Chapter 41
Kia
I pace from the windows to the couch and then back again, my footsteps carving the same restless path into the floor. My hands refuse to settle. They continue tugging at the hem of my sweater, twisting the fabric until my fingers ache.
Down the hall, I hear Laiken’s voice as he puts Elody to bed.
It’s low, calm, and steady.
Just like the man himself.
The sound wraps around me, reassuring me in ways I don’t understand. How does he manage to sound like everything is normal? Like the world didn’t tilt off its axis a few hours ago. Like there aren’t videos circulating with his name attached to words like violent and unstable.
I stop at the table behind the couch and brace my palms against the warm wood, forcing myself to breathe.
In.
Out.
And then again.
Elody says something I can’t quite pick up. Her voice is softer than usual, blurred by exhaustion. Laiken responds, murmuring reassurances. My chest tightens at how easily he gives her exactly what she needs.
That should be comforting. Instead, it only sharpens the fear until it’s almost unbearable. If everything falls apart, and today costs him his daughter, then every murmured word drifting down the hall will feel like a promise I helped turn into a lie.
That thought has me pacing again before it can fully finish forming.
My gaze falls on my phone. Even though I shouldn’t check it, I do it anyway.
The screen lights up, and it’s like stepping into a room full of shouting. A clip loads of Laiken’s fist connecting with Collin’s face, slowed down, zoomed in, framed like entertainment. Another angle follows. Then another.
The headline beneath it has bile rising in my throat.
Unable to help myself, I scroll. There are hundreds of comments from strangers dissecting a moment they weren’t part of. People argue over whether Laiken should be arrested, suspended, or fined. Whether this is a pattern, and if his daughter should be living in a home like that.
My hands start shaking so hard I nearly drop the phone.
In a courtroom, it won’t matter if Collin grabbed me first or if Elody was scared.
It won’t matter that Laiken reacted on instinct.
The videos start with the punch. Probably because that’s when people realized who he was.
I press a hand to my stomach, as if I can shield my baby from the rush of fear flooding my system. The room tilts just enough that I have to grab the back of the couch and blink rapidly until the nausea eases.
They’re going to use this. Elody’s grandparents won’t see a father protecting his family. Instead, they’ll see an unstable environment, poor judgment, and a violent household.
If he loses her because of me…
My lungs constrict until breathing becomes impossible.
I glance down the hallway again and listen for his return. A few minutes later, there’s the click of a door. Not wanting him to see the pictures or ugly comments, I flip my phone face down.
The silence stretches, and my brain does what it’s always done when I’m scared.
It looks for an exit.
Maybe… maybe I should leave.
If I walk away now, maybe the mess goes with me. If I disappear, Elody never has to worry about Collin again. The videos stop being about her stepmother. Laiken can tell her grandparents and the courts that I was the problem.
He appears in the doorway before I can continue my mental spiral.
Laiken looks exhausted. Composed but worn around the edges in a way he doesn’t try to hide. There’s a tension in his shoulders, a tightness in his jaw that tells me how much effort it’s costing him to stay steady.
He studies me carefully. “Are you okay?”
The fact he’s asking about me after this ordeal only makes me feel worse.
Tears burn my eyes. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you about the texts and calls. I thought Collin would go away if I ignored him long enough. I didn’t think he’d—” My voice breaks as I lift my hands helplessly. “I didn’t think it would escalate to this point.”
He crosses the room in three swift strides before pulling me into his arms.
“No,” he says calmly.
“No?” I whisper in confusion.
“You’re not going to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Take responsibility for someone else’s actions,” he says.
A tear slips free. “I should’ve told you.”
“You were scared.”
I nod because it’s the truth. “I never wanted to bring any of this into your or Elody’s life.”
He pulls back enough to meet my gaze. “You don’t protect me by suffering in silence. If he contacts you again, you tell me. Not because you’re weak, but because you’re not alone anymore.”
The words sink into a place within me no one has ever touched.
“What’s going to happen now?” I ask, fear breaking through. “With the team and the league? What if Collin presses charges?”
He’s quiet for a moment before admitting, “I don’t know.”
His honesty steadies me far more than any empty reassurances could.
“Her grandparents are going to use this,” I whisper.
“You’re right. They’re certainly going to try.” He pulls me against him. “But here’s what I know: Elody isn’t safer without you. She’s safer because of you.”
That feels impossible to believe.
“As soon as she got home, she ran straight to you,” he continues. “She asked to call you mommy. She only left your side because I told her it was bedtime, and even then, it took convincing.”
Relief and fear tangle together until it’s impossible to tell them apart.
“You didn’t cause this,” he murmurs. “And you don’t get to carry it alone.”
My eyelids flutter closed as I lean into his strength. “What do we do now?”
“We face the fallout,” he says, stroking my hair. “Together.”
I glance down the hallway toward Elody’s room, and realize something I’ve never understood before. Being brave doesn’t mean standing alone.
It means staying.
Even when running would be so much easier.