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I can’t sleep.

I’ve propped myself up against the headboard, eyes focused on the rise and fall of Paloma’s chest. As if her breathing controls my own breath.

It feels as if I’ve been split in two—the Before and After. Flashes of moments from the past three years, comments she’s made, little glimpses she unwittingly offered into her past race across my mind. I’ve always found the softness in Paloma, the pieces of her she’s hidden from everyone else. The pieces of her that have been just mine.

Now, it’s like trying to put her back together in my mind. She is a shattered glass sculpture, and I have all the grace of a child with a glue stick and construction paper. Nothing feels like it will fit—nothing makes the pain lessen.

And the anger . . .

It’s almost overwhelming. And she didn’t offer a name—not that I’d be able to find this faceless villain anyway. And if I did? What could I even do?

Nothing. Just like you’ve done before—with her. With Rhys. With—

I shake my head. Maybe it would be easier to have something physical I could lay this rage and anger into on her behalf.

“I was ten when someone kissed me for the first time. He was . . . one of my mom’s friends.”

Her voice is a never-ending echo of torture in my head. But I welcome it like a penance to be paid. I’ve always known someone hurt Paloma—maybe more than just someone. But to hear her force herself to relive those memories so I could understand what I didn’t really know . . . the pain of the last three years feels worse.

Worse because, no matter what . . . I can’t fix it. I can’t make it better.

For the first time since the gala, I check my phone. Texts and missed calls spill across the screen—Rhys, Freddy, Anna, my dad—all in multiples, times overlapping. Seeing it all at once threatens to send my anxiety spiraling further.

Focus. Most important item first.

It doesn’t help—because my only thought is still the girl curled into my chest, using my pec and upper abdomen like a pillow.

Instead of replying or trying with any of them, I open my thread with Rhys and Freddy and type out a quick message.

BENNETT

Family breakfast in an hour. She needs routine.

Be normal and don’t ask.

Their responses are nearly instantaneous.

RHYS

Got it. Whatever you both need, just tell us.

FREDDY

Yes, Chef!

I slowly roll Paloma to her side before snapping my fingers for Seven to take my place on the bed. Still, my girl stirs and blinks bleary eyes up at me.

“Bennett . . . ?”

“Shhh, love,” I whisper, kneeling by her and tucking some of her hair back. “I’m going to go start on breakfast. Sleep as much as you can. I’m leaving Seven here with you.”

“Mmkay,” she mumbles, turning on her back and letting Seven crawl and settle half on her stomach.

I close the door to the bathroom quietly, following my routine more stringently than I usually might with her in the next room. It takes almost too long, which makes my stomach churn about breakfast not being ready before everyone is downstairs to eat.

By the time I’ve finished the pancake batter and omelets, Ro, Rhys, and Freddy have joined me, talking and laughing as the sound of family permeates the room. This is what she needs. This will show her that she’s cared for.

“Good morning, Reiny,” Freddy greets brightly, seated shirtless at the table next to a fully put-together Ro. “Food smells amazing.”