I pressed my forehead to Gabbi’s, and her breath hit my skin in short, warm bursts, and I focused on that. In. Out. In. Out. Safe. The word barely made sense anymore.
I’d shoved someone, I’d tried to run, and I made Gabbi cry.
I’m fucking useless.
But I’m all she’s got.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I don’t know how many times I said it, but the man I’d shoved inched toward me and went to a crouch.
“Hey,” he said, and everything inside me went still. “Morgan, right? I’m Cole Braxton.”
I blinked at him. He wasn’t making any sense. I knew he was telling me his name, but my brain was offline.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, kissing Gabbi’s forehead as her cries faded into shaky little hiccups. She needed me to stay calm, to be something like steady. I wasn’t sure I could, but I tried anyway.
“And this is Gabbi?” Cole asked quietly. “You have a beautiful daughter, Morgan.” His voice was calm, no hint of judgment, just warmth reaching straight through the panic still rattling in my chest.
When I finally met his eyes, I expected anger. Instead, there was only compassion—clear and steady, bright blue and impossibly kind.
What was this place?
Why was everyone so damn kind and understanding?
And who was this man with the cautious smile?
FOUR
Cole
I wasn’t even supposedto be here, but Rowan had arrived just after four a.m., and I’d drunk coffee and chatted with her in the office. Then Harold Brinkman, my sharp-as-hell lawyer, showed up, and the small group of us was moved to the on-site family room to stay out of the way. I was actuallyjustleaving after reassuring Alex that I would cover any legal costs, but as soon as the guy with the baby came rushing out of nowhere, everything went sideways.
One moment, I was heading for the door. Next, I had an armful of flailing limbs and a weight slamming into me. I hit the floor hard enough to see stars.
For a moment, I lay there, winded, trying to figure out what had just happened. Then the baby started crying—loud, frantic, the kind of sound that went straight through me—and the man froze as if he’d been shot.
He was horrified. Not just startled—horrified. His whole body froze, his face turning pale, terror crashing over him like a wave. The urge to run, the conviction that he’d done something unforgivable, the fear of what might happen next.
I scrambled up and ended up dropping into a crouch in front of him without really thinking. “Hey,” I said gently, as I moved closer. “Morgan, right? I’m Cole Braxton.”
He blinked at me as though the words weren’t coming together, as if his mind was still scrambled from panic.
“I’m sorry,” he said with a sob, and my heart broke. The baby—Gabbi—was tucked against him, her crying turning into hiccups, enough to twist something in my chest.
“And this is Gabbi?” I kept my voice low, warm. “You have a beautiful daughter, Morgan.” Saying it felt like stepping off a ledge, but it was true, and God, I hoped it helped. His panic was still right there, rattling between us, but the second I saidbeautiful, something in him shifted. Not much, but enough for me to breathe again.
It was the only thing I could think to say, but it landed. The words cracked something open in him. His panic didn’t disappear, but it shifted, softened around the edges. He blinked at me, tears sliding down his cheeks, his breath stuttering as he tried to quiet the baby and apologize at the same time.
“She’s okay,” I said again, slower. “You’re okay. I promise.”
The man—Morgan—stared at me as if he wasn’t sure I was real. Wide hazel-ringed eyes, damp lashes, every emotion he’d been trying to hide written in his drawn expression.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated.
“It’s all good.” What did I say now? “Your daughter has beautiful eyes.”
He stared down at the baby. “Her eyes might change color,” he said, his voice raw. “Her mom… had hazel eyes.”
In that moment, everything else—the door, the exit, my plan to slip away—just vanished from my mind. I stayed exactly where I was, breathing slowly so he’d match me, waiting for him to find his footing again, feeling something settle between us that I couldn’t quite name.
