Chapter 47
Proving Ground
Reed
I'd been awake since four-thirty. The red numbers on my bedside clock had glared at me through the darkness while I twisted in my sheets, my pulse thumping in my ears like distant footsteps.
By five, I'd given up, thrown off the covers, and stumbled to the kitchen. Now my fingertips tapped against the ceramic of my coffee mug, making me think of Felicity tapping the beat to songs in her head as I watched the ripples move through the black liquid’s surface.
Today was the day. Today, I would get to see the kids again. Talk to them. Spend time with them. I was freaking the fuck out—not the run-away kind of freak-out, though. It was a day-of-reckoning freak out.
I ran through everything again, the mental list that had consumed me since Maliyah had extended the invitation. Breakfast. You can spend a little time with the kids. See how things go. Translation: You have some work to do to get those kids to trust you again, Morrison.
The coffee was strong and bitter, exactly what I needed to kick my ass in gear.
I'd already showered, already dressed in jeans and a navy Henley that I hoped screamed ‘non-threatening-loser-who-needs-forgiveness.’ I looked like a guy trying too hard not to look like he was trying, which I guess was the entire point.
My phone sat on the counter as I waited. The sun hadn’t even risen yet, so it was going to be a long-ass wait. In the meantime, I needed to work off this nervous energy that felt like it might vibrate me apart.
I pulled up my notes on the DV training program instead. Better to keep my mind occupied than to spiral into all the ways this morning could go sideways.
DV Prevention and Self-Defense Training: Learn the Basics from Your Local BPD Officers
The title needed work, sounded more like “win a date with a cop” auction, but the framework was solid.
I'd spent a lot of time working on this after leaving Maliyah's place, mornings before work, stolen hours in between cases.
Jaxson had come through with connections to two women's shelters, and Luis was already translating materials into Spanish, Haitian-Creole, and now Portuguese too.
Gloria had introduced me to a trauma psychologist who specialized in DV survivor support, and she'd agreed to consult on the curriculum.
I knew the centers usually have psychologists on staff, but I really wanted to do this separately, providing a consistent resource that could help multiple shelters instead of just one-offs.
As I got into it, I found that I really liked the work—the idea of helping women feel empowered. One woman learning to protect herself would make every hour worthwhile.
The training would run six weeks: ninety-minute sessions, twice weekly, designed so participants could join at any point.
We'd cover recognizing all forms of abuse—isolation, financial control, gaslighting, using children as leverage.
We'd navigate the legal system—restraining orders, police limitations, advocacy.
I'd interviewed survivors with vastly different experiences to ensure we addressed both successes and failures.
Most importantly, we'd teach practical skills: de-escalation, safety planning, proper documentation for court.
Women would see their experiences weren't unique, shameful, or their fault.
The final sessions would teach practical self-defense—simple techniques giving women real options if their abuser appeared at work or their child's school.
I'd sent the initial proposal to Captain Martinez yesterday, flagging it as a community outreach initiative with potential for grant funding and partnership with nonprofits.
He'd responded in his typical fashion: This looks solid, Morrison—your job to get it funded.
Get me more details once you get everything together. Good luck.
In other words: Don't fuck this up, don't make my department look bad, but if it’s successful I want to say I got to weigh in.
Also: Again, don’t fuck this up. It’s on you.
No pressure at all.
My fingers flew across my laptop as I added comments to the doc.
An idea came to mind—Childcare. Providing childcare that was meaningful could be a game-changer.
If we made it safe, accessible, and fun for the kids, maybe more women would come.
Maybe give the kids some self-defense moves.
Kids as young as 3 or 4 could start with basic jiu-jitsu moves—focusing on defensive measures. Hell yeah.
This could really fucking matter. This could turn out to be something that would make a difference for women like Maliyah. For kids like Lucas and Zoe.
Maliyah wasn't just a case or a conquest. I'd abandoned her once because I was too selfish to see what I had. Not anymore. This version of me, sitting in my kitchen at the ass-crack of dawn, had learned his lesson the hard way.
I closed my laptop and checked the time again. Five minutes had passed. For fucks sake. This was going to be a long morning.
Maybe I could swing by the bakery, grab something good. Maliyah had said breakfast, which meant she'd probably make something, but showing up with fresh pastries wouldn’t be the worst thing.
Chocolate croissants. Definitely chocolate croissants.
And sticky buns. Maybe I could swing by.
.. Shit—maybe some of everything. Winning her heart and influencing her kids through food—maybe I’d write a book about how to fuck it up and then win them back.
.. Should probably work on actually winning them back first.
I grabbed my keys and headed out into the cold-ass morning.
A couple of hours later, I was sitting in my car a block from Maliyah's apartment, breakfast carefully balanced in the passenger seat, trying not to overthink the fact that I'd doubled back to my place and changed—twice—before leaving again.
The navy Henley had felt too casual. The button-up too formal.
Pats jersey was even more casual. Then I'd settled back on the Henley again because I looked good in it, and confidence mattered.
My phone buzzed.
Maliyah: Still coming this morning?
I smiled despite my nerves.
Instead of texting, I hit dial.
“Hey.” Her voice was a mix of excitement and hesitation.
“Hey. Yeah, so, thought I’d just call. Hope that’s okay.” Fuck I was so nervous.
“Yeah! Of course! Sure! That’s good! Yeah.”
Her excitement was so clearly overdone that we both went completely silent. I dropped my head to the steering wheel. I’m such a moron.
I cleared my throat. "Yeah. Okay. So, I’m already around the corner."
"Oh! Really?"
Ugh. Just fucking say it, Reed! I stumbled over my words, "Yeah, I Um—I got kind of excited and was nervous. And I didn’t want to be late.
Plus I got changed a couple times. And I went to the bakery too.
I just didn’t want to come empty-handed.
And they had some cool things there—they had a bear claw actually shaped like a bear claw, not just a mass of something, and I thought Lucas would like it.
Plus then they had this pastry shaped like a flower and it has strawberries on it that I was sure Zoe would like.
So I thought I would get both." No stopping me now!
"And then I got worried that they would think I was trying to feed them crazy shit to convince them back into liking me, so I stopped and got donuts.
Then I realized you would probably hate how much sugar I brought so I picked up some bagels.
Then I thought about how many carbs there were in every—"
Reed!" Her voice cracked between a laugh and a shout, cutting through my spiral as I gripped the steering wheel tighter. I could almost see her shaking her head on the other end of the line, that little crinkle forming between her eyebrows. "Breathe!"
I took a big breath and let it out. Feeling some of the tension leave my shoulders.
"It’s going to be okay," she assured me. "Lucas has already been asking a million questions. He's excited you’re letting him interview you. So fair warning, I hope you're prepared."
"Ha! I am. I've actually prepared a statement. It's probably a little lawyerly. He's going to hate it."
"Good. He needs to show you that he's going to hate something about this."
That made me laugh. Actual, genuine laugh that probably looked ridiculous sitting alone in my car, but there it was. She got it. She got that Lucas needed to test me, needed to know that I wasn't going to crumble the second a kid gave me attitude.
"Can I come now? Or should I wait?"
"Come now. Don’t just sit in your car. We’re just hanging out watching Bluey for the seven-millionth time."
"Sweet. See you in five."
"Sounds good."
“Maliyah—" I called out before she hung up.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks. You know? For letting me be part of this. I know we have a ways to go, but thanks for taking this chance with me. I mean—even as friends."
Her silence made me a little nervous, at first. But then I heard her say, "The chance is yours, Reed. Help me believe in you."
"For as long as you’ll have me."
"See you soon, Reed."
At that, she hung up and I stared at my phone. The chance is yours, she’d said. I felt like I could walk on water.
I hopped out of my car, figuring the walk would do me good. My hands were steadier now than they’d been all morning.
This was it. This was the moment where I could back up my words with action.
Walking up her steps with the multiple bags in my hands, I was torn between running to her door or pausing to plan what I’d say. The choice was taken from me, though, when Maliyah opened the door even though I still had about five feet to go. For a second, I completely forgot how to breathe.
She was wearing this soft light pink sweater that made her skin glow, and her hair was down, falling in waves past her shoulders. The bruising was completely gone now and the scars on her cheek had been covered by makeup, though I could still see faint creases in her skin that caught the light.
She was beautiful. Stunning. She’d always been beautiful to me, but like this—fresh and open, excitement in her eyes—she was something else entirely.
"Morning," I said, holding up all the bags like an offering.
Her eyes went soft with laughter. "You didn't have to—"
"I know. But I did anyway." I stepped inside, and the smell of something cooking hit me. The telltale scent of eggs, toast, probably bacon. "What are you making?"
"Nothing special, just the standard breakfast fare." She closed the door behind me, and I caught a whiff of her shampoo. Coconut. "Bluey is on and Zoe is engrossed. Lucas is working on something for school and pretending he isn’t into the show anymore—pretending and failing."
I laughed. Bluey rocks. "Okay, well how much can I expect to be judged?"
"Extensively." A smile played at the corner of her mouth. "But really, it’s not too bad. Just come in. Let’s rip off the bandaid."
We walked in and I set all the bags on the kitchen counter. The smell of bacon made my mouth water as I noticed all the foods Maliyah had been preparing. The sound of cartoons played from the other room, Bluey's Australian accent drifting through the air.
Maliyah paused beside me, her fingers drumming once against the counter. "Ready?"
"Is it okay to say I’m nervous?" I admitted, which made her smile.
"Yeah—definitely. It's honest." She lightly touched my forearm and my pulse raced even higher than it already was. She started toward the family room, and I followed—pulse rushing, heart hammering, and gut churning. I feel like I’m walking into the principal’s office or some shit.
As soon as we entered, two little heads swiveled toward me.
"Reeeeed!" Zoe shouted and launched herself at me. "You’re back! You really came!"
I caught her easily, my chest tightening at how light she felt, how readily she trusted me to catch her. "Hey, princess. Of course I came back."
Lucas stayed on the couch, his fingers fidgeting with the corner of a throw pillow. He glanced at me, then away, then back again—like he couldn't decide if he wanted to look at me or not.
"Hi," he said, voice barely above a whisper. Then, louder, "Mom said you're really doing the interview."
"Wouldn't miss it." I set Zoe down gently. "I even prepared some answers, but you can ask me anything you want."
He bit his lip, a gesture so like his mother it made my chest ache. "Even the hard questions?"
"Especially those."
He pulled his knees up slightly—seemingly protecting himself even as his eyes sparked with interest. "I made a list," he admitted, then quickly added, "It's not done yet though."
"Take your time. We've got all morning."
Maliyah touched my elbow. "Why don't we all sit for a bit before breakfast?"
Lucas scooted over—not much, but enough to make space. When I sat down, he stayed curled in his corner, but I caught him sneaking glances at me during Bluey, his notebook clutched in his lap like armor he wasn't quite ready to put down.