The danger outside didn’t go away. It’s still out there, testing fences and watching shadows.
But right now, in Gavin’s arms, with Aidan sleeping safe in the bassinet… I feel something I haven’t felt in weeks. I feel like maybe I’m not just surviving.
Maybe I’m starting to live.
And maybe—God help me—I’m starting to fall.
Fast.
EIGHT
GAVIN
Aidan’s cry slices through the dark like an alarm.
Not the sharp, panicked kind—thank God—but the hungry, offended wail of a baby who has decided the world has betrayed him and would like to file a formal complaint immediately.
I’m half-asleep, body heavy and warm, Kayley curled against my side like she belongs there. Her hair is spilled across my chest. Her breathing is slow and even, the kind of sleep you only get when your bones finally believe you’re safe.
And that—more than anything—makes my chest ache.
Because I want this.
Not just tonight. Not just in the aftermath of adrenaline and fear.
I wantalways.
I lift myself carefully onto an elbow, listening. The bassinet is out in the living room—close enough that we could hear him, far enough that we could have… privacy. The memory of Kayleybeneath me flashes behind my eyelids, heat stirring low in my gut, and I have to force myself to focus.
Aidan cries again.
Kayley stirs, a soft sound leaving her throat, and her hand finds my arm like she’s searching for an anchor even in sleep.
“Shh,” I whisper, brushing my lips over her temple. “Stay asleep. I’ve got him.”
She mumbles something that might be my name. Might be a protest. Might be a sleepy agreement.
I slide out of bed and pull on sweatpants, moving quietly, the way you learn to move when you’ve spent years in places where noise gets people killed.
The cabin is dark except for the faint glow of the fire dying down and the snowlight leaking in through the window. I pad into the living room and find Aidan red-faced and furious in the bassinet, tiny fists punching the air like he’s ready to throw hands.
“Hey, buddy,” I murmur, bending over him. “I hear you. You’re right. This is unacceptable service.”
He does not care about my charm.
I scoop him up carefully, supporting his head the way Eli showed me. The second he’s against my chest, his crying drops a notch. He snuffles, still mad, but less desperate.
“That’s it,” I whisper. “I’ve got you.”
I step into the kitchen area and grab the bottle we prepped earlier—powder, water, clean nipples. We’re improvising, but we’re doing it right. I warm the bottle in a mug of hot water,testing it on my wrist like every decent adult does, even if I spent most of my life testing equipment that could explode instead.
Aidan squirms, mouth rooting at my shirt.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “I know. You’re starving. It’s practically a crime.”
I settle onto the couch with him and bring the bottle to his lips. He latches instantly, sucking like he’s been working overtime for this moment.
His eyelids flutter, his little body relaxing as the hunger eases. The tension leaves his fists. His feet go slack against my thigh.
