33. Thirty-Three
Thirty-Three
Quinn
“Where the hell is he?”
I mutter the words to the empty kitchen—it’s the third time I’ve voiced this exact complaint in the last twenty minutes. Checking my phone confirms what I already know: no texts, no calls, just the suffocating silence of waiting. My thumb hovers over Vince’s contact. We had agreed that I would wait for him to come home so he could tell me the news in person, but the waiting has become almost unbearable.
The meeting with Daisy was scheduled for 2:00 PM. An hour for the meeting, maybe longer, and the flight back takes another hour and a half, plus drive time from the airport to here. That means he should have been home around 5:00 or 5:30. It’s now 6:15 PM. And my patience is wearing thin.
Over four hours of not knowing—of imagining every possible scenario, from Vince walking out with full custody to Daisy changing her mind and demanding Jasmine back. Four hours of checking my phone every ninety seconds, of jumping at every sound that might be his car in the driveway.
“You’re making yourself crazy,” Grace had said around 4:30, watching me reorganize the silverware drawer for the second time. “And you’re making Jasmine fussy. Babies can pick up on our tension.”
She wasn’t wrong. Jasmine had been cranky all afternoon, refusing her favorite snacks and toys and whimpering whenever I put her down. Even Luna, normally indifferent to human drama, had given me a particularly judgmental stare before stalking off to hide under the bed.
At 5:00, I’d basically pushed Grace out the door to her room, assuring her I could handle things until Vince got home.
“Go. Please,” I’d insisted. “Your hovering is making me more anxious, and I know I’m driving you crazy.”
Now, I’m beginning to regret that decision. At least with Grace here, I had someone to voice my fears to, someone to tell me I was overreacting—being paranoid. Alone with Jasmine, every minute stretches into an eternity, every worst-case scenario playing in vivid detail behind my eyes.
A whimper draws my attention. Jasmine is in her wheeled baby walker, but it’s become stuck as she tries to get around the leather sofa. Her little hands are bunched into fists as she works herself into a proper cry.
“I’m coming, sweet girl,” I say as I hurry towards her.
When I enter the living room, she immediately raises her arms to be picked up, her face crumpling with relief when I lift her against my chest. Her little body feels so solid against me.
“Your daddy will be home soon,” I tell her, swaying gently from side to side in the rhythm she likes. “He’s just sorting out some boring grown-up stuff.”
She regards me solemnly, her green eyes—so like Vince’s—searching my face as if she understands exactly what’s at stake today. Then she reaches up and grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking with surprising strength.
“Ow! Okay, message received. Less talking, more snuggling.”
I settle into the armchair, adjusting her on my lap so she can play with the buttons on my cardigan instead of using my hair as a tether. The familiar weight of her, the sweet baby smell of her hair—it grounds me, pulling me back from the edge of panic I’ve been teetering on all day.
“Whatever happens, munchkin, whatever Daisy decided, we’ll figure it out. Your daddy and I. We won’t let anything happen to you.”
The thought catches me off guard. When did I start thinking of all of us as a unit, a family—something more permanent than what we really are? My breath catches as I realize that both of them are so firmly embedded in my heart that the idea of not being part of Jasmine’s life—of not being part of Vince’s—feels as debilitating as losing a limb.
And I’m terrified—not just about today’s meeting, but about the fact that we could lose this precious little girl who’s become as dear to me as her irresistible dad. What will happen to us if today changes everything?
Jasmine, restless from sitting, takes to the floor with a determined crawl. I smile as she heads straight for Luna. My cat, ever wary, watches her approach. The moment Jasmine’s tiny hands reach for her soft fur, Luna lets out a sharp meow and swiftly bolts. She’s learned to keep her distance from those grabby little fingers.
The sound, when it finally comes, is so faint I almost miss it—the distinctive growl of Vince’s Range Rover pulling into the driveway. I freeze, ears straining, confirming the sound of a car door slamming and footsteps on the front path.
My heart hammers against my ribs as I carefully rise, placing Jasmine in her baby walker with trembling hands. She looks up at me curiously before she looks around, searching for the elusive Luna.
I make it to the front door just as Vince’s key turns in the lock. The door swings open, and there he is—disheveled, exhausted, his expression unreadable as our eyes meet.
“Vince,” I whisper, my voice catching in my throat.
He steps inside, closing the door quietly behind him. For a moment, we just stare at each other, the space between us electric with unasked questions.
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to ask the question even though I’m terrified of the answer. “What happened, Vince? Did Daisy sign?”
He looks at me then, his green eyes intense in a way I’ve never seen before. Slowly, deliberately, he crosses the space between us.
For a moment, it looks like he can’t speak, but then he pulls me into his arms with what feels like desperation. I lean into him fiercely, hands gripping his shirt, my face pressed against his chest in fear of hearing the worst.
“She signed.” He says, his voice breaking, raw with emotion, as he buries his face in my hair.
The words don’t register at first. Too simple to contain the magnitude of what they mean.
“She... what?” I pull back to see his expression.
“She signed everything. Full custody, no visitation rights, no conditions.” His voice is rough with emotion. “Jasmine is legally mine. No one can take her away now.”
Relief crashes over me with such force that my knees nearly buckle. “Oh my God, Vince.”
I throw my arms around his neck, and he holds me, his arms hugging me to him with bruising intensity. I can feel him trembling, or maybe that’s me—both of us shaking with the release of a tension so intense I feel lightheaded.
“I told you,” I manage to say against the fabric of his shirt, “I told you it would work out.”
He laughs, a sound somewhere between joy and disbelief. “You did. You always believed, even when I couldn’t.”
When we finally pull apart, I see the sheen of tears in his eyes, though he’d probably deny it. They match the wetness in mine. I reach up to touch his face, the stubble rough against my fingertips.
“I couldn’t wait to tell you in person. To see your face.”
I smile through my tears. “Was it worth the wait?”
“Everything about you is worth waiting for.”
My eyes widen at that, but before I can respond, a familiar wail emanates from the living room.
“Perfect timing, as always,” I laugh, taking his hand. “Come on, Daddy. Your daughter wants to congratulate you, too.”
We walk forward together, and Jasmine’s cries immediately turn to happy babbling at the sight of us. Vince scoops her up, holding her little body against his chest, and I marvel at the fierce protectiveness that surges across his features.
“You’re mine, baby girl, forever,” He whispers against her soft hair. “Nobody’s ever going to take you away from me. I promise.”
I give them this moment, my heart swelling at the raw emotion and fierce love on his face for his precious daughter.
After a few minutes, he glances up at me, relief evident on his face. “I guess you want to hear about the meeting?”
“Yes. Tell me everything,” I say. “What took so long?”
Vince reaches out with his free arm and takes my hand, leading me to the couch. As we sit, he keeps hold of me, our fingers intertwined as if he needs the physical connection to ground him. He also continues to cradle Jasmine against his chest, reluctant to let her go.
“It was supposed to be straightforward. Michael had prepared all the paperwork. We just needed Daisy’s signature.” He shakes his head, the memory clearly still raw. “But this guy she’s involved with—all man-bun and patchouli—he starts trying to negotiate everything.”
“Negotiate how?”
“He had dollar signs in his eyes the minute we showed up.” Vince’s jaw tightens. “Started talking about ‘compensation’ for Daisy signing away her rights, like Jasmine was some sort of business transaction, of an item to be sold.”
I inhale sharply. “He asked for money?”
Vince details the confrontation, his voice tightening with each word, the resentment toward Ash unmistakable in every syllable. The story unfolds like a predictable tragedy—one where Ash’s true intentions were finally exposed.
“So Daisy wasn’t after a payout?” I ask, surprised. I squeeze his hand. “That’s... unexpectedly decent of her.”
“Yeah.” He looks thoughtful. “I think I misjudged her, Quinn. She’s not really a bad person. She’s just someone who recognized she wasn’t cut out for motherhood right now and made a difficult choice.”
He sighs, some of the tension finally leaving his shoulders. “Michael’s filing everything tomorrow. By next week, it’ll be official, though legally, as of today, Jasmine is mine.”
We both sit quietly for a moment, absorbing the enormity of what he’s just said. Vince’s thumb strokes the back of my hand in slow circles, the simple touch keeping us connected.
“How do you feel?” I ask softly, breaking the silence.
He looks down at Jasmine nestled against his chest, her wide eyes blinking slowly as she observes her father’s face with that peculiar infant intensity as if she knows something monumental has happened. Vince gently brushes his fingers through her soft curls, his voice thick with emotion.
“Honestly? Like I’ve been holding my breath for months, and I’m finally allowed to breathe again.”
My heart constricts at the raw relief in his voice. “You deserve this, Vince. Both of you do.”
He shakes his head slightly. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Quinn.” His gaze drops to Jasmine, then back to me.
“You never needed me,” I say softly. “You would have figured it out—and you had Grace.”
“Maybe.” His fingers leave mine, trailing up my arm in a touch so light it raises goosebumps. “But I didn’t want to figure it out by myself.”
When his hand reaches my shoulder, he pulls me gently against him. I go willingly, fitting myself against his side, my head finding that perfect hollow between his shoulder and chest. Jasmine makes a contented sound, her tiny hand reaching out to grasp at my hair as his fingers trace idle patterns on my shoulder, each touch sending warmth cascading through me.
“When Daisy signed those papers today,” he says, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper, “it hit me. Jasmine’s mine—no more looking over my shoulder, waiting for everything to fall apart.”
I lift my head to meet his gaze, my breath catching at what I see there—a tenderness, a certainty that makes my heart race.
“But something else hit me too,” he continues, eyes never leaving mine. “Something I’ve been fighting because it’s as crushing as the thought of losing Jasmine.”
“What?” I whisper, half afraid to hear the answer.
His free hand comes up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing lightly across my lower lip in a touch so intimate it makes me shiver. “How easily I could lose you, too.”
The confession hangs in the air between us, crackling with unspoken emotion.
“You’re not going to lose me,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.
“No?” His eyes search mine, looking for something—confirmation, perhaps, or permission.
“No,” I confirm, covering his hand with mine where it rests against my face. “I’m right where I want to be.”
His answering smile—slow, confident, full of promise—makes heat pool low in my belly.
Whatever comes next, one thing is certain: everything has changed today—and for the first time since all this began, I finally believe that this feeling between us isn’t temporary—it’s just the beginning.