Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
STELLA
Morning light filters through unfamiliar curtains, rousing me from fitful sleep. For a disorienting moment, I can't remember where I am. Then it all crashes back.
Ridge's cabin. Ridge's guest room. Ridge.
I turn to find Chellie still sleeping beside me, her dark curls splayed across the pillow, thumb tucked securely in her mouth. Safe. We're safe.
The thought brings unexpected tears to my eyes. After months of looking over my shoulder, of jumping at every phone call and text message, of living with the constant fear that Rick would show up drunk at our apartment door again, we're finally somewhere he can't reach us.
I slide carefully from the bed, tucking the blankets around Chellie's tiny form.
The wooden floor is cool beneath my bare feet as I creep to the bathroom.
The face in the mirror looks like a stranger.
Dark circles under bloodshot eyes. Skin pale from too many sleepless nights. Hair limp and unwashed.
This isn't who I used to be. This broken, frightened woman isn't Stella Brooks.
But she's who I am now. At least for a little while.
I splash cold water on my face, brush my teeth, and pull my hair into a fresh ponytail. Not much improvement, but it'll have to do. The smell of coffee drifts under the door, and my stomach growls in response.
Ridge is awake.
My heart thumps painfully against my ribs at the thought of facing him in the light of day. What must he think of me? Showing up on his doorstep after years of sporadic contact, with a toddler in tow and desperation in my eyes.
But I know the answer. He thinks nothing bad of me. He never has. That's why I called him yesterday when I finally worked up the courage to leave everything behind. Because Ridge Reeves has always been my safe place, my constant, my person.
Even when I wasn't his.
The guilt of that knowledge sits heavy in my chest as I make my way to the kitchen, following the scent of coffee like a lifeline.
He stands at the counter with his back to me, broader than I remember, all lean muscle beneath a worn flannel shirt. His dark hair curls slightly at the nape of his neck, a little too long, just like when we were teenagers. Some things never change.
"Morning," I say, my voice still rough with sleep.
Ridge turns, and the impact of seeing him fully hits me again. Strong jaw covered in stubble. Green eyes that always see too much. The small scar above his right eyebrow from when he fell out of a tree trying to rescue my cat when we were eleven.
"Morning." He slides a steaming mug across the counter toward me. "Black, two sugars. Still take it that way?"
The fact that he remembers makes my throat tighten. Eight years, and he still knows how I take my coffee.
"Perfect." I wrap my hands around the warm ceramic, letting it anchor me to this moment. "Thank you. For everything."
"Don't mention it." He busies himself at the stove where eggs sizzle in a cast iron pan. "Figured you could use a hot breakfast. Hope scrambled is okay."
"More than okay." I settle onto a stool at the counter, watching him cook. His movements are efficient, economical. "I don't remember you being much of a chef."
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Learned a few things. Turns out you can't live on ramen and peanut butter sandwiches forever."
"That's debatable."
The teasing feels like slipping into an old, comfortable sweater. For a moment, we could be teenagers again, hanging out in his parents' kitchen after school.
But we're not. We're adults with eight years of separate lives between us. And I have a daughter sleeping down the hall whose existence changes everything.
Ridge plates the eggs alongside toast and bacon, sliding it in front of me before making a plate for himself. He joins me at the counter rather than suggesting we move to the table. Giving me space. Not crowding. Typical Ridge, always considering my comfort first.
"You're staring," he points out softly.
"Sorry." I look down at my food. "Just... trying to process being here. It doesn't feel real yet."
"For what it's worth, I'm still wrapping my head around it too." He takes a bite of toast. "But I'm glad you called."
"Even though I interrupted your hunt?"
"Even then." His green eyes hold mine. "You and Chellie can stay as long as you need."
And there it is. The unconditional offer that breaks the last of my resolve. Tears well up despite my best efforts to contain them.
"Hey." Ridge's voice softens. "It's okay. Whatever happened, we'll figure it out."
A sob escapes before I can stop it. "I messed up so badly, Ridge."
"Tell me."
So I do. Between bites of food that tastes like sawdust and sips of coffee that scalds my throat, I tell him everything. How I met Rick my junior year of college. How charming and attentive he was at first. The whirlwind romance that swept me off my feet.
I tell him about getting pregnant unexpectedly. How Rick proposed, seeming excited about becoming a family. The gradual change afterward. His growing resentment. The increasing criticisms. How he started drinking more, coming home later.
"He never hit me," I clarify, seeing the dangerous flash in Ridge's eyes. "It wasn't like that. It was... subtler."
Ridge's knuckles whiten around his coffee mug. "Abuse doesn't have to leave bruises to count, Stella."
The quiet certainty in his voice releases something tight in my chest. He believes me. Without question.
"Six months into the pregnancy, he told me fatherhood 'wasn't his vibe.'" I laugh, a brittle sound with no humor. "Just like that. He packed a bag and left. No forwarding address. No support. Nothing."
"Bastard," Ridge murmurs.
"I thought that was it. That he was gone for good." I push my half-eaten breakfast away, appetite vanishing. "Then two months ago, he showed up at my apartment. Drunk. Saying he'd changed his mind. That he wanted to be part of Chellie's life."
"And you didn't want that." Not a question. An understanding.
"How could I? He abandoned us before she was even born." My voice hardens. "But he kept coming around. Calling. Texting. Showing up at my work. Then he started saying I owed him money for 'emotional damages.' That if I didn't pay, he'd sue for custody."
"He doesn't have a case." Ridge's face is a thundercloud of controlled anger. "No judge would side with him."
"I know that logically. But he's... persuasive. Charming when he wants to be. And I was scared." I look toward the hallway where my daughter still sleeps. "Then my lease ended, and it felt like a sign. Time to start over somewhere he couldn't find us."
"Here." Ridge says it so simply. Like it's the most natural conclusion.
"I didn't know where else to go." The admission costs me pride I can't afford. "My parents moved to Arizona. I lost touch with most of my friends after Chellie was born. But I knew you'd still be here."
Ridge has always been here. In this town. On this mountain. Waiting, though I never asked him to.
"You did the right thing." He reaches across the counter, hesitates, then gently squeezes my hand. The touch sends warmth up my arm. "You and Chellie are safe here."
The simple promise unravels me. I've been holding myself together with sheer willpower for so long that his kindness feels dangerous, threatening the walls I've built to survive.
"I don't deserve your help," I whisper.
"That's not how friendship works, Stella." His hand tightens briefly on mine before releasing. "You don't have to earn safety."
A small sound from the hallway saves me from responding. Chellie stands in the doorway, stuffed bunny clutched in one hand, hair sticking up in wild disarray, eyes wide as she takes in the unfamiliar surroundings.
"Mama?" Her bottom lip trembles.
I'm off the stool in an instant, crossing to lift her into my arms. "Good morning, sunshine. Did you have a good sleep?"
She nods against my shoulder, then pulls back to look curiously at Ridge. "Big," she declares, the same word she mumbled last night.
Ridge's face transforms with a smile that steals my breath. "Good morning, Chellie. I'm Ridge. Your mom's friend."
"Widge." She attempts his name, resulting in an adorable mispronunciation.
"Close enough." He stands, moving to the refrigerator. "How about some orange juice? And I think I might have some pancake mix around here somewhere."
Chellie perks up instantly. "Cakes!"
Just like that, the tension breaks. My daughter, who usually hides from strangers, is smiling at Ridge like he's hung the moon simply by offering pancakes.
And watching him smile back does something to my chest. A recognition. A dangerous hope I can't afford to entertain.
Because I know how this story ends. I come back broken. Ridge puts me back together. Then I leave again, taking another piece of his heart with me.
Only this time, I'm not alone. And the stakes have never been higher.