Chapter 14
" S hould we hide?" Maisy's whisper cracked at the edges. She was pulling the blanket up to her chest like it could shield her from whatever was coming.
I froze for half a second, just staring at her. The fear on her face—it twisted something deep inside me. I wanted to tell her yes. Wanted to say I’d lock her away somewhere safe and deal with this myself. But there wasn’t any hiding from this. Not anymore.
“No, baby girl,” I said, jaw tightening. “We can’t.” My voice came out rougher than I meant, but it was the truth. I grabbed my jeans from the chair by the bed and yanked them on. Every muscle in my body was taut, braced.
Maisy’s lip quivered as she sat up, my shirt hanging loose around her frame. She looked so fragile, sitting there in the middle of my bed, the picture of everything I needed to protect.
I leaned down, pressed a kiss to her temple. “Stay here,” I murmured, quiet but firm. “I’ll handle it.”
“How?”
“I’m gonna tell him about us, okay?”
There was a moment of fear in her eyes, but it passed. She nodded, barely, but didn’t let go of the blanket.
The pounding came again, harder this time. I forced my legs to move. Each step toward the door was heavier than the last.
My hand hovered over the doorknob for a beat too long. Then I wrenched it open.
"Chief," I said, even though the word stuck in my throat like gravel.
There he was. Maisy’s father. The Fire Chief. My boss. He towered in the doorway, shoulders squared, his fists clenched at his sides. His face was flushed, his breath fogging the cool morning air behind him.
"Wilkins," he spat my name like it burned his mouth. His eyes darted past me, into the house. And then they landed on her.
Maisy, standing just behind me now, barefoot and drowning in my flannel shirt.
His expression shifted. The shock hit first—his eyebrows shooting up, his mouth twitching open. But it didn’t last. No, that shock curdled quick, twisting into something dark and ugly.
"Come in," I said, low, steady.
"Don’t you dare tell me what to do," he snarled, stepping forward. His boots scraped against the threshold like he couldn’t decide whether to barge in or not.
The pit in my stomach sank deeper. This was it. Worst-case scenario, standing six feet tall and looking like he wanted to take my head off with his bare hands.
"Maisy," he barked, his voice cracking like a whip. She flinched behind me, and I had to fight the urge to put a hand on her, to shield her completely.
"Sir," I started, forcing my tone calm, even though my pulse was hammering like the station’s alarm bell. "Let’s talk about this."
"Why is she here?" His voice was sharp, clipped. His body blocked out most of the doorway, broad-shouldered and bristling with authority like he was ready to haul both of us out by our ears. Arms crossed, his hands curled into fists under his sleeves, veins bulging.
"Chief," I started, though my throat felt tight, “I know this looks bad. But let me explain.”
"Explain what?!" He cut me off, his glare scorching a hole straight through me. "Why’s my daughter in your house? Why isn’t she home where she belongs? You were supposed to be watching out for her. Not . . . doing this."
Maisy shrank back behind me, her breathing uneven, but I didn’t look at her. Not yet. I couldn’t afford to. My focus had to stay on him—on keeping this from blowing up worse than it already had.
"She’s here because she wanted to be," I said, steady as I could manage.
"That’s not an answer," he snapped. His boots edged another half-inch closer, grinding against the hardwood floor. "She’s got a damn home, Brett. What the hell’s going on here?"
I forced myself to take a step forward, closing the space between us just enough that I had to tilt my chin slightly to meet his eyes. They were hard, unyielding, the kind of gaze that could make lesser men crumble. My pulse pounded in my ears, but I held firm. Maisy needed me to hold firm.
"Look, I know this is a lot. But we’re together," I said, low and even, though every word felt like walking a tightrope over flames. "This isn’t about disrespecting you—or her, for that matter. I’ve got nothing but respect for both of you. But what’s between Maisy and me . . . it’s real. It’s not some fling. And it’s sure as hell not something I’m ashamed of."
His jaw clenched, and for a second, I thought he might swing at me. The tension in his frame made my own muscles coil, ready, but I stayed rooted. His arms unfolded just long enough for him to jab a finger toward me, then toward Maisy. "I trusted you, Wilkins. And what, you’re telling me this is real ?" His voice was dripping with disbelief. "You’re telling me this is more than—"
"Yes." I cut him off this time, sharper than I meant to, but there was no taking it back now. "I love her." The words left my mouth before I’d even planned them, but once they were out, I couldn’t regret them. Not when they were true.
Behind me, I heard Maisy suck in a breath, soft and trembling. I didn’t dare turn around. Not yet. Not until I finished what I knew I had to say.
"Did I want to do this like this? No," I admitted, forcing my voice back to calm. Steady. "My plan was to talk to you when you got back. Sit down, man-to-man, and tell you everything. But things don’t always go the way we plan, and here we are. So yeah, Chief. I love her. I’m not hiding it. And I’m not walking away from it either."
For a moment, just a flicker, the fury dimmed in his face. It wasn’t gone—not by a mile—but there was something else there now. Something like surprise. Like maybe he hadn’t expected me to say it. Or mean it.
"Why the hell didn’t you come to me first?" The Chief’s voice cut through the air like the snap of a live wire. His arms stayed folded, biceps straining against his shirt sleeves, but it was the heat rolling off him that singed. He wasn’t just mad—he was betrayed, and I could feel it in every syllable.
I gritted my teeth. “Sir—”
“You owe me that courtesy,” he snapped, stepping forward. Not enough to close the distance between us, but enough to make his point. His eyes flicked past me to Maisy, like seeing her standing there hurt worse than anything I could say. “You think I wouldn’t have deserved to know? You think I don’t deserve respect?”
I stole a glance over my shoulder. Maisy hovered near the edge of the hallway, pale as milk, fingers clutching at the hem of my flannel hanging loose on her frame. Her lip trembled, but she didn’t look away from her dad. I turned back, squaring up. My chest felt tight with the weight of it all, but I couldn’t let that show. Not now.
“It wasn’t about disrespecting you.” My voice came out low, even. Controlled. “It just . . . happened fast. Faster than either of us expected.”
His brows shot up, disbelief carved into every line of his face. “Fast?” he echoed, voice sharp as a barbed hook. “That’s your excuse?”
“No excuses,” I said quickly, holding his glare. “Just the truth. One minute, we were friends. I was looking after her, and that was that. Then I blinked, and suddenly it was more. Feelings, confessions . . . It all hit us like a freight train. We planned to tell you the minute you got back.”
I heard Maisy shift behind me. Just a small step, but I could feel her presence, trembling and fragile, like a bird in a storm. Still, it gave me strength to keep going.
“I know we should’ve told you sooner.” My words slowed, careful. “But the last thing I wanted was to come to you with something half-cocked, something shaky. Or send you a message? Or call you or something. That’s not fair to you. Or to her.”
Something shifted in his expression—no less angry, but heavier somehow. He stared hard, jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle tick. Then, finally, he blew out a breath. It rumbled like gravel, dragging his hand down his face. His shoulders dropped an inch, maybe two. Not surrender. Not forgiveness. But something softer than pure rage.
“Damn it, Brett.” His voice was quieter now, though no less rough. “I wish you’d have told me sooner. This is . . . a lot to take in.”
I seized the opening like a man grabbing a lifeline. “I know it is,” I said, stepping closer, drawing his focus back to me. “But I’m telling you now because it is real.”
I caught movement in the corner of my eye—Maisy, edging further into the room. I didn’t dare look back. Not yet. I had to hold onto this moment, fragile as glass.
“I love your daughter,” I said again, steady and clear. No hesitation. Nothing but the truth. “And you know me, I’m not going anywhere.”
For a second, I thought he might argue. His lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes dark with something unreadable. But then his gaze flicked past me—to Maisy. She stood there, hands knotted together, her chest rising and falling like she’d just run a mile. Tears shimmered in her eyes, though they didn’t fall. Not yet.
“Dad . . .” Her voice was barely above a whisper, cracking under the weight of it all.
I turned my head just a little, catching her in my peripheral. She hesitated, her weight shifting from one foot to the other, hands twisting together like she was wringing out a wet rag.
I didn’t push—just held her with that look. It wasn’t much, but it was what I had left to give: silent encouragement. A promise. I’m here .
She stepped forward, slow and measured, like she was walking a tightrope. Her bare feet on the hardwood floor made the softest thud with each step until she stopped just behind me. Her dad’s eyes locked on her like a laser sight, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like he might crack a tooth.
“Dad . . .” Her voice wavered, barely above a whisper. She swallowed hard, and I saw her throat bob before she finally lifted her chin. “There’s something else.”
My heart pounded. She was going to tell her. This hadn’t been in the plan, and I didn’t know how it would pan out.
Geoff didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just kept staring at her, waiting for whatever bombshell was about to drop next. The air between us felt thin, stretched taut, ready to snap at any second.
“Are you pregnant?”
Maisy shook her head, sucked in a shaky breath. Her hand brushed against mine, fleeting, almost accidental, but I caught it and squeezed. She didn’t look at me. Her gaze stayed fixed on her father, one trembling word spilling into the room like a stone dropped down a well.
“No. I’m not pregnant. I’m a . . . a Little.”
The silence hit harder than anything else. No gasp, no yell—just this awful, hollow quiet as that single word hovered there, hanging between them. I felt Maisy sway beside me, like saying it out loud had sapped every ounce of strength she had.
“It means—”
“I know what it means.” His voice was whip-quick, and harsh.
Her dad’s face twisted, slow and deliberate, like gears grinding in a rusted machine. Confusion first, sharp and searching, then something uglier. His lip curled, and when he spoke, his voice came out raw, jagged at the edges.
“It means you’re a freak.”
I felt Maisy flinch beside me, her arm brushing mine like she was trying to shrink away from that word. My chest tightened, anger blazing hot under my skin. My shoulders squared up before I even realized what I was doing, putting myself firmly between her and him.
There was no way I was letting him call Maisy a freak.
"Enough," I said, my voice cutting through the air like steel. But he wasn’t looking at me. His glare burned straight through Maisy, scorching her in place.
"Don’t you dare tell me ‘enough,’" he snapped, his voice cracking like a whip. Then his focus shifted—snapping toward me like a snake striking. “You did this to her!” He jabbed a finger in my direction, shaking with rage. "What the hell did you do to my daughter?!”
"Nothing," I ground out, my fists curling at my sides. It took everything I had not to let my temper spill over. Not here. Not now. Not when Maisy needed me steady.
"Don’t lie to me!" His voice rose, echoing off the walls. His hand shot out, pointing at her now, his whole body vibrating with fury. "She’s never . . . This isn’t . . . You put these perverted ideas in her head!"
"Stop." My voice dropped, low and firm, cutting through his tirade. "You don’t get to talk about her like that."
"Like hell I don’t," he barked back, stepping toward me, the heat rolling off him like a wildfire. I didn’t budge. Wouldn’t. Not when Maisy was standing behind me, trembling like a leaf caught in a storm.
"She’s my daughter," he growled, voice breaking on the last word. "And now you’ve ruined her.”
Maisy’s breath hitched behind me. I felt her fingers knot into the back of my shirt, desperate and shaking.
"Sir," I said, my jaw tight enough to crack. I had to remain calm, or this could get really bad, really fast. "Please try to understand, This isn’t . . . I didn’t ‘do’ anything to her." My voice came out steady, but inside, adrenaline surged, hot and sharp. My fists curled at my sides, nails biting into my palms. Every instinct screamed to protect Maisy, to shield her from the weight of his disgust.
"Don’t stand there and lie to me!" he spat, his face flushed red, veins bulging at his temples. He jabbed a finger toward me, then whipped it back to Maisy. "She never talked like this before—never acted like this! You got in her head, twisted her around."
"That’s not true," I shot back, stepping forward, blocking him from her completely. "You know Maisy. You raised her. This is who she is."
"Who she is?" His laugh was bitter, cutting. "No, no. This—" He gestured wildly at Maisy, his hand trembling with fury. "This is you. Your influence. You filled her head with this . . . this sick crap!"
"Stop," I growled, my voice low, warning. "You don’t get to put this on me. You don’t get to talk about her like that."
"Like hell I don’t," he barked, eyes blazing. The sheer force of his anger radiated off him, filling the room with a heat that made it hard to breathe. Behind me, Maisy whimpered, barely audible, and my chest tightened until it hurt.
"You’ve ruined her," he said, his voice cracking, raw. "And for what? Some . . . some game? Some sick fantasy? Jesus Christ, Brett—" He broke off, running a hand down his face like he couldn’t even look at me anymore. "I can’t believe I trusted you."
"Trust me now," I snapped, my voice rising despite myself. "This isn’t a phase or some idea I ‘put in her head.’ It’s her. And it’s real."
"Real?" His laugh came sharp and humorless. Then his gaze shifted, sharpening like a knife. It landed squarely on Maisy, still standing silent and small behind me.
"Is this who you are now?" he bit out, his voice cold as ice. "A deviant?"
"Don’t," I warned, stepping closer to him without thinking. My body moved on its own, a wall between him and Maisy. "Don’t you dare call her that."
"Why not?" His eyes flicked to mine, daring me to answer. "Because it’s the truth? Because she’s too fragile to hear it?"
"Enough!" I barked, my control slipping. "You’re not helping her. You’re hurting her."
"Good," he snarled, his lip curling. "Maybe she needs to hear it. Maybe she needs to understand what this means."
"She understands damn well," I shot back. "Better than you do."
"Shut up," he snapped, his voice cutting through mine. Then his attention swung back to Maisy, and the chill in his tone sank into my gut like a stone. "If this is who you are, Maisy, then you have no place under my roof."
Maisy was silent for a moment, then, she said, decisively, “It’s who I am.”
I turned just enough to catch the tears streaking her face, her hands trembling where they clutched herself like she could hold together what was already breaking apart.
"I won’t do it," he continued, unrelenting. "I won’t have a… a deviant in my family."
“Is this who you are, Dad?” Maisy asked, her voice firm.
“Don’t you dare ask me that.”
“Because if it is, I don’t want to live under your roof.”
He grit his teeth. “You’re fired. Both of you. I want your badge, Brett. First thing tomorrow. You’re done at my station."
My stomach dropped. For a split second, the world tilted. But I forced myself to meet his glare head-on, fists clenched so hard they ached.
Maisy gripped my arm so tight it hurt, her nails digging through the fabric of my shirt. I could feel her shaking beside me.
Years of sweat, of risking everything for that station, stripped away in an instant. Just . . . gone. Like none of it mattered.
Maisy's soft gasp broke through the haze. I looked down at her—her wide, wet eyes full of anguish—and all that helplessness burned up in a flash of white-hot fury. My jaw tightened until it ached, but before I could get a word out, he moved.
The Chief. Her father. Storming away like he couldn’t stand to be near us a second longer. His boots thudded heavy against the old wood floor, each step a warning shot.
"Sir—" I tried, stepping forward despite Maisy’s grip on my arm. But he was already gone.
I stood there, staring at the door like it might swing open again. Like he’d come back and take it all back. But the silence stretched thin, sharp, and final.
Maisy let out this broken sound, not quite a sob, not quite a gasp, and folded into me before I could even blink. Her whole body shook, her fingers twisting into my shirt like she was afraid I might disappear too.
"Maisy . . ." My voice cracked, rougher than I meant, but I couldn’t smooth it out. Couldn’t fix the way her tears hit my chest, soaking straight through.
She didn’t answer, just buried her face against me, her breathing jagged and raw. Each shudder of hers sank claws into my chest, tearing at something deep inside.
I wrapped my arms around her tight, pressing her to me like I could hold her together when everything else had fallen apart. My muscles tensed, coiling with a fury I couldn’t use. There wasn’t anything left to fight—not her dad, not the station, not this goddamn mess. Just... nothing.
"Maisy," I tried again, softer this time. Nothing came back but more of those gut-punching sobs. My throat burned, words trapped behind some useless knot. What could I say? Sorry? That wasn’t enough. Promises? I couldn’t make any. Not now. Not when the ground had been ripped out from under us, leaving only this hollow, aching pit.
Her hands fisted tighter in my shirt, trembling. "He—" she choked out, her voice barely there, "he really meant it."
"Hey." I rested my chin on top of her head, stroking her hair with one hand while the other stayed firm against her back. Her vanilla shampoo clung faintly, almost like normal life hadn’t completely vanished. Almost. "Don’t think about him right now. Just . . . stay here, okay?" My voice wavered, but I didn’t let go. Couldn’t.
"Where are we gonna go?" she whispered, so quiet it was like she didn’t want an answer.
"Shh." I kissed the top of her head, my lips brushing against soft strands. It wasn’t much, but it was all I had. "We’ll figure it out." The words scraped out of me, raw and uneven, like I’d never spoken them before.
"How?" She tilted her head up then, eyes red, shining with tears that wouldn’t stop coming. Her lip quivered just enough to crack something inside me wide open. "Brett, how?"
I swallowed hard, my jaw tightening. Adrenaline churned in my veins, useless now, leaving only the weight of her stare and the wreckage around us. "I don’t know yet," I admitted, voice low and gravelly. "But I’m not letting you do this alone."