Slowly.
Tigerlily naps longer than I expected. The sun shifts across the floor, casting long shadows through the blinds. Callum makes noise in the kitchen—opening cabinets, rattling dishes. Zephyr scrolls through his phone on the couch.
I stay nearby.
She stirs around five.
I’m leaning against the wall across from the door when she sits up slowly. Her hair is messy, flattened on one side. She blinks atthe room, disoriented, like she’s trying to remember where she is.
Her gaze lands on me.
I don’t move. Don’t speak. Just wait for her to come back to herself.
When she does, her shoulders relax.
“Did you sleep okay?” I ask.
She nods. Her voice is soft. “Yeah. Thanks for letting me rest.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
She looks down at her hands, then back up at me.
I push off the wall and step closer to the doorway.
“Do you want to talk?” I ask gently. “Or do you want quiet?”
She thinks about it.
“Quiet,” she says finally.
I nod. “Okay.”
I step back into the hallway and give her space.
But I stay close.
Because she might not want to talk right now. She might need quiet, need time, need distance from everything that’s happened.
But she doesn’t need to be alone.
Not anymore.
Not while I’m still breathing.
Chapter Eleven: Tigerlily
I can tell that Jax has been through something like abuse. Or witnessed it himself.
I see it in the way he watches me. Like he’s waiting for me to break. Like he knows what breaking looks like.
His face is stone cold. No expression. But his eyes—they’re worried. Deeply worried.
Andthatworries me.
Because I think Jax might believe my father is worse than what he really is.
Yes, he hits me. But it’s not often. Only when I’m out of line. Only when I deserve it.
