“You think?” he asked, his voice unsure and small.
“Yeah. I’m so proud of you.”
He stayed seated as I got out of the driver’s seat and walked around the hood to open up the passenger side door. He knew to wait for me.
We walked quietly up the steps of the porch, just taking a minute to breathe. Elior was first in after I unlocked the front door.
He quickly slipped his shoes off and padded toward the couch, perching on the edge like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to relax yet.
I watched him for a moment longer than necessary.
The defense attorney’s questions echoed again, reshaping themselves into something colder.
Can’t go to prison. Can’t go to prison.
I turned toward the kitchen, choosing to calm myself down by channeling my anger into taking care of my boy. Water kettle. Mug. Chamomile for him, black coffee for me, even though it was too late in the day. Elior was usually more of a hot chocolate sort of guy, but something soothing like chamomile was a necessity today.
Behind me, I heard his voice, small but steady. “He was trying to make it sound like I owed you.”
I stilled.
“You know you don’t, right?”
There was a pause, then a quiet “yeah.”
I turned then, meeting his eyes. “Cherub, don’t let him bother you. He was trying to upset you on purpose.” I set the mug of tea in front of him on the kitchen island. “Drink. You’re shaking.”
He looked down, surprised, then wrapped both hands around the mug.
As he took a sip, I leaned forward, my elbows on the island, and just watched him drink.
By the time he finished the mug, I’d already decided he wasn’t walking anywhere else tonight.
The thought of him moving through space unguarded—exposed—set my teeth on edge.
“Come here,” I said.
He looked up at me, tilting his head slightly like a curious puppy.
He made it exactly one step before I closed the distance andscooped him up.
Elior startled with a small sound, hands instinctively gripping my shirt. “Jace—”
“Nope,” I said, already adjusting my hold so his weight settled securely against my chest. One arm under his knees, the other braced across his back. Solid and inescapable. “You’ve had enough decisions today. Now what’s my name, baby boy?”
He went still, relaxing into my hold. “Daddy,” he murmured.
“Good boy.”
I carried him down the hall, ignoring the way my shoulders tightened with every doorway we passed, every shadow. The house was safe, but my brain was still out of whack from court.
In the bathroom, I set him down on the closed toilet lid, hands lingering a second longer than necessary on his arms. I crouched to peel off his socks.
“You don’t have to—” he started.
“I’ll do what I want, baby. Now shush.”
He blushed, shyly nodding with his eyes wide.
