Chapter 49 Melanie
MELANIE
Agentle but insistent nudge against my arm startled me awake. My heart jolted, and my eyes fluttered open to the dim glow of the streetlights. Faye was curled up beside me, her tiny frame tucked against mine on top of the playground structure.
“Hey,” a voice murmured above me.
Blinking, I looked up. Nick stood there, his expression unreadable in the shadows.
“Hi,” I mumbled, my voice thick with exhaustion.
“Let’s get you guys home,” he said, his tone softer now as he bent down to scoop Faye into his arms. She didn’t stir—not even when he pressed her against his chest and carefully climbed down the ladder, his movements slow and steady.
I rubbed at my tired eyes before descending after him.
“What about the motorcycle?” I asked, my voice hushed.
“It’ll fit in the back of my truck,” he replied, already shifting his focus to securing Faye.
Sliding into the passenger seat, I let out a deep sigh, trying to shake the heaviness from my limbs. “I can’t believe I fell asleep.”
Nick shot me a sideways glance. “Me either. Were you drinking?” His tone was sharp, laced with something close to irritation.
I frowned. “No, I wasn’t drinking. What’s your deal? Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed?”
He exhaled slowly, gripping the steering wheel. “Sorry. It’s been a long day. Mario’s sick, so my mom and I might have to open early tomorrow. If we don’t, we’ll get slammed at the restaurant.”
His explanation felt rehearsed, like it wasn’t the whole truth. I studied him, but his face gave nothing away.
Then, with a quieter intensity, he added, “Seriously, though. Did you pass out somewhere because you forgot to take your insulin? I told you to set an alarm on your phone. You’re so forgetful.”
A yawn slipped from me as I shook my head.
“That’s not what happened.” My gaze drifted to the back seat, where Faye’s long blonde hair fanned out against the upholstery.
She looked so small, so fragile. A pang of something deep and aching tightened my chest. Turning my attention back to the road ahead, I admitted, “I stopped at a gas station to be responsible—to check my insulin, get some water. But right as I was leaving…I saw her. Faye.”
Silence settled between us—a heavy, knowing silence.
Nick’s grip on the wheel tightened. “When?”
I hesitated before answering. “Since this morning.”
I didn’t have to look at him to know his expression had changed. Shock. Disbelief. Maybe even anger. “She was just sitting there,” I continued, my voice barely above a whisper. “On the swing. Waiting for her mom to come back.”
Nick let out a low curse under his breath. “Shit. I thought Farrah was doing better. We just saw her.” He shook his head. “Guess you called it. She’s still drinking and using.”
I stared at my hands, memories creeping in like unwelcome ghosts—memories of my own mother, of being the kid left waiting, of being the responsibility passed off to someone else because she was too drunk to drive. But this… this was different.
This wasn’t just Farrah passing out somewhere.
“She left her,” I said, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. “She left her on purpose.”
Nick was quiet for a long moment before finally asking, “You think she’s not coming back?”
I swallowed hard. “I think she knew Faye would be in good hands if she never did. So she took her chance.”
Just like my mom did. Chose a man over her daughter. Chose drugs over freedom.
Nick let out another slow breath, then reached across the console, his fingers brushing over mine before giving them a reassuring squeeze. I squeezed back, grateful. Grateful that he was here.
Fifteen minutes later, Nick carefully lifted Faye from the truck and carried her up the steps to the house.
“Maybe we should let her sleep in our bed tonight,” I murmured, watching as he cradled her against him.
He shot me a knowing smirk. “Our bed, huh?”
I rolled my eyes. “Your bed. Sorry.”
His smirk deepened. “No, you were right the first time. It is our bed.” Then, lowering his voice, he added, “And no, I want to cuddle my wife and fuck her, so Faye will be fine on the couch.”
I gasped, shoving his shoulder. “Shh, she might hear you.”
“I’m not even talking loud,” he whispered back, grinning as he carefully laid Faye down on the couch.
I fetched a warm blanket from the closet and draped it over her, tucking it in around her small frame. She barely stirred, lost in the kind of deep sleep only exhaustion could bring.
Nick stood beside me, hands on his hips, surveying our work.
“Look at us,” he said, humor lacing his voice. “Doing the married thing. Now the parenting thing. What a team.”
I nudged him lightly, forcing a smile. “Oh, stop.”
But as I gazed down at Faye, curled up so small on our couch, something inside me cracked open.
She looked safe here. Protected. Like she belonged.
And it hit me—this moment, this feeling, was something I had always wanted.
A home that felt steady. A love that didn’t waver.
A child tucked in, knowing she was safe because she had us to hold onto.
My heart ached at the thought. Because suddenly, I could see it. A life with Nick. A future where we weren’t just playing house, we weren’t just rescuing lost little girls and sending them back into the world, hoping they’d be okay.
No, in that second, I saw a future where we built something real and had a child of our own—one with Nick’s teasing smirk and my stubborn streak.
Where we were the ones tucking our daughter into bed every night, knowing she was ours.
The thought wrapped around my heart, warm and hopeful, a dream I hadn’t dared to let myself have.
And yet… just as quickly as that warmth settled in, something colder crept in.
A shiver ran through me, even though the house was warm.
Something felt off. Like the beginning of something was ending.
Like this fleeting moment of peace—of imagining a life where we were safe and whole—was slipping through my fingers before I even had the chance to hold onto it.
I didn’t know why. I didn’t know how.
But deep in my gut, I felt it. Something was coming. And it wasn’t going to be good.
The door swings open before I can even knock. “Happy New Year’s Eve Day!” Abigail grins, her voice bright and determined. She’s wearing a glittery party hat, and despite being two and a half months from her due date, she looks like she could go into labor any second.
Nick raises an eyebrow. “Is New Year’s Eve Day even a thing?”
Abigail shoots him a glare so sharp he actually flinches. “It is in this house,” she snaps.
I jump in before Nick can dig himself into an early grave. “We’re going to have the best last day of the year.” I glance at Faye, hoping for a smile. She barely manages one.
After last night, she wasn’t ready to be alone.
I wasn’t ready to leave her alone. Abigail cried on the phone when I told her everything.
She insisted that Faye stay with them at their house instead of at the lake house.
But Faye preferred to stay with Nick—he was her favorite person in the whole world.
He was mine too. And since Nick only had one room, it made the most sense for her to stay here.
Nick crosses his arms. “The only thing to do today is drink, and since you can’t drink, and Mel shouldn’t drink—”
Colt appears behind Abigail, signaling for Nick to shut up and go with the flow.
Abigail plants her hands on her hips, trying to look intimidating, but she just looks… adorable. That baby definitely has Killian genes because she looks like she’s smuggling twins inside that round belly.
“There’s plenty to do,” she argues. “We’re doing karaoke, I picked out Disney movies, and I’m teaching Faye how to make marshmallow popcorn—one of my pregnancy cravings.”
Nick groans. “That sounds awful.”
“I swear, I don’t know how you haven’t killed him yet,” Abigail mutters to me.
“I’m right here,” Nick deadpans.
Colt leans against the doorway, smirking. “Come on, pretty girl. Let’s get cooking so we have snacks before the movies.” Faye steps inside, grinning.
Before I can move, Bodie barrels down the stairs, full speed, practically vibrating with excitement. “Faye! Faye! Look at all my Christmas toys!” She barely has time to react before he grabs her hand and pulls her toward his room. Abigail watches them go, a soft smile playing at her lips.
Colt nudges Nick. “Dude, you’re lucky Melanie doesn’t want kids. I’m drowning over here.”
From the kitchen, Abigail’s voice rings out. “I heard that. And guess what? You ain’t getting none of this tonight.”
Colt throws his head back with a groan. “Sorry, sweetie!”
“I can’t hear you.”
He sighs and drags himself toward the kitchen. “Growing a human is a huge job, and I’m sorry for being selfish and forgetting what an amazing miracle your body is doing for our baby girl.”
“That’s better. Now help me melt these marshmallows.”
Colt mouths, help me, as Nick tries and fails to stifle a laugh.
By seven o’clock, the sugar has kicked in—Bodie and Faye twirl around the living room, belting out Disney songs in their pajamas.
Colt, looking far too comfortable in his own PJs, prances around with them like a giant kid.
It’s ridiculous. He’s one of the highest-paid quarterbacks in the NFL, and here he is, dancing like a lunatic to Hakuna Matata.
Nick shakes his head, shoveling another handful of popcorn into his mouth. “If I could post this on YouTube, I’d be a rich man.”
“You’d be a dead rich man,” Abigail warns from under her blanket.
I grin. “It is kind of hard to believe that the guy doing the Macarena over there is a football legend.”