Page 138 of Beautiful When He Breaks

“And Celeste is going to pay.”

His jaw tightens. “Eventually.”

“Eventually counts,” I say, though my own voice goes rough. “Not enough. Not fast enough. But it counts.”

Eli’s hand shifts, catching two of my fingers against Mila’s back. He holds on there, hidden by the tiny duck sleeper and the curve of his daughter between us. No one else says anything for a second. Maybe they don’t notice. Maybe they do and finally have the decency to pretend otherwise.

“I don’t know about her parents,” he admits.

“You don’t have to know today.”

“What if they’re good people?”

“Then they’ll understand why you’re careful.”

“And if they’re not?”

I let the protective thing in me show this time, because some answers deserve teeth. “Then they’ll never get close enough to find out what shampoo Mila uses.”

That gets a real laugh out of him, small and wet and exhausted. “That’s weirdly specific.”

“I’m a detailed threat.”

“I know.”

He looks at me then, and all the noise of the kitchen drops back for one second. His parents are gone. Celeste is missing, and her parents are a question mark. The courts are coming to inspect the home Killian built so nobody can claim Mila is unstable or unwanted. The flash drive exists, but our night exists too. This morning. My tears and his panic. Mila’s little body is warm between us while the whole house stands around waiting to go to war or make breakfast, whichever becomes useful first.

I squeeze his fingers once. “We’ll take the inspection first,” I say.

Eli nods slowly. “Then whatever comes after.”

“Yeah,” I say, because I won’t give him the cheap version of together as if it fixes everything, but I can give him the truth of my body beside his and my hand under his. “One thing at a time.”

Mila chooses that moment to spit up on the front of Eli’s shirt.

For a moment, he just stares down at the mess.

Ryan, the traitor, bursts out laughing first while Eli closes his eyes and sighs. “Perfect.”

I reach for a cloth from the island while Liam starts giving Ryan a lecture about respect during infant reflux incidents, and the kitchen erupts around us again. Loud, ridiculous, alive. Eli takes the cloth from me and wipes Mila’s chin with such gentleness that my chest aches all over again.

Justice can take time.

Custody can take paperwork.

Family can become a battlefield.

But Mila is here. Eli is here. And for today, the next thing is not Celeste or court or some new terror waiting at the door.

It’s a spit-up stain, a duck burp cloth, and the man I love trying not to laugh while calling his daughter a tiny menace under his breath.

41

Eli

Mila is still in my arms, now wearing a fresh bib because she chose to end a legal briefing by spitting up on my shirt.

Julian is crouched beside me, one hand still near Mila’s back, his fingers brushing mine in that careful way he’s been doing more often now, as if he’s not sure how much we’re allowed to show in front of everyone but also can’t quite stop himself from reaching.