There it is again—that careful distance. It’s not an apology or an explanation. Just… fact.
I nod, not trusting myself to say anything else yet, and watch as Ryder shifts Julian higher against his chest. Julian settles instantly, fingers curling into Ryder’s skin like that’s where they belong.
Something in my chest aches. I should be angry. I should be relieved. I should be preparing for the inevitable moment he pulls away again. Instead, I just stand there, barefoot and bare-hearted, watching the man who keeps leaving hold my son like he was always meant to.
Ryder stands first, shifting Julian carefully until he’s balanced on one hip, then nods toward the kitchen like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “You hungry?”
I blink at the question, surprised by how normal it sounds coming from him. “Uh. Yes. I think so.”
“Good.”
That’s all he says as he turns and walks toward the kitchen, dogs trailing behind him like shadows, Julian babbling happily against his chest. I follow, because what else do I do?
The kitchen is all steel and stone and glass—immaculate but lived in. Ryder moves through it with ease, pulling things from the fridge, setting Julian down in a high chair I hadn’t noticed before. I have no idea where he got it from, but I’m not about to question him.
He pours coffee for me without asking. Black. One sugar.
I stare at the mug when he slides it across the counter. “You remembered.”
His shoulders lift in a small shrug, and that’s all the response I get from him. I wrap my hands around the mug, grateful for the warmth, for the grounding weight of it. Julian bangs his hands on the tray, demanding attention.
Ryder turns immediately. “I know, I know,” he murmurs, softer now. “You’re starving.”
He moves with a careful efficiency—warming food, testing the temperature on his wrist before feeding Julian. Thank God Julian is on solid food now. Otherwise, with my truck stuck halfway up the mountain, my milk wouldn’t be enough to satisfy him.
Watching Ryder being so patient with Julian feels intimate in a way that makes my chest ache. This is what scares me. Not the danger outside these walls, the men hunting us, or the uncertainty of tomorrow. It’s this. The quiet in these almost-normal moments.
We eat in relative silence. It’s not exactly awkward, more like heavy. Every clink of cutlery feels loud, every glance loaded with things neither of us is ready to unpack.
Julian babbles happily between bites, blissfully unaware that his existence has cracked Ryder’s world wide open.
I clear my throat. “Thank you. For… this.”
Ryder looks up from where he’s wiping Julian’s hands. “For breakfast?”
“For everything. For not freaking out. For… trying.”
His jaw tightens, just a fraction. “I’m not good at this.”
“I know.”
“But I’m not walking away,” he adds. “Not from him.”
The words land carefully, like he’s tested their weight before letting them out. I nod, choosing not to ask the question burning on my tongue.Not yet.We both know what it is, and neither of us is ready for the answer.
“I don’t expect you to suddenly become…” I gesture vaguely. “Dad of the year.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “Good.”
“But,” I continue, “I appreciate that you’re here. That you’re trying to make space for us.”
He studies me for a long moment, eyes dark and unreadable. Then he nods once. “We’ll talk later. When it’s safe.”
He said later, not never. I’ll take it.
“I need to go down the mountain,” he speaks up after a beat. “To get your car and some supplies.”
“I should come with you to—“
