Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
LUCY
I woke up without the urge to immediately die, which felt like a victory. The stomach bug had finally loosened its grip sometime overnight. My limbs still felt like overcooked spaghetti, but there was no more nausea. No cold sweats. Just… exhaustion in their place.
I sat on the edge of the bed, blinking at the early morning light filtering through the curtains. My hair was probably a bird’s nest. I hadn’t changed clothes since yesterday. But I didn’t feel like I was going to puke if I stood up too fast, so I counted that as progress.
I padded into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth.
My hair did, in fact, look as if something was living in it, so I mustered the energy to comb out the worst of the snarls and pull it back into a ponytail.
When that didn’t wipe me out, I dug clean yoga pants out of the drawer and pulled on a fresh sweatshirt.
Ready for a board meeting? No. Ready to face the aftermath of the Sullivan House of Sick? Ish?
The house was quiet.
Not suspiciously quiet—Liam quiet. Which was almost weirder. I braced myself for the chaos I’d probably have to clean up now that I was semi-conscious again. I didn’t think I’d have it in me to battle the whole of it, so I started a mental triage list as I padded down the hall in sock feet.
What I found stopped me cold.
The living room looked… clean. Like, actually clean. The blanket fort was gone, the trail of toys had been corralled into baskets, and the dishes that had been multiplying on the coffee table like gremlins were nowhere in sight.
Liam was on the floor, mid-battle with a stuffed dinosaur and a set of building blocks. And across from him—sprawled out on his side, bracing a coffee mug with one hand while gamely holding a triceratops with the other—was Cord.
He looked like he belonged there.
Neither of them had noticed me yet. Liam was giving a detailed explanation of a dinosaur war strategy involving lava, and Cord was nodding like this was totally normal information.
And maybe it was. In some parallel universe, where men like him stuck around and played make-believe on living room rugs.
I swallowed, throat thick with something I couldn’t quite name.
Cord glanced up then, catching me in the doorway. That lazy smile curved his mouth—warm, knowing, like we were in on a secret together.
My stomach flipped.
He’d seen me at my worst. Actually, at my worst. Sweaty, gross, feverish. Not even wearing a bra.
And he’d stayed.
My heart gave a little lurch. Because no one stayed. Not like that. Not for me.
So what the hell was this?
Liam spotted me first. “Mommy!” He sprang up from the floor and raced over to wrap his arms around my legs.
“Hey, baby.” I dropped a hand to his hair, smoothing it gently. His forehead felt blessedly cool now. He looked more like himself. Energized. Whole. I glanced back at Cord, still lounging on the rug like some golden retriever in human form, and my chest did another one of those traitorous squeezes.
“Buddy, how about a bath?” I asked Liam, brushing hair back from his forehead. “You can pick a clean pair of pajamas and maybe we’ll do pancakes in a little while.” It was progress that the mere mention of them didn’t make my stomach turn.
He groaned like I’d suggested something equivalent to being dragged behind a wagon. “I just took one.”
“That was yesterday.”
“Still counts.”
Cord laughed, low and warm, and that did things to my nervous system that probably required intervention.
Liam trudged off like a martyr. I waited until I heard the door to the bathroom click shut and the sound of water running before I turned back to Cord.
He’d gotten to his feet and was watching me with that unreadable expression I remembered from the fire station. Like he could see the storm coming before I even opened my mouth.
I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly self-conscious in my clean-but-still-rumpled clothes. “Why did you stay?”
Cord didn’t fidget. Didn’t look away. “Because you needed someone.”
Just that. Not obligation. Not pity.
Someone.
The word settled low in my chest and bloomed there, aching and dangerous.
I swallowed. “You didn’t have to.”
He tilted his head. “Didn’t say I had to. Said I wanted to.”
God. Stop making this harder .
I looked down at the floor, then back up at him. “I feel better. A lot better. Thank you.”
Thank you didn’t cover it. Not even close. But anything more felt like a thread I couldn’t afford to pull—because if I did, I was afraid the whole thing would unravel. Including me.
He nodded. “Good.”
That smile flickered again, softer this time. More like a secret. Like we were still in it.
But we weren’t, right?
Cord glanced at the clock on the wall, then checked his watch like he was double-confirming something. “I’ve got to head out,” he said, voice quiet. “On shift in a couple hours. Got a few things to take care of first.”
I nodded, lips pressing together. “Right. Of course.”
And that was it, wasn’t it?
He’d done a good thing. The kind of thing decent people did. Helped the sick, entertained the kid, cleaned the house. Made soup. Stayed longer than he should have. But it didn’t mean anything. Not really.
I tried to ignore the way something hollow bloomed in my chest.
I followed him to the door, each step heavier than it should’ve been. My fingers toyed with the cuff of my sleeve as I opened my mouth, the words fumbling out before I could stop them. “I need to pay you back for the groceries. Just—text me what I owe, okay?”
He turned to look at me, one brow raised, like I’d said something absurd. “You don’t owe me anything, Lucy.”
“But you brought?—”
“I wanted to.”
His tone wasn’t harsh. Just final. Like arguing would offend him more than accepting kindness ever could .
I nodded again, but it felt mechanical. Too easy. Too neat. Like closing a book I wasn’t ready to stop reading.
Was that all this was? A kindness?
I didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want to hope. But I didn’t want to let him walk away either.
Cord had one hand on the doorknob when he paused. “You’ve got a great kid.” He said it almost offhand, but there was something deeper in it I couldn’t read.
I blinked. “Thanks.”
He glanced back at me, his gaze steady. “You’ve done a hell of a job with him.”
The words hit like a sucker punch—low, hard, and unexpected. I felt them in places I didn’t know were still raw. Because no one said that. Not like that.
Sure, people complimented Liam. Said he was sweet or smart or polite. Sometimes even offered a generic, “You’re doing great,” with that smile adults gave moms like me in passing. But this wasn’t that. This was a man who’d seen the mess. The reality. And said it anyway.
I didn’t know what to do with that.
My throat tightened, and I looked down, afraid the emotion would be too obvious on my face.
“You’re pretty great, too.”
I looked up. He stepped forward and pressed a kiss to my forehead. Just a brush of lips. Gentle. Barely there.
My breath caught. Every part of me froze for a heartbeat, panic flickering through me. Was that it? Was that a soft, sweet way to say goodbye?
But then his arms came around me. Solid.
Warm. Sure. He pulled me in like it wasn’t even a question.
Like I was supposed to be there. His cheek rested against the top of my head, and I sagged into him before I could think better of it.
Before my brain could spin up all the reasons this wasn’t a good idea. Because, for that moment, I felt safe.
Not just held. Seen.
And I didn’t know what to do with that either.
Could he really mean this? Could someone see all of me—messy, sick, exhausted, overwhelmed—and still want more?
“I thought you were gone for good.” The words slipped out in a whisper before I could second-guess them.
Cord didn’t flinch. “I thought I might be,” he said, voice low and even. “I panicked.”
That landed like a stone in my chest. Not because I didn’t understand it—hell, I did—but because it confirmed what I’d feared. He’d seen my reality. And it had scared him off.
But then he added, softer, “But I was wrong.”
I pulled back just enough to look up at him. “Cord, this isn’t simple.”
“I know,” he said without hesitation. “There’s a kid. There’s real-life logistics. And yeah, that’s a lot even without adding in the chaos around what I do for a living.”
He ran a hand down the back of his neck, a flicker of nerves there—but not retreat. “But I’d be a damn fool to walk away just because I’m scared.”
That quiet sincerity did something to me. Broke open a little crack I’d been trying so hard to keep sealed.
He stepped back then, just a few inches. Not walking away, just giving me space. “I’m not asking for a blueprint,” he said. “Just… a chance.”
Just a chance.
It was too much. And somehow not enough. And everything I hadn’t let myself hope for.
He’d seen the mess. Not just the house—the chaos, the laundry, the toys everywhere. He’d seen me in it. Worn down. Unguarded. Barely holding it together. And he came back anyway.
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t run. He’d cooked, folded laundry, made Liam laugh. He made space for me to breathe. And now he was offering more.
Part of me wanted to believe in that—to believe he meant it, that this wasn’t just kindness or guilt or temporary. But belief didn’t come easy. Not when I knew exactly how fast people could change their minds. How quickly promises could turn into silence.
Still… maybe I didn’t have to believe everything right away. Maybe wanting to was enough. For now.
I nodded. Just a little. Just enough. “I’d like that,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended.
Cord smiled—one of those soft, sure smiles that felt like sunlight. He kissed my forehead one more time and stepped outside. “Take it easy. I’ll be in touch, okay?”
“Yeah.” I quirked a wry smile. “I promise to answer this time.”
He huffed a laugh and stepped outside. The door clicked shut behind him. But something in me stayed open. A crack of hope I hadn’t dared feel in a long, long time.