No one stopped me. I knew Alex was nearby—I’d seen Marcus coming out of the medical room, and neither of them tried to stop me. No loud “Cole, leave it to the experts” or pointed looks showing they thought I’d already made things worse by being there at the wrong time.
Instead, it was quiet—just Morgan’s shaky breaths, Gabbi’s soft hiccups, and the strange, steady certainty growing in me. As if stepping back would’ve been the wrong move. Like, for once, staying—me, the guy who normally left others to fix things—was the right choice. I looked up at Marcus. Was the baby okay? Was she safe? Should I step back and let someone who actually knows what they’re doing handle this? For a second, doubt crept in—because what the hell did I know about babies, panic attacks, or saying the right thing?
But Marcus met my gaze, steady and unreadable, and he didn’t move toward us. Didn’t gesture for me to get out of the way. If anything, there was the tiniest nod—permission, or trust, or maybe just him recognizing that right now Morgan wasn’t hearing anyone except me.
So, I stayed exactly where I was.
“I’ve got someone who can help you both,” I murmured, noticing Marcus retreat into his room and Alex slip back into his office—quiet exits leaving me right where I was, crouched in front of a man who looked as though his world had just come apart.
“He’s a bit of an old fuddy-duddy,” I added, trying for something that might ease Morgan’s tension. “But he’s the best lawyer I know. I promise you’re in good hands.”
The effect was immediate—and not at all what I expected.
Morgan’s eyes widened, a sudden spike of panic hitting him so fast it was almost visible. His grip on Gabbi must’ve been too tight, judging by the way she squawked in protest, her little face scrunching up as if she was about to cry again.
“Hey—hey, it’s okay,” I said, holding my hands out just a little, not touching either of them but ready to if he needed grounding. “You’re not in trouble. No one’s trying to take her away. Harold’s here to help, that’s all.”
Morgan swallowed hard as he adjusted his grip on Gabbi, murmuring apologies into her soft hair. His breathing had quickened, as if the wordlawyerhad triggered a fresh alarm.
A fierce protectiveness twisted in my chest. Not just for him, but for the tiny baby pressed to him. Whatever this man had endured, whatever he was fleeing from, the idea that he thought a lawyer signaled danger made me want to fix something.
Anything.
“You’re safe here,” I said, gentler now. “Both of you. I swear.”
Morgan’s caution was obvious—wary eyes, that instinctive flinch as though he expected the ground to give way beneath him at any moment. But then he exhaled, a small, shaky breath, and gave me the slightest nod. Not trust, not yet. Just… willingness. Or maybe exhaustion.
“Gabbi needs…” he started, voice cracking. “I need to get her?—”
“A bottle?” I offered gently. He looked startled, like he hadn’t expected me to understand what he meant. “Yeah, I figured. She sounds hungry.” I glanced at my watch without thinking. “Have you had breakfast yourself?”
Morgan shook his head, eyes dropping in a way that hit me harder than it should. Christ, the guy looked like he hadn’t eaten or slept in a week.
I pushed to my feet and held out a hand to him. “Come on. Let’s get the princess a bottle and then grab something to eat before the hordes descend.”
He winced at that—probably imagining a stampede of people swarming the kitchen—but this place never had more than tenguests at a time, plus a handful of staff scattered through the halls.
“It’s quieter than you think,” I added. “You won’t have to fight anyone for toast.”
He huffed a small, disbelieving sound that wasn’t quite a laugh, but it was something. And when he slid his hand into mine, his grip was warm and trembling—and I helped him stand.
He let go of me immediately, but the warmth of his hand lingered, a ghost of contact across my palm I wasn’t prepared for. It was… comforting. Or maybe I just wanted it to be. God knows I wasn’t used to anyone reaching out to me unless they needed something or wanted a piece of me.
But Morgan hadn’t grabbed me for support. He’d taken my hand because he trusted, for one brief second, that I wouldn’t let him fall.
I headed into the kitchen without looking back, and he followed. Between us, we got it done—him making the bottle, me sorting drinks and toast. Simple, steady tasks that didn’t need talking.
Then I led him down the corridor to the family room. I knocked on the internal door and waited to be buzzed in. Security in this place was solid, and the room was completely private. Alex had said the team helping Morgan could use it until three.
I wasn’t part of that team. But I wasn’t walking away, either.
He hesitated as the door swung open and Harold appeared—friendly smile, chunky cardigan, the whole harmless granddad look. But I knew better. Beneath all that wool and warmth, Harold Brinkman was a shark of the best kind, given he was on my side.
He held out a hand. “Mr. Armitage,” he said, voice smooth and easy, and then, with zero hesitation, he cooed at Gabbi as if she were royalty.
Morgan reached out, still wary but polite.
“I’m your lawyer,” Harold said, giving his hand a firm shake. “And this is Rowan.” He motioned toward my best friend, who nodded once and offered a half-smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She was tough and the kind of person anyone would believe when she said she’d get things done, but she was also hyper-focused when on the job.
