Chapter 38
The Warmth of First Light
Reed
I woke to the warm pressure of Maliyah's head nestled against my chest, her breath whispering across my skin, and the soft weight of her hand resting on my torso.
For a moment, I didn't move. I was afraid to even breathe or take the chance of disturbing whatever fragile peace we'd found in the dark hours of the night.
While my arm was around her, I did my best to keep her secure—careful of her litany of injuries. The nightmare that had sent her spiraling last night seemed distant, a shadow that had passed—for now.
Morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and gray. Just past dawn, the apartment was still quiet except for the distant hum of early traffic and Maliyah's steady breathing.
I should move. Should create distance before she woke up and remembered she was supposed to hate me. Should give her the space to regret asking me to stay.
But she was warm against me. Safe. And I'd spent too many nights alone in my apartment, staring at the ceiling, remembering what it felt like to hold her.
I wasn't ready to let go. Not yet, and if she'd let me, not ever.
She stirred slightly, and I felt her tense—that moment of waking confusion before memory caught up. Her breathing changed, no longer the deep rhythm of sleep but the careful awareness of someone trying to figure out where they were.
"Hey," I whispered, keeping my voice low. "You okay?"
She nodded against my chest, then reached for her phone that had fallen to my side from her hand while we slept. I waited while she typed, trying to hold back the excitement at how she still hadn't pulled away from me.
Better. Thank you.
"Nightmare?"
Yeah.
I moved my hand to her hair, fingers threading through the tangles with gentle patience. "Want to talk about it?"
She shook her head, and I didn't push. Telling me about it meant remembering what she'd dreamt—what she'd gone through. She'd done enough of that already.
We lay there as the room grew lighter. Minutes passed—maybe ten, maybe twenty. Neither of us moved to break the contact. I memorized the weight of her, the scent of her shampoo, the way her fingers curled loosely against my chest.
This might be all I got. This one morning. This brief moment before she remembered all the reasons to push me away. Minutes ticked by while I remained as still as my body would allow. Until her hand moved to her phone again.
You stayed.
"Yeah."
All night.
"All night."
Why?
My thumb traced a gentle line along her temple, just below the still-healing bruises, being careful of her sutures.
The question hung between us, loaded with everything unsaid.
I could give her the easy answer. Because she'd asked.
Because she'd had a nightmare. Because it was the decent thing to do.
All things that wouldn't scare her away.
But I was done with easy answers. Done with half-truths that protected me from her rejection—a well-deserved one at that.
"Because you needed me, and I wanted to be here with you. I wanted to hold you through it. To give you a piece of myself that could maybe help you feel safe," I said quietly.
The silence stretched. I could feel her processing, deciding whether to accept that or push for more.
And then I realized—this was it. This was the moment. If I was going to do this, if I was going to fight for another chance, I had to stop waiting for the perfect time. Had to stop being careful.
Had to tell her the truth. "Maliyah, I need to say something." She waited, her body still against mine, her breathing shallow.
"I was wrong. About everything." The words scraped out of me, rough with sleep and emotion. "When I got shot, I convinced myself I was protecting you and the kids by pushing you away. But I was just protecting myself. From getting hurt. From having to face my own fear."
I felt her start to reach for her phone, but I caught her hand gently.
"No, let me finish. Please." I shifted so I could see her face, could look her in the eye while I said this.
"You told me I was choosing to leave, that I was doing to them exactly what I'd been afraid that losing me would do.
You were right. I was so terrified of dying and hurting you that I hurt you anyway.
While I was still alive. While I still had the choice. "
My hand cupped her cheek, so gentle I barely touched the damaged skin.
"I'm not going to lie and say I'm not still scared. I am. Every day. But it’s a different kind of scared.
Watching you fight to stay alive, seeing your strength—" My voice cracked, and I had to stop, swallow hard against the tightness in my throat.
"You almost died, Maliyah. And I wasn't there.
I wasn't there because I'd been too much of a coward to stay. "
She grabbed her phone, her fingers moving quickly. You found me.
"Barely. And it was almost too late." My thumb brushed across her cheekbone, feather-light.
My voice broke. "The truth is, this job—it's dangerous.
I know that. And I can't lie and say I'll never be afraid again.
" I brushed my thumb across her cheek, feeling her warmth beneath my skin.
"But what terrifies me now isn't what might happen if I stay.
It's what I know will happen if I leave.
I lost you once because I ran—almost lost you for good.
I won't make that mistake again—not when every day without you felt like drowning.
I will fight every day to be worthy of what you are giving me. "
What am I giving you?
"Another chance." The words were barely a whisper. "A chance I don't deserve but I'm going to spend every day trying to earn."
I watched her face as she processed this. Saw the conflict there—the part of her that wanted to believe me warring with the part that remembered how easily I'd walked away before.
Reed—
"I hurt you. I hurt Lucas and Zoe." The admission burned like acid.
"They were starting to trust me, and I walked away like their dad did.
It wasn't something I was ready to hear, to understand, but I get now that I was proving that men can't be counted on.
" I shook my head, my jaw tight with self-recrimination.
"Being scared doesn't make that okay. Nothing makes that okay. "
She stared at me for a long moment. At the sincerity in my eyes, the guilt I couldn't hide, the desperate hope I was trying to keep buried.
Then she typed, slowly and deliberately: Is this why you're here now. She made a motion toward her own face.
"Is what why I'm here now?"
Because you feel guilty that you weren't there? That Bryce took me?
"What? No! No! Maliyah, no. That's not it. While almost losing you gave me the strength and opportunity to stand up straight, I was already committed to earning you back before that. This I swear."
I don't want you to want us out of guilt, Reed.
"Not even a little bit, Maliyah. Yeah—I feel guilty for being a dick. I feel bad for breaking your heart when it was entirely my fault. I broke my own damn heart while I was at it. But that's not why I'm here. I'm here because I can't imagine life without you."
So you're saying you want to do this? To be here?
"I am. And I'm not going anywhere. Not unless you tell me to."
Don't make promises you don't intend to keep.
The words hit me like a physical blow. Not because they hurt—because they were more than I deserved. More grace than I'd earned.
"I can do that," I said, my voice rough.
I can't promise you anything, Reed. I can't promise to pick back up. I'm in a weird place and I don't know how I feel about everything right now.
"I get it. I just want to be here for you. If you'll let me."
We were quiet again. The morning light had grown stronger, painting the room in shades of amber and gold. The warmth of first light after a long, dark night.
Finally, she shifted in my arms, wincing slightly as her ribs protested.
"Careful," I said, my hand steadying her. "You need your meds soon. And definitely another shake."
She made a face, and I couldn't help but smile. "I know. They're terrible. But you need the calories." I started to sit up carefully, trying not to jostle her. "I'll go make coffee. Maybe see what I can scrounge up for breakfast."
Wait.
I paused, looking into her eyes. In the morning light, with her hair mussed from sleep and even with the bruises fading on her face, she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.
Thank you. For staying.
"Always," I said, then caught myself. "I mean—as long as you want me to."
She nodded, then typed one more thing:
Like I said, no promises…I'm not ready to forgive you yet. But I'm not pushing you away either.
Relief crashed through me so hard I had to close my eyes for a second. It wasn't forgiveness. It wasn't even close to forgiveness.
But it was more than I deserved. More than I'd hoped for. "That's more than I deserve," I said quietly. "I'll take it."
I stood carefully, tucking the blankets back around her before heading to the kitchen. My hands were steady as I started the coffee maker, pulled out mugs, grabbed the chocolate protein shake from the fridge.
But inside, I was shaking. I would not do a dance in the kitchen. I would not act like a fucking moron. On second thought, fuck it. A slight slide and turn in my socks on the kitchen floor didn't feel like overdoing it. I could celebrate a little without getting ahead of myself.
Eye on the prize, Reed. I needed to keep her and the kids in focus, not losing sight of the fact that I had a long road ahead to win all of them back. But, in the meantime she was giving me another chance and I wasn't going to fuck it up this time.