Panic flickered—too fast, too stupid. “That’s it?”
“That’s it,” she said, smiling as if she knew exactly what that question meant. “For homework, I want you to get those Willard Price books again. Start with the one you loved most. Read it—out loud to Gabbi if that feels right. Let repetition be something safe, not something you’re surviving.”
I blinked at her. “That’s… seriously all?”
“Seriously, all,” she said with a smile. “We build trust slowly here. One familiar chapter at a time.”
Her words shouldn’t have landed the way they did, but they sank deeper than I was ready for.
I stood too fast, mumbled a thanks that barely sounded like me, and backed out before she could nudge me anywhere real. Maybe if I kept moving—kept busy—I could dodge the harder conversations while I was at Guardian Hall.
Yeah. Sure. I’ve got this.
I headed straight for the music room, already reaching for that tiny burst of relief I always felt when I saw Gabbi—except the room was empty. No blanket. No kitten. No baby.
My pulse jumped before my brain caught up. Jazz had her. Right. Jazz had her. Everything was okay. I followed the noise—voices, clatter, the low hum of people who felt comfortable here—and made my way toward the kitchen.
Sure enough, that was where they all were.
Jazz sat at the table with Gabbi propped in his arms, Rascal curled snugly next to them. Cole sat beside them, one hand steadying Gabbi’s tiny foot as he made faces at her to make her laugh.
Marcus was at the stove, wooden spoon in one hand, pot of chili bubbling away. Tyler hovered beside him, chopping something badly but enthusiastically—Marcus muttering corrections the whole time.
None of the other guests were around yet, but they’d be down soon enough. And then the kitchen would be packed, loud, crowded… but this many people I could handle. Cole noticed me hovering, brightened, and lifted Gabbi’s tiny hand to wiggle it in my direction. “And here’s Daddy!” he announced to her, as if it were the best part of her whole day.
Something inside me just—melted. No warning, no permission. Just heat spreading through me, which was terrifying and way too much.Daddy. As if being Gabbi’s father wasn’t a complicated mess. As if it wasn’t something I was still figuring out in real time. As if it were simple.
Gabbi gurgled as if she agreed, her tiny fist flailing toward me, and Cole looked back up at me with this open, easy grin that made my knees forget how to function for a second.
Jesus. I was in trouble.
EIGHT
Cole
It had beena few weeks since New Year’s—Chicago winter was brutal, all ice-bitten wind and streets packed with dirty slush, but the city had been washed white for a few days after the snowstorm, crisp and bright in a way that almost made the cold worth it—and somehow, instead of staying in my warm office, or in my even warmer house, I’d turned into the guy who kept finding reasons to brave the snow and drop by Guardian Hall. Not that anyone had called me out on it… yet. Alex and Marcus just… accepted it. Believed every bullshit excuse I came up with every damn time. Which said something about their faith in me, or maybe about how good I’d gotten at lying to myself.
Take this morning, for example.
Alex emailed me a budget add-on for a swing set in the garden—something sturdy, safe, weatherproof, ready for spring—not just for Gabbi, who may not be there then, but for visiting family. I decided this needed myexpert eye. I could’ve approved it by email in thirty seconds.
Instead, I wrote back that I verydefinitelyneeded to see the site in person. Vital. Urgent. Absolutely couldn’t decide without standing on the actual patch of grass.
Which was bullshit.
I just wanted to see Morgan. And Gabbi. But mostly Morgan—tired, wary, trying-so-hard Morgan—who kept pretending he didn’t notice the way I leaned in close or hovered or checked him and his daughter were okay. I wasn’t ready to admit I wanted to be his person as much as he needed me. So, I danced around it, found all kinds of bullshit excuses just randomly to visit.
And the thing was? No one questioned my excuses. Marcus even thanked me for being thorough, clapped me on the shoulder as if I was some responsible grown-up instead of a man rearranging his entire day for a thirty-second glimpse of a guy holding a baby.
So here I was. Again.
Driving over to Guardian Hall under the heroic banner of “swing set inspection,” fully aware I was coming for something else entirely.
Someone else.
My phone buzzed just as I reached the steps.
Mother.
