Chapter 44
Without Nightmares
Maliyah
I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror. Tomorrow. Tomorrow these wires came out. I would not freak out or let fear speak into me. I would not wonder what would happen if the doctor said that I hadn’t healed enough. I was ready for this to be done—to get back to living.
I turned away from the mirror and went through my nightly routine on autopilot.
I pulled on the faded blue flannel bottoms with the fraying drawstring that had seen me through two pregnancies, tugging the matching top over my head, relishing in the ability to stretch with less pain these days.
The soft, well-loved, fabric slid against my skin like a familiar embrace.
Walking into my bedroom, I flipped off the bathroom light and gravitated toward my phone where it sat on the nightstand.
The screen sat there—dark and mocking. Reed had texted earlier—something about a meeting running late, hope I was having a good evening.
I'd responded with a thumbs up emoji because that's all I could manage lately.
Every text felt like effort I didn't have.
But tomorrow. Tomorrow I could call him—would call him. I want to speak to him instead of typing one-word responses like some kind of automated system. Hard as it was to admit it, I missed him.
I pressed my palm against my stomach, right where that hollow ache lived—the one that flared whenever I thought of Reed—of his smile, then immediately I’d remember the feeling of him leaving.
What if I let him in again, only for him to leave?
But I knew I was lying to myself—I’d already let him in. I’d already taken the chance.
I stared at the dark screen, my index finger hovering over the screen as I contemplated waking my phone to text him. No. Stick to the plan. I’d wait until the wires were out.
I climbed into bed, pulled the covers up, and stared at the ceiling. The apartment was quiet except for the occasional creak of the building settling and the muffled sound of someone's TV through the wall. Normal sounds. Safe sounds.
My mind wandered to Lucas and Zoe. They'd video called earlier today—like every day now.
Their faces filled my screen with gap-toothed grins and excited chatter about school and soccer practice and Zoe's new best friend Charlotte who apparently had the best snacks.
I'd typed responses, speaking small amounts when I had the energy. I’d shown them drawings, made silly faces that pulled at my healing jaw.
"When can we come home, Mama?" Lucas had asked.
Soon, baby. So soon.
And I'd meant it. I was going to surprise them tomorrow—I'd show up at Felicity's with my jaw finally free, ready to scoop them into my arms when they burst through the door from school.
I'd imagined a million times what it would feel like to watch their faces as they realized I had come to take them home.
I rolled onto my side, tucking my hands under the pillow. Tomorrow couldn't come fast enough. But what if—
No. I wasn't doing that. Wasn't playing the hypotheticals game where my mind spun out worst-case scenarios.
I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing. In through my nose, out through my mouth. The meditation app Felicity had downloaded for me played softly from my phone—some woman with a soothing voice talking about releasing tension and trusting the process.
Sleep found me somewhere between the third and fourth breathing exercise. I woke to the sun cracking the horizon, a sliver of light streaming through my bedroom window. No nightmares.
The realization hit me as I blinked awake, my body relaxed instead of coiled tight with fear. No dreams of hands around my throat. No visions of Bryce's face looming over me. No darkness closing in.
Just sleep. Real, actual sleep. I lay there for a moment, letting that sink in. Then I grabbed my phone. Two hours until my appointment.
I threw back the covers and got up, my body protesting the quick movement. My ribs were mostly healed now, just the occasional twinge when I moved wrong. The bruises had faded completely.
The shower felt like the best of all luxuries—hot water pounding against my back, steam filling the bathroom. I took my time getting ready—unsure of what today’s appointment would bring and afraid of letting hope burn too hot.
In the kitchen, I made myself a smoothie from the stash Reed had left. Mango pineapple today. I sipped it slowly through the straw, my jaw aching with the familiar pull of the wires.
Last time. This was the last time I'd have to do this. My phone buzzed.
Felicity: Good luck today! Text me as soon as you're done. Love you!
Me: Will do. Love you too.
Another buzz.
Caden: You've got this, May-May. The kids are so excited to talk to you tonight.
That tugged on my heart—in a good way. Tonight. Tonight I would pick up my babies and bring them home to me.
I finished the smoothie, rinsed the cup, and looked around my apartment. Everything was in its place. Clean. Organized. Ready. I grabbed my purse, checked that I had my wallet and insurance card, and headed for the door.
My hand closed around the doorknob. Deep breath. You've got this. I pulled open the door.
And there stood Reed. Leaning on the wall next to my door, two coffee cups in hand, wearing jeans and a henley that made his shoulders look impossibly broad. His hair was slightly messy, like he'd run his hands through it over and over again. On his face rested a hopeful but careful expression.
"Hey," he said, his voice soft in the quiet hallway.
I stared at him, my hand still on the doorknob, my brain trying to catch up. Reed. Here. With coffee.
He held up one of the cups. "Figured you might want company for the appointment. If that's okay. If not, I can just—" He started to lower the cup. "I can leave the coffee and go."
I shook my head quickly, stepping back to let him in. The smile that broke across his face was like sunrise. He came inside, and I closed the door behind him, my heart doing something complicated in my chest. He was here. He'd shown up.
"How did you—" I gestured at him, at the coffee, at everything, my voice barely working through space between my lips.
"How did I know about your appointment?" He set both cups on the counter and turned to face me. "Maliyah, I know when all your appointments are. I've known since the hospital." His blue eyes held mine. "I pay attention—I care."
The words landed in my chest and settled there, warm and solid.
He picked up one of the cups again and held it out. He stopped, looking uncertain and rushing through his words, "Is this weird? This feels weird. Am I making this weird? I'm making this weird."
I took the cup from him, my fingers brushing his, and shook my head and smirked at his nervousness. Not weird. The opposite of weird.
Speaking through the wires as best I could, trying to avoid slurring too much, I said, "Thank you for being here. I hadn’t realized you knew about today."
At her words, something shifted in his expression—relief mixed with determination.
"I know about all of them. The follow-ups, the physical therapy appointments you have next week, the one with the plastic surgeon in two weeks.
" He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not trying to be creepy.
Felicity keeps me updated. I just—I wanted to be here.
If you wanted me here. If you needed anything. "
The truth surprised me even as I whispered, "I want you here." And I realized that it was true. Standing here facing Reed as he held his coffee and watched me like I was something precious—I wanted this. Wanted him.
"Good." His shoulders relaxed. "That's good. Because I was prepared to camp out in the hallway, waiting for you to get back, if you said no."
I couldn't help it—I smiled. Really smiled, even though it pulled at my jaw and probably looked ridiculous with the wires.
But Reed's expression went soft, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "There she is."
My phone buzzed in my hand—an alarm I'd set reminding me to leave in fifteen minutes.
Reed glanced at it. "We should probably get going. Traffic might be bad."
I nodded.
He waited while I locked up, then walked beside me down the hallway to the stairs. His hand hovered near the small of my back, not quite touching but close enough that I could feel the warmth of him.
Outside, his car was parked in visitor parking, and he opened the passenger door for me before I could reach for it.
"Your carriage awaits," he said with a small smile.
I rolled my eyes but got in, the familiar smell of his car—coffee and that cedar soap he used—surrounding me.
He slid into the driver's seat, the leather creaking beneath his weight.
The engine rumbled to life as he started the car, but he let it idle, his knuckles white against the steering wheel.
When he turned to look at me, morning light caught the stubble on his jaw, highlighting the tiny scar near his chin I'd never noticed before.
"Whatever happens in there today," he said, his voice barely audible above the engine's purr, "whatever the doctor says—you've already survived the hardest part. This is just the next step."
He reached over, his calloused fingers enveloping mine.
He squeezed—just once, quick, but I felt the warmth of his palm against my skin, the gentle pressure of his thumb brushing my knuckle.
I curled my fingers around his and held on for a heartbeat longer than necessary, feeling the steady thrum of his pulse against mine.
Then he put the car in gear and pulled out of the parking lot, and I watched my building disappear in the side mirror. Today these wires came out. Today I’d get my voice back. Today I would start figuring out what came next.
And Reed was here—not because I'd asked, not because he felt obligated, but because he'd paid attention.
Because he cared. That had to mean something.
No—that did mean something. I settled back in my seat, the coffee cup warm in my hands even if I couldn't drink it yet, and let myself feel something I hadn't felt in weeks.
Hope.