Chapter 43
WORTH
The house is quiet when I step inside.
I set my keys in the bowl by the door and listen. No Maggie humming, no footsteps thudding down the stairs, no Brianna watching a show at full volume.
The alarm panel blinks green and the place smells like roast chicken and lemon, so I know they’re home.
I take off my shoes and head for the kitchen. The counters are wiped, the dishwasher is running and there are two glasses turned upside down on a dish towel to dry. Someone folded the dishcloth into a neat square—Mya’s doing. She straightens small things when she’s thinking too hard.
I check the family room. Empty, save for a wolf sketch that sits on the console with a half-moon penciled behind it.
All right. So either they’re upstairs or in the theater. If it were a movie, I’d hear it by now. That leaves rooms.
I lean a hip against the island and rub a hand over my face.
Today feels like three days stacked on top of each other.
Ryan and I went page by page through the custody binders—attendance logs, school reports, witness statements, incident summaries.
We flagged what the judge will care about and what Vanessa’s attorney will throw against the wall hoping something sticks.
It’s all there in black and white: stability, education, medical, Bri’s stated preferences.
We’re close. Two more letters from her counselor and the activity coordinator at her after-school program, and the file is as clean as it gets. We’ll be ready.
I should feel lighter with the plan set. Instead, I feel scraped out.
I open the fridge for no reason, stare at a row of meal-prep containers, shut it again. I don’t realize how long I’ve been standing there until the dishwasher changes cycles and I flinch like an idiot.
I think about the look on Mya’s face in my office and guilt slides under my ribs in a dull ache.
I don’t like how I treated her today. It goes against every instinct I have around her.
But I can’t pretend I didn’t hear her words this morning.
She’s said it a dozen ways since the day we signed papers: she expects nothing from this.
No promises, no future, no mess beyond the one we were already in.
And why the hell would I keep pouring into a place that doesn’t want more from me than a clean exit?
Because I want to, that’s why.
Because being with Mya feels like a wire pulled tight in my chest.
Because I’m proud of her.
Because I care, no matter how I pretend.
I push off the counter and walk toward the stairs. I owe Mya better than the cold shoulder I put on today, but “better” keeps trying to turn into “more,” and she drew a clear line. I’m not going to push her past it. Though I shouldn’t punish her for it either.
I can’t rewrite the rules alone, so I’ll honor the deal. And I’ll try to be the version of myself I’m not ashamed to look at in the mirror when it’s over.
My phone buzzes. It’s Ryan confirming that those last two letters are in motion for morning. I text back a thumbs up and a thank you, which feels inadequate for a man who’s spent countless hours lining my life up so I can keep the most important part of it intact.
I stop and press a palm to the bannister. It’s a stupid, steadying habit—touching something solid to remind myself I’m solid too.
From the landing, I can hear voices. I’m halfway to knocking on the door to my daughter’s bedroom when something stops me.
Bri’s voice is small. “Dad hates Mom.”
I freeze, palm flat on the doorframe, holding my breath.
Mya’s voice comes out steady like an anchor. “Dad is protective of you. And he loves you more than he hates anything. If you decide you want a relationship with your mother, I know he’ll respect that. You don’t have to avoid her to prove you’re loyal to him. That’s not your job.”
My chest tightens as I listen to Mya comfort my daughter, reassuring her with a certainty I haven’t been able to give. I’ve spent years telling myself it was enough to be both parent and safety net, that it was the two of us against the world.
But standing here, I realize that Brianna has been keeping her wishes secret, folding them away so she doesn’t “betray” me. Protecting me when it should have been the other way around.
Hearing Mya wrap herself around my daughter’s fear like it belongs to her too breaks me open in the best way. It shows me exactly where I’ve failed without ever making me feel accused.
I’ve been so focused on shielding Brianna from pain that I didn’t notice she was learning to shrink herself for my comfort.
I just want to walk in, thank Mya, kiss her temple, and tell Bri she doesn’t owe me her loyalty. But this is their moment, not mine, and I won’t steal it by making it about me.
I back away on quiet feet, pulse loud in my ears, and head for the bedroom. Once inside, I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at my hands, knuckles nicked from the woodwork I did for Brianna’s birthday gift.
I toe off my socks, stand, and start unbuttoning my shirt.
The bedroom door cracks open a few moments later and Mya steps in. She stops dead when she sees me halfway out of my shirt. Her eyes flick to my chest, then to the floor.
“Sorry,” she says quickly, already backing out. “I didn’t know you were here. I’ll come back later.”
“Mya.” My voice comes out tighter than I mean it, and she freezes, hand on the knob. “Come back in here and close the door.”
She hesitates for a fraction, then eases the door shut and turns around, chin up.
I hook my shirt off my shoulder and toss it onto the chair. I take a breath, reining in the parts of me that want to cross the space and pull her to me. “I heard some of your conversation with Bri.”
Color touches her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to overstep. She just needed to talk.”
“I know.” I take a step closer and stop. “And you said exactly what she needed to hear.”
Her shoulders drop a notch. “She’s scared of hurting you.”
“I know,” I repeat, quieter. “And I don’t want that for her. I never have.”
Silence stretches, full of the things I should have said earlier and didn’t.
“I wasn’t great today,” I admit. “With you.” I find the edge of the dresser, grip it. “I kept it cold. I’m sorry.”
Mya studies my face, guarded. “We’re fine. It’s been a long day.”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry for keeping you at arm’s length. It’s not how I want to treat you. I just—” I search for the cleanest version of the truth. “I don’t know how to be near you without wanting more than you’ve said you want.”
Her eyes soften. “Worth…”
“I’m not asking for anything,” I say, raising my palms. “I just want to thank you for being there for Bri. For saying the exact right thing and making this house feel like a place she can bring the hard parts to.”
Mya swallows, the barest nod. “She’s brave. She just needed permission to be honest.”
“I’m grateful for that, and I can see you care about her a lot.”
“Bri is easy to care about.”
“So are you.” It slips out before I can stop it. Her breath hitches, and I let the admission hang there, simple and true.
Mya swallows. “You don’t have to thank me for loving her.”
That cracks me open all over again. I look away for a moment, then back.
I take another slow step toward her. “May I?”
She doesn’t ask what. After a beat, she nods.
I lift a hand to her cheek, my thumb finding the faint damp track of a tear. Her skin is warm.
“I’m proud of you for today,” I say, lower now. “And thank you, again. For putting up with me, even when I’m not at my best.”
Her mouth tips, sad and small. “You were protecting yourself.”
“Maybe. Doesn’t make it right.”
My hand moves to her jaw, thumb feathering just below her ear.
Mya leans into it and I move forward. When she doesn’t step away, I close the gap.
The first touch of my mouth on hers is careful, testing the weight of this new shape we’re taking.
Mya exhales into the kiss, and something in my chest unclenches.
I kiss her again, a little surer this time. The tension of the day spills out of me and meets everything she’s been holding onto. Her fingers gather at my nape.
When her lips part for me, I go slow. Deep.
We break just long enough to breathe, foreheads touching, noses brushing. She lets out a small, helpless sound, and I take it for what it is and find her mouth again.
The kiss changes, heat catching like a match. Between each breath, each brush of her mouth, the words tear loose before I can swallow them.
“I’ll take whatever you give me,” I murmur, lips skimming hers. “If ‘just for now’ is all I get, I’ll take it.”
Mya makes a sound, like a protest.
“I want to use the time we have,” I whisper against her lower lip. “All of it. I want you, even if it’s only—”
Her eyes go glossy, throat working like she’s about to object.
Instead, she surges up and kisses me harder, pulling me closer, as if proximity is the only thing that will keep her together.
I answer in kind, but there’s no mistaking the urgency threading through it, the plea to feel what’s already true.
“Mya,” I breathe, tasting the tremble of her inhale.
“Don’t,” she whispers back, shaking her head a fraction. “Not right now.”
I turn us around and back her up against the bed, letting her fall onto the mattress.
“I need to taste you, Kitten. Please.”
I’ve resorted to begging—because Mya-fucking-Dessen-Jones has me whipped.
And I’m in love with her.
Whether or not I get to keep her after doesn’t change that fact.
Mya nods, and I pull on the hem of her pants, slipping them down her smooth, long legs, letting my fingers trail over her skin. She gasps as I kiss my way up her thighs. When I get to her mound, I bury my nose in her thong and breathe in long and deep.
Fuck.
This woman is my undoing.
“You smell like mine, Mya,” I say, nipping at her clit through the fabric. “And I can’t get enough.”
“Worth, I-I… Ah!” She’s unable to get the words out as I push her panties to the side and close my mouth around her delectable pussy.