Gabbi immediately smeared blueberry across my knee. Cole reached over and brushed it away before I could. He didn’t comment. Didn’t joke. Just… stayed.
“Want to talk about what happened? I mean… only if you want to.”
I stared into my coffee, watching the ripples on the surface. “I thought getting home would fix everything,” I said. “I thoughtonce I wasn’t… over there… my brain would just reset. Like I could go back to being whoever I used to be.” Cole didn’t interrupt, and he didn’t look away. “But when I stopped fighting for my life every day, everything I shoved down just—” I tapped my chest “—surged up. Fast. Loud.”
I breathed out slowly. “Therapy helps. A lot. But it’s like peeling an onion. I get through one layer and think, okay, that one’s done… and then another layer hits, and I’m right back on a dirt road in ninety-degree heat, or hearing noises that don’t belong, or holding Gabbi and thinking I’m going to fail her.” Cole’s expression relaxed in a way that made something inside me wobble. “Hypervigilance kept me alive out there,” I said. “But here? It’s something else. Something I can’t switch off. And I hate that Gabbi sees any of it. I hate that you see it. I feel weak and out of control and so fucking scared.”
“Morgan,” Cole said, shaking his head, “nothing about what happened makes you weak. Or unfit. Or anything less than good for her. You’re doing the work, but of course, you’re scared. You’re learning how to breathe again in a world that wasn’t built for what you’ve been through. That’s not failure—that’s strength.”
I looked away before he saw too much.
He leaned back slightly, giving me space, and his voice softened now. “And just so we’re clear, Gabbi is not even remotely bothered. She’s too busy trying to eat her own sock.”
I snorted. Actually snorted. “She’s a menace.”
Cole grinned as if that was the best sound he’d heard all day. “Then she fits right in.”
For the first time since the noise, since the fear slammed into me, I could breathe again. And the strangest thing—maybe the scariest thing—was that sitting there across from Cole, with Gabbi drooling blueberry on my jeans, felt… safe. Too safe, maybe. Secure enough that the crash, the panic, thewhole embarrassing mess of it all now sat on my shoulders like a weight I needed to shrug off. Safe enough that I suddenly wanted my own space again—quiet walls, familiar routines, the steadiness of Guardian Hall—before I unraveled any further in front of him. But I had no idea how to say that without sounding like I was running away.
Cole watched me, expression filled with patience. “I’ll call Georgie. You okay to head home?”
How did he know? How did he always seem to know?
“Yeah,” I said, exhaling. “Thank you.” But the words twisted in my mouth. I didn’t want the day to end. I didn’t want him to think I was forcing him away. I didn’t want him to drop me at the door as if this whole thing had been a box ticked, a date done, a duty completed.
Okay, I needed to do something. I didn’t want him to leave. Not now that the panic had eased and I could actually think. I wanted to talk—more than that, maybe. Stay. Keep him here and not let this end.
“I know you might need to go,” I said, my voice unsteady, “but you don’t have to. Do you… want to come in? Just for a bit. We could talk.”
Cole’s smile was warm enough to knock the air out of me.
“Yeah, Morgan,” he said. “I’d like that very much.”
The drive back was quiet. Gabbi fell asleep halfway, and Cole kept glancing back at her with that stupidly tender expression that made my chest ache.
He got out first, unbuckling Gabbi and handing her to me once she was free, his fingers brushing mine—warm, steadying. Then he piled everything into the stroller, and we headed inside, Alex opening the door with a smile.
Home.
I took Gabbi to our room, Cole hovering in the doorway as if he wasn’t sure if he belonged there or didn’t want to assume.
“Come in,” I said, more gently than I meant to, and he stepped inside.
I changed Gabbi, then laid her in her crib and tugged the blanket up to her waist. She sighed in that dramatic way babies do, then settled. She’d need a bottle in less than an hour, but I wasn’t going to wake the dragon before I had to.
When I turned around, Cole was just inside, a smile on his face. “She had the best time. We should go again.”
There was going to be an again? Despite my meltdown?
“We’d love that.” I stepped closer to him, pushed the door shut so we were both inside, and I was close. “Her grandparents want to see her tomorrow.”
Cole stilled. Not shocked—we’d all known this was coming—but something in his expression shifted. Protective. Focused.
I stared down at my hands. “I don’t know what they want. I don’t know what they’re going to say. I don’t know if they—if she—” My voice cracked. “I’m worried.”
Cole reached for my hand, tentative at first. When I didn’t move, he laced our fingers together. “Okay,” he said. “I’m here for you both. Whatever happens, I’m here.”
“I… don’t want to do it alone.”
