Soft snores pull my attention from my mate. I can barely make out the shape on Nevaeh’s other side. August is snuggled against her mother’s side, one leg thrown over her stomach, her arm wrapped around him protectively.
My worry for Hazel tangles with the loss that haunts me constantly.
Every time I think I’ve made peace with the past, I see something like this, and it reminds me how much of my daughter’s life I missed.
It feels like yesterday she was the little girl climbing into my bed, crying about the thunder god ruining her sleep, and now she has a child of her own reaching for her on nights like this.
Every time I see her… the scars… I hate it.
I hate the time I lost with my little girl. All the moments that could’ve been ours, shopping trips, learning makeup together, embarrassing her about boys, talking shit about people. I hate that I missed her catty teen years.
I missed half her life, and now she’s a grown woman who doesn’t need me to tie her shoelaces, scare the monster under her bed, or sneak out for ice cream in the middle of the night.
Anxo steps out of the closet with a thick blanket and gently drapes it over all three of them before nodding for me to follow, quietly shutting the door behind him.
I follow him to the kitchen, dropping into a stool at the island and burying my head in my hands.
Anxo starts making tea, probably wanting to keep his hands busy. His jaw is tight, veins pulsing at his temple like they’re going to explode.
I’ve known him long enough to recognize his worry, but unlike me, he knows exactly what’s eating Hazel.
His patience, his understanding of my family… it’s just another reminder of how I failed him. I dumped everything on his shoulders and let my grief drag me away so far from home that I didn’t recognize myself anymore.
I’m grateful he took such good care of my family, but he is family, too. I should’ve been here for him instead of becoming another burden he had to carry.
Anxo settles across from me, sliding a mug toward me before taking a sip from his, and I watch the tension slowly drain from his shoulders.
The tightness in my throat makes it hard to swallow, but I don’t have a choice. I need answers about my mate.
“Was it a nightmare?” I ask.
Anxo rubs his temple. “Something like that.”
“Has this happened before?”
Anxo tilts his head, studying me. “How much do you want to know?”
I don’t hesitate. “Everything.”
He shakes his head, lips pursed, and I know my answer has somehow both pleased and disappointed him.
He takes another sip before speaking. “When Hazel first got here, she slept in the living room. Not to rest… to guard the doors. She was convinced Tiberius was coming for her. She wouldn’t let herself relax for even a moment, but it got better… eventually.”
Anxo exhales. “But I was wrong. She just got better at hiding it. One night, after Nevaeh came back, Hazel was standing outside our room, shaking, pale like she’d seen a ghost. She didn’t say a word while Nevaeh cleaned her up. She passed out before I could even ask what happened.”
I’ve noticed how close they are. It’s almost unsettling how well Nevaeh and Hazel understand each other. Maybe it’s the shared trauma.
He takes our empty cups, washing them with his back to me. “It hasn’t happened in a while, so I thought things had calmed down. I thought she was finally free.”
“What changed?”
Anxo’s grip tightens on the sink, metal creaking under the pressure before he turns, his face grim.
“The day we went to find Harvey in the human realm, someone tried to shoot Hazel. Nevaeh took the bullet and killed the assassin, but when we found him, he was…” Anxo gags. “He was a gooey puddle on the ground. I’ve never seen something like it.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Her paranoia has been getting worse since.” He hesitates, looking guilty as he admits, “I thought things would change when you arrived. That’s why I pushed her to live with you. Mates… they heal what others don’t even realize is broken.”
“We don’t exactly act like mates,” I mutter, frustration biting at my words.
