6. Jade
— ? —
Jade
I can’t sleep.
Of course I can’t sleep. The bed is too soft after years on a prison cot. The silence is too loud. And Damian’s words keep echoing in my head, over and over, a loop I can’t escape.
Nova calls her Mom now.
My daughter doesn’t know me.
She thinks the woman who destroyed my life is her mother.
She probably doesn’t even know I exist.
Around 2 AM, I give up on sleep entirely. I slip out of bed - I’m wearing an oversized t-shirt Damian gave me, soft and worn and smelling faintly of cedar - and pad out to the living room.
He’s there.
Sitting on the couch in the dark, a glass of whiskey in his hand, staring at nothing. He looks up when I appear, and something in his expression shifts, softens.
“Can’t sleep either?” I ask.
“I keep thinking about everything you went through.” His voice is quiet. Rough. “Four years. Alone. And I couldn’t get you out faster.”
“You got me out.” I cross to the couch, sink down beside him. Close but not touching. “That’s more than anyone else did.”
The city lights glow through the window. Cars pass in the distance. The world goes on, indifferent to our small tragedies.
“What was it like?” he asks. “You don’t have to tell me if-”
“Hell.”
The word comes out flat. Matter-of-fact.
“The first year was the worst,” I continue, staring at those distant lights. “I had just given birth. My milk came in and there was no baby to feed. I could hear other women’s children during visitation, and I would just... break down.”
Damian’s hand finds mine in the dark. He doesn’t say anything. Just holds on.
“I stopped crying after the second year,” I say.
“Stopped feeling anything. It was easier that way. Numb. Dead inside.” I turn to look at him - at the pain etched on his face, the way he’s holding my hand like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
“Until today. When I saw you waiting for me. That’s the first time I’ve felt something in years. ”
“Jade...”
“Why did you wait?” The question comes out raw, unfiltered. “Four years, Damian. You could have moved on. Found someone else. Why did you spend four years fighting for a woman you barely knew?”
He’s quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is rough.
“Because that night outside the building - when you crashed into me, when you were falling apart - something happened.” He turns to face me, and even in the darkness, I can see the intensity in his eyes. “I can’t explain it. I just knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That you were someone worth fighting for.” His grip on my hand tightens. “And that if I walked away, I’d regret it for the rest of my life.”
I stare at him. This man who waited. Who believed. Who stayed.
Four years.
He spent four years fighting for me.
“I thought about you,” I admit, barely above a whisper. “In there. When everything was dark and I wanted to give up, I thought about that night. About how kind you were. It kept me going.” I swallow hard. “You were my last good memory before everything fell apart.”
The air between us thickens.
Heavy with four years of distance and longing.
“We should get some sleep,” Damian says, but he doesn’t move. “You need to rest. I’m pretty sure that prison bed wasn’t exactly comfortable.”
“No.” I laugh softly. “It really wasn’t.”
Neither of us moves.
Our eyes meet. Hold.
He reaches out. Slowly. Giving me time to pull away. His fingers brush my cheek, wiping away a tear I didn’t know had fallen.
Don’t, I think. This is too fast. Too much. You just got out. You can’t-
But I can’t pull away either. Can’t break the spell of his touch, his warmth, the way he’s looking at me like I’m something precious.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “You might be the only good man I’ve ever known.”
“I’m not good.” His thumb traces along my jaw. “I just know what I want. And I’m willing to wait for it.”
My cheeks flush hot.
I don’t know what he means by that. Not exactly. But my body knows, my body, which has been dormant for four years, suddenly very much awake. Aware of every point where we’re almost touching. The warmth radiating off him. The scent of whiskey and cedar.
I shouldn’t be thinking about this. I shouldn’t be noticing the way his white t-shirt stretches across his chest. The way his hand feels against my face. The way my whole body is leaning toward him like he’s gravity and I’m falling.
What is wrong with you? You just got out of prison. Your daughter doesn’t know you. Your life is in shambles. And you’re thinking about-
“Let me walk you to your room,” he says, standing. Offering his hand.
I take it.
The hallway is narrow. Or maybe it just feels that way because we’re walking side by side, our shoulders brushing, our hands still linked. Every accidental touch sends sparks skittering across my skin.
He stops at my door. Turns to face me.
“Sleep well, Jade.”
We’re standing so close. His hand is still holding mine. His eyes are dark, searching, asking a question I don’t know how to answer.
Neither of us moves.
The moment stretches. Pulls tight.
And then he steps back. Clears his throat.
“Goodnight.”
He closes the door.
I stand there, heart pounding, skin still tingling where his fingers touched my cheek.
What was that?
What is this?
I lie in bed, wide awake, staring at the ceiling.
I can hear him pacing in the living room.
Neither of us sleeps that night.