Chapter 83 Saint
Saint
The tavern is finally quiet.
Havoc lost the war with the cable and went to bed.
The Magnolia Ladies were escorted home by Nora and Wolf with promises of coffee and pastries in the morning.
The lights downstairs are low.
The bar is clean.
The doors are locked.
For the first time all day…
The world isn’t screaming.
I stand at the bottom of the stairs for a moment and just listen.
No alarms.
No sirens.
No phones ringing.
Just breathing.
I walk upstairs slowly, like the quiet matters.
Laney is asleep on her side, facing Emmy’s bassinet.
Guarding her.
Even in sleep.
The lamp is still on.
She must have fallen asleep waiting for me.
One hand rests on the mattress like she reached for me and gave up.
My chest tightens.
I kick off my boots and sit beside her.
Emmy sleeps peacefully, one tiny fist tucked under her chin like she already has opinions about the world.
She looks like Laney.
Except she has my eyes.
That still hits me sideways.
I brush my knuckles gently across Laney’s hair.
She stirs.
Then blinks up at me.
“You’re back,” she whispers.
“I said I would be.”
Her tired smile makes something inside me ache.
“You always keep your promises.”
That lands deeper than she probably realizes.
I slide carefully into bed beside her.
Automatically positioning myself between her and the door.
Some instincts don’t turn off.
She shifts slightly closer.
Not all the way.
Just enough for her knee to rest against mine.
Progress.
“Is Mildred okay?” she asks.
“She will be. Wolf doubled the guard. The Magnolia Ladies nearly staged a hospital takeover.”
Laney nods slowly.
Then stares at the ceiling.
“I hate that someone got hurt because of me.”
“No,” I say quietly.
“She got hurt because someone evil is running out of room.”
Laney turns toward me.
“You’re not going to let anything happen to her,” she says.
Not a question.
“No,” I reply.
“Or you. Or Emmy.”
Her throat tightens.
“You don’t have to—”
“I know,” I interrupt gently.
“But I want to.”
Emmy makes a tiny sound in her sleep.
Laney immediately reaches toward the bassinet.
That small, instinctive motion does something violent to my chest.
“You’re good at this,” I tell her.
“At what?”
“Being her mom.”
Her eyes shine.
“I’m terrified all the time.”
“Yeah,” I say softly.
“That tracks.”
She studies me.
“Are you scared too?”
I don’t dodge it.
“Yes.”
After a moment she whispers:
“Can you… hold her?”
Like she’s handing me something sacred.
“Of course.”
She lifts Emmy carefully into my arms.
The world narrows to the warm weight of my daughter sleeping against my chest.
She fits there perfectly.
Like she was meant to.
Laney watches me quietly.
“You’re good at that too,” she says.
“I’ve been practicing in my head since the first time I saw her.”
Her eyes fill with tears.
She doesn’t cry.
She just rests her hand gently on my arm.
We sit like that for a long time.
Just breathing.
Just existing.
Eventually I settle Emmy back into the bassinet.
Laney lies down again.
This time she moves closer.
Her head rests against my shoulder.
My arm goes around her without thinking.
It feels right.
Old.
New.
Familiar.
“Saint?” she whispers.
“Yeah.”
“This is nice.”
I press my lips into her hair.
“Yeah.”
“It is.”
And for the first time since she walked back into my life with a baby in her arms…
It feels like we might actually get to keep this.