I rock him slowly, shoulder to shoulder, the way I’ve rocked men with shattered bodies and too much blood. The way I’ve carried weight that never should’ve belonged to me.
But this?
This is different.
This isn’t war. This isn’t trauma. This isn’t a mission with a time limit.
This is a baby who trusts whoever holds him. This is warmth. This is life.
My throat tightens. I look down at his face, so peaceful now, and something in me shifts into place with a final, quiet click.
Mine.
Not in a possessive, selfish way. In a vow way.
In anover my dead bodyway.
I’ve known Kayley for—what? Two days? And somehow she’s already under my skin like she’s always been there, like my chest has been waiting for her to take up space inside it.
And tonight… tonight we crossed a line I can’t uncross.
We spent the night together.
Not just bodies—though yeah, that too. Not just heat and urgency and the way she clung to me like she’d finally found something solid.
We shared something softer beneath it. Something real.
Kayley trusted me.
Kayley let herself want.
And I’m not naive enough to think wanting comes without cost.
Especially when danger is already circling.
Aidan slows on the bottle, eyelids drooping. I rub gentle circles between his shoulder blades, feeling him go boneless with sleep. When he’s done, I lift him carefully to burp him, the tiny patter of my hand on his back absurdly soothing.
He lets out a small burp that would be funny if I wasn’t so damn emotional about it.
“Good job,” I whisper. “You’re already out here winning.”
He sighs and settles, cheek against my shoulder.
I keep rocking.
And I think—no, Iknow—that I want this always.
Kayley, sleepy and warm in my bed.
Aidan, safe and fed and breathing easy.
A home that isn’t just a compound.
A life that isn’t just survival.
The thought is dangerous. Because wanting always is how you get hurt. But it’s also how you become a man again. And I’ve been half a ghost for too long.
By the time Aidan’s fully asleep again, the sky outside the window has shifted from black to deep navy. Snow still falls in steady curtains.
