from Ryan later.”
“You’re being ridiculous, Mien,” I say, even as my chest aches at the thought of him walking out that door. “You can’t afford to skip again—one day is enough. Besides, you have a game tonight, and you need to be focused before Coach benches you.”
He huffs at that. “Blue—”
“I’ll be fine,” I say again, doing my best to sound steady and not like I’m lying to both of us. “Sage is coming over with Nate after his lecture, and Ryan said he’d check in between classes. The Sin Bin’s practically Fort Knox.Go.I promise I won’t set myself on fire in your absence.”
Damien shoots me a look, exasperated and affectionate. I can see the tension in his jaw, the protective urge he can’t quite swallow down. “Don’t joke about that, Blue.” He drags a hand through his hair, dark eyes worried. “I hate this.”
I manage a weak smile. “I know.”
He steps closer, kneels beside the bed, and cups my face with both hands, thumbs warm against my cheeks. “If anything feels off,” he says quietly, eyes locked on mine, “anything at all—you call me. I don’t care if I’m in the locker room, on the court, or in the middle of a press conference. You call.”
“I swear,” I say, meaning it. I give him a weak smile. “I’m safe here. Everyone in the house knows, and honestly, I’d have to fight to even get out of bed with how often they keep poking their heads in. I’ll be okay. Go be a jock. Win your game. I’ll be right here when you’re done.”
He huffs out a reluctant laugh, stands, and grabs his bag. At the door, he hesitates, then looks back at me one more time. “I love you,” he says.
