Chapter 7
Sebastian
By the time I make it home, the sun’s low and the clock’s edging toward seven. My boots hit the steps heavier than usual, and all I can think about is whether Teddy’s routine stayed intact.
Inside, the first thing I see is Olivia Mitchell standing in my kitchen.
She’s wiping down the bench, hair clipped up out of her face, moving around like she belongs here.
Like she’s been doing this for years. Blue jeans, a thick belt with a gold buckle I’ve seen her wear more than once, and a white T-shirt, tucked in neat.
The farmer-girl uniform, worn without a second thought.
She doesn’t even look at me before reaching for another dish towel.
Natural. Effortless. Too damn easy to notice.
I scrub the thought away. No. Not happening, Sebastian.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say, stopping just inside the door. “I can—”
“Hello to you too.” She cuts me off without even turning. “And don’t be silly. It’s what you’re paying me for, right?”
I pause. She’s got me there. A short nod is all I manage before I look around, scanning for Teddy.
“In his room,” she says, finally glancing over her shoulder. “He insisted on bathing himself. Didn’t want me near him.”
The words shouldn’t sting, but they do. That sounds about right.
Still makes me sad every damn time. Because it’s not Olivia’s fault.
It’s not anyone’s. It’s just how Teddy is: guarded and careful with who he lets close.
And I get it, I do. But it still cuts when I hear he didn’t want her near him, wouldn’t let her help.
Part of me wonders if I’ve made it worse.
If the chaos of my life—shifts that stretch too long, the nannies who come and go, the constant patchwork of routines—has carved a deeper scar than I realised.
He deserves stability, not a revolving door of strangers.
And even though I’m trying, even though I’d burn the whole bloody world down to protect him, sometimes it feels like I’m failing before I even start.
I rake a hand through my hair, steadying myself, then head down the hall.
When I push open his door, the sight hits me square in the chest. Teddy’s tucked up in bed, hair damp from his bath, dinosaur pyjamas slightly too big on his small frame.
A book rests open on his lap, pages creased from use.
He looks up once, just quick enough to see it’s me, then goes back to tracing the illustrations with his finger, like I’m background noise.
And just like that, the ache eases. Because he’s safe.
Because no matter how many times he pushes me out, I’ll keep finding ways back in.
“Hey, mate.” I sit on the edge of the mattress, hand brushing his blanket. “Good day today?”
“It was… okay,” he says, his eyes fixed on the book.
“What’d you do?”
“Stuff.”
That’s it. That’s all I get. And I know better than to push.
So I take the book from him, flip to the first page, and start reading.
His shoulders loosen, head tilting slightly as he listens.
Every word seems to sink straight in, his eyes going wide at the good parts, his fingers twitching along the illustrations like he’s painting them inside his mind. I watch him more than the page.
I wonder what it’s like in there, or the way he sees the world. If I could live in his head for a day, I’d take it. Just to understand him better. Just to make things easier for him. When I finish the chapter, he leans back against the pillows without a word. Eyes heavy. Breathing steady.
I tuck the blanket higher, brush a hand over his hair, and let myself sit there a little longer than usual. No matter how clipped his words are, no matter how much distance he puts between himself and everyone else, Teddy’s my whole world.
I find Olivia in the kitchen where I left her, towel slung over her shoulder, rinsing plates that were already spotless. Her presence here both grates on me because she moves with an ease that doesn’t belong to someone on their first day in a stranger’s house, yet comforts me all at once.
My eyes stray before I can stop them, tracing the way her jeans hug her waist, the curve of her hips, the smallness of her frame.
Petite. Deliberate in every movement, even when she’s not trying.
I push it down and head for the table. The chair creaks under my weight when I sit, and the sigh that slips out feels heavier than I meant it to.
The kind that comes from hours of reports stacked high on my desk, meetings that lead nowhere, and the one phone call I can’t stop replaying in my head—the one we didn’t get to in time.
We’d been tracking a known domestic violence offender through a string of rural towns, pulling together scraps—credit card pings, witness statements, grainy CCTV footage.
Then we got a call from his ex-partner. Said he’d breached the AVO.
Her voice was shaking as she rattled off the address.
We were two hours out. By the time we got there, she was already gone.
Being part of the intelligence team means we’re not always first on scene—we’re the ones behind the curtain, trying to predict the move before it happens.
Sometimes that’s enough. This time, it wasn’t.
We finally made the arrest we’d been chasing, but at what cost?
This job isn’t something you clock out of. It follows you home, sits with you at the table, crawls into bed beside you. I’ve been doing this for seventeen years, and it doesn’t get easier. Doesn’t get better. You just learn how to carry it without letting it crack you open.
I’m lucky this week. Finishing just before seven is an early finish. It gives me a chance to walk through the door while Teddy’s still awake, because I know it won’t always be like this.
Hell, it’s rarely like this.
Her head turns at the sound of my sigh. Before I know it, she’s pulling two beers from the fridge, twisting the tops off like she’s done it a thousand times.
She sets one in front of me with a little flourish and drops into the chair across the table, grin bright enough to mock the exhaustion in my bones.
“You look like you could use one.” She takes a sip before I can even open my mouth. She’s too observant for my liking. Must be a Mitchell trait, because her brother is the same.
“You don’t have to—”
“Don’t start.” She waves me off, flicking her wrist like I’m the ridiculous one. “I’ve got two brothers, remember? I know what it looks like when a man’s wiped out. You’re radiating it.”
I glance at the bottle in front of me, hesitate, then bring it to my lips anyway.
The cold, bitter taste offers a momentary reprieve, and I focus on that.
Because it’s easier to focus on that than the woman sitting across from me, all eyes and instincts and unsettling insight.
I remind myself again that I need to keep this professional. I can’t afford anything else.
She props her chin on her palm. “So… how was work, Bash?”
My shoulders stiffen at the nickname, jaw already grinding. “Fine.”
Her brows rise like she’s calling bullshit without saying the word. “That’s it? Just fine?”
“Work is work.”
She narrows her eyes. “Bradley used to pull that same stunt. He’d come home all broody and closed off, and when I asked about his day, he’d grunt something about it being ‘fine.’ That was it. Nothing else. I had to pry the details out of him like nails out of wood.”
Despite myself, my mouth twitches. “Sounds like him.”
Her face lights up like she’s scored a point. “So what’s your version of ‘fine’, Bash? Don’t tell me paperwork. You don’t fool me.”
I set the bottle down a little harder than intended. The thud echoes between us. “First of all, don’t call me that.”
“Why not? Liv. Bash. Perfect symmetry.”
I level her with a look. “I’m not your symmetry.”
Her smirk stretches, slow and teasing. “Not yet.”
Christ. The words slide under my skin, striking something warm I don’t want to feel. I pinch the bridge of my nose and exhale through it. “Cases are confidential. Even if they weren’t, you don’t want to know.”
“Try me.” She leans forward now, elbows on the table, eyes locked on mine like she’s daring me to crack. I study her. She isn’t just nosy, and that’s the problem. She wants to know. Wants to see the parts of me I don’t put on display for anyone. Not even Bradley. Especially not Bradley.
It throws me. Because gone are the days when I’d let someone in just for the distraction. I don’t have the time, or the bandwidth, or the right. My life isn’t mine anymore. It’s Teddy’s. Every hour, every decision, every ounce of myself belongs to him. That’s how it has to be.
Still, Olivia’s eyes are firm, unflinching. She leans in closer, all stubborn fire and quiet mischief, and I do the exact opposite of what I should do. I talk.
“Call came through just before noon,” I say, voice low.
Rough around the edges. “We’d been following some intel on a guy—domestic violence reports, history of breaching AVOs.
His ex called it in.” I pause, jaw working as I stare at the grain of the table.
“By the time we got out to the address she gave us… it was already too late.”
She goes still, quiet, eyes on me. I rake a hand down my face.
“We had to notify her next of kin. Write up the death report. I did the welfare check with one of the constables—a young bloke, maybe six months in. It was his first time seeing a body.” My mouth pulls tight. “He puked in the nearest bush.”
Her throat bobs. “Christ…” I nod once, jaw tight.
“I’ve heard some awful stories from Brad,” she murmurs. “Things he’s carried. Things he still doesn’t talk about.” She shifts slightly. “So I’m guessing it wasn’t any easier for you either.” Something in my chest pulls. Tight. I glance at her, finding no judgement, just understanding.
“No,” I admit. “It wasn’t.” I take another pull from the bottle, letting the silence settle again.
Her words linger, though, sticking to the parts of me I don’t usually let people see.
She’s not subtle. That’s what worries me.
Because if she keeps this up, I’m not sure how long those walls will hold.
And that’s exactly why I shouldn’t open up to her.
I clear my throat. “Thanks for the beer.”
Olivia gets the hint, standing slowly. “Anytime.”
She doesn’t push. Just tosses her bottle into the bin and offers a soft nod before heading for the door. No dramatic exit. No lingering glances. Professional. Good. Stay professional, Daniels. God help me… because it’s only been a day.
Later, on my way to bed, I detour through the kitchen and grab a bottle of water from the fridge. That’s when I see it. A bright Post-it slapped crookedly over my neatly printed list, her handwriting cursive and unmistakable.
Broke two of your rules.
Not telling which.
Sleep well, Officer Control Freak.
The sound slips free before I can stop it. A soft snort. I shake my head, eyes still caught on the fridge. “She’s trouble,” I mutter to the empty kitchen. In every shape and form. I peel the note off, crumple it in my fist, and toss it into the bin before heading down the hall to bed.