I should leave him. Let him ride it out. Keep the lines clear. He’s already under my skin too deep… climbing into his bed would only make it worse.
But the sound tugs at something buried, something I thought I’d locked away years ago. Before I can talk myself out of it, my hand is on the doorknob. I turn it slowly, push the door open just enough to slip inside.
“Boy?” I whisper. “Are you awake?”
The room is dim, lit only by the faint glow from the hallway and the moonlight slipping through the curtains. Eddie is curled on his side, knees drawn up, face half-buried in the pillow. Goldiethe stuffie is tucked under his chin, his hands fisted in his mane. His breathing is uneven, short, hitched. Another soft moan escapes his lips, his brows pinched in distress.
Definitely a nightmare.
I should know.
I close the door behind me, careful not to let it click. I cross the room in three quiet steps. The bed is wide enough, the covers rumpled where he’s twisted in them. I hesitate for half a heartbeat—then kick off my boots and climb in fully clothed beside him.
The mattress dips under my weight.
The boy stirs but doesn’t wake. I slide an arm under his shoulders, drawing him gently against my chest. He’s small, warm, my oversized pajamas evidently doing their job. The silk slides under my palm as I pull him closer, tucking his head under my chin. One hand strokes slowly through his hair—long, soft strands slipping through my fingers.
“Hussssshhhh,” I murmur against his temple. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
He makes a small, broken sound—half sob, half sigh—and presses closer instinctively. His fingers curl into my shirt, clinging. I keep stroking his hair, slow and steady, the rhythm of my hand matching the slow beat of my heart. The scent of him—lavender from the shampoo, faint traces of the day’s fear and sweat—fills my lungs.
It’s intoxicating in a way I haven’t let myself feel in years.
Eddie’s breathing evens out gradually. The tension in his body melts. He half-wakes for a moment—eyes fluttering open justenough to find my face in the dark. A sleepy, trusting smile curves his lips.
“Daddy…?” he mumbles, his delicate voice thick with sleep.
My chest tightens. “Right here, baby boy. Sleep.”
He sighs, content, and nestles deeper into me. His eyes close again almost immediately, lashes dark against his cheeks. Within seconds he’s out, soft breaths puffing against my collarbone.
I lie there, unmoving, his slight weight anchored against me. My heart is beating hard—toohard—thudding against my ribs like it’s trying to break free. Not from fear. Not from anger. From something quieter, deeper. Satisfaction. Pure, bone-deep satisfaction.
This feeling, the simple act of holding him, protecting him, being the thing he reaches for in the dark. It’s been years since I felt it. Not since Tommy.
I thought that part of me had died with Tommy, burned away in the same fire that took everything else soft. But here it is again, alive and insistent, curling through my veins like warm whisky.
I don’t want to give it up.
I don’t want to givehimup.
The thought settles heavy and certain. He’s dangerous—yes. A witness. A liability. But he’s also this: small, brave, stubborn, soft in all the places I’ve been hard for too long.
My Little.Mine.
I tighten my arm around Eddie, careful not to wake him. The moonlight paints silver across his face, highlighting the faintfreckles on his nose, the way his lips part slightly in sleep. Beautiful. Fragile. And mine to keep safe.
I should get up. Go to my own room. Keep the boundaries intact.
But I don’t move.
I stay.
The boy’s breathing deepens, steady now, trusting. I press my lips to the top of his head—just once, barely a touch—and close my eyes.
For the first time in years, the night doesn’t feel empty.
Chapter 11
