“Cole?” he asked, scanning the street behind me as if he wondered what the hell I was doing here.
“You messaged me.”
“For tomorrow,” he said.
I shrugged. “I wasn’t doing anything special.”
“It’s Christmas.”
Yeah, and how much of a sad sack was I that Christmas was just another day? “It’s all good,” I said, and left that hanging.
He stepped back, the warm air of the hall spilling into the icy night as he motioned me in and closed the door firmly behind us.
I shoved down the thousand reasons I shouldn’t be here. “Is it okay to visit this late on Christmas Day?” I asked. He blinked at me, glanced over his shoulder where Jazz was waiting by the door into the kitchen.
“Sure. Usual rules though.”
I nodded, already knowing them by heart. “Of course.” No drugs or alcohol on-site, no weapons, curfew at ten unless cleared, respect the quiet hours and peace, no photography, and absolutely no outsiders past this floor without clearance. Guardian Hall was built on trust and routine; for veterans who’d seen too much, those rules were the difference between chaos and peace—no asking questions. Respect everyone. And no fucking staring. “Jazz,” I acknowledged Alex’s partner, and he nodded.
“You missed our dinner,” Jazz offered, his arms full of brightly colored pet toys and one annoyed-looking cat.
“I’ve eaten,” I said, not adding that a spoonful of caviar and one scallop plus three glasses of champagne was a nutritious calorie count for the day. “If you could call it food,” I added grumpily.
“There are cookies,” Jazz said, and gestured behind him.
“God yes,” I muttered. Cookies sounded exactly like what I needed right now.
I followed Jazz into the kitchen, which was empty and dimly lit, with the detritus of a celebration scattered across the work surfaces. I zeroed in on the cookies, stuffing two in my mouth before I’d even asked if it was okay to have more than one. Jazz snickered under his breath, and heat crawled up the back of my neck. Embarrassed, I wiped a few crumbs from my fingers and forced a laugh that didn’t quite sound real. He moved toward the counter, reaching for a mug.
“Cocoa? Coffee?” he asked, glancing back at me.
I looked at my watch—nine-fifteen. Too early to be this tired, but not likely to sleep much now anyway. “Coffee, please,” I said finally. “Black.”
As he turned away, I noticed baby bottles on the side, a sterilizer humming, and a couple of bibs folded neatly nearby. The sight caught me off guard—a small, unexpected glimpse of something that didn’t belong. I reached out, tidying the surface without thinking, stacking lids and aligning bottles to give my hands something to do.
“A visitor’s baby?” I asked Alex, and he sighed.
“No, we had a new arrival early this morning,” Alex murmured, placing bottles in the sterilizer and turning it on at the wall.
I flicked a glance at him. No staff here volunteered information about residents, particularly Alex. “Okay?”
“A dad and his daughter…” He picked up the coffee Jazz had made and passed it to me, then pushed a plate of cookies my way, encouraging me to take them. “I was going to talk to you in the morning.”
“I’m here now.”
“You’re sure?” He sounded so damn hopeful.
“Yep, go ahead.” I was already thinking about how much cash I had in my personal account to pass over if that was what they needed, and I was calling it a done deal because I assumed that was what he needed. Money for a cradle, or diapers, or whatever else babies require.
He led me into the office and closed the door, shutting out the muffled sounds of the Hall. I’d been here before, more than a few times. I’d helped fund the music program, given extra money into rebuilding the rec room, and made sure their supplies never ran dry. Supporting Guardian Hall wasn’t charity; it was something Ineededto do, a way to ground myself in something real.
This office was the hub—screens flickered with feeds from security cameras, the glow reflecting off brand-new laptops I’d personally sourced for them. The security system, designed by my own tech team, was state-of-the-art and necessary here. I couldn’t offer the kind of help that healed the mind or eased the nightmares—talking had never been my skill. What I did have was money, influence, and the ability to make sure Guardian Hall stayed safe. Out of all the charities my foundation supported, this one mattered most. I don’t know why. I hadn’t served, no one in my family had, yet somehow this place—these people—were the only thing that felt real to me.
I nibbled on another cookie, washed it down with the coffee, and waited for Alex to talk. He had this way about him where he considered everything he said, and I’d gotten used to his silences—his pauses that filled the air with more meaning than most people’s words.
“I can get you money quickly, but the foundation takes a few days?—”
“No.” He shook his head. “This isn’t about money, it’s about your security team, and contacts with the cops and…” He pressed his fingers to his temple. “Maybe a lawyer or a PI?”
