Chapter 14
Sebastian
“Let’s organise something special this year,” Sandra says on the line, voice too chipper for a Wednesday morning. “A real birthday. Not just you hiding at home with takeaway.”
“Definitely not happening.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “What am I? Sixteen again?”
“God, you’re boring,” she groans. “We haven’t celebrated a birthday in years.”
“It was Timmy’s two months ago,” I remind her, deadpan.
“That’s not what I mean. I mean an adult one. With friends. Your friends. Drinks, and the kids, obviously. But a proper night, Sebastian. You deserve one.”
I sigh, spin my pen between my fingers, and glance through the glass wall of my office. Officers moving past in pairs, clipped voices carrying fragments of conversation. Phones ringing off desks. The drone of printers spitting out reports. The kind of white noise that never shuts off.
This morning started early. Too early. I’d slipped out before the sun had warmed the grass, uniform crisp on my body.
Olivia had her hair twisted up and was humming under her breath while Teddy clutched his picture book.
I’d gotten a quick “Morning, Bash” before she bent low to pinky swear him into finishing his toast.
It’s jarring, having her in my house. In my space.
She moves around the place like it isn’t haunted by my past failures, like the walls aren’t listening.
And worse, Teddy’s loosening up. Talking more.
Smiling more. It’s been a month. A whole month, and she’s done more for him than the last two sitters managed in the past few years.
That thought twists something sharp and guilty in me.
But deep down, relief simmers there, too.
On top of that, my morning at work didn’t cut me any extra slack.
We spent two hours chasing down intel on a stolen farm ute tied to a broader theft ring, cross-checking CCTV from a petrol station with the list of known offenders Bradley keeps pinned to his whiteboard like a trophy wall.
Then more paperwork—always paperwork. My head’s pounding, my coffee’s cold, and Sandra’s still chirping in my ear about party decorations like I’m turning twenty-one again for the first time.
“Hello? Did you hear me?” Her voice is sharp enough to snap me out of my thoughts.
“Huh? What?” My pen slips from my hand, clattering against the desk.
She tuts, full of older-sister judgement. “I said… Teddy’s getting along well with Olivia, huh?”
My jaw tightens, teeth grinding before I can stop it. Because yeah, she’s right, and that’s exactly what I don’t want to admit out loud. He doesn’t talk much, but fuck… when he does, her name comes up without fail. Liv read this to me. Liv said it’s tomorrow. Liv pinky promised.
He trusts her. Hell, he likes her. He’s invested.
And if I’m being honest with myself, so am I. For his sake, of course.
Which is exactly what scares the shit out of me.
Because what happens when this all ends?
When she leaves? This was never meant to be permanent—just something temporary while I sort myself out.
But that’s proven harder than I thought.
Getting better shifts has been a nightmare.
I’ve had to swap hours more than once already, and I can feel the tension building every time I walk past Gary Faulkner’s office.
Gary is our station’s PAC Commander, also known as the Police Area Command.
He ranks just above Brad and I, overseeing everything before we relay it to our team.
So, basically the big boss. Gary hasn’t said anything yet, but the look is there.
I’m not the only one with a kid. I’m not special.
And yet, Olivia’s here. Making it easier.
Making Teddy smile. Making me think about shit I shouldn’t.
“Yeah.” I keep it vague, scratching at the edge of the notepad in front of me. “He is.”
Sandra doesn’t let the silence go. “This is different. You know it. She might be the thing that’s been missing.”
I shut that thought down fast. “Always jumping to conclusions. You’ll never learn.”
“You’re the one who doesn’t learn.” Her sigh fills the line. “Teddy will need a motherly figure in his life.”
“He’ll be perfectly fine with just me.”
“No,” she pushes. “He needs you for one reason, Sebastian, but he’ll need a mother for more. Someone to nurture him, to balance him.”
Her words land in my chest like a stone. I press the heel of my hand against my sternum, trying to breathe around it. She doesn’t mean to cut me with her words, but she does. Because she’s right. I hate that she’s right. She always fucking is.
My mind flashes back, uninvited, to the day Teddy’s mother left.
Just a backpack on my doorstep and a promise she never kept.
I can still hear his cries—high, broken, desperate—for a woman who never looked back.
She hasn’t called once since. Not for his birthdays.
No check-ins. Good riddance then. If you can abandon your child, then you sure as fuck shouldn’t be in his life.
Yet, it doesn’t stop me from remembering the sound of his voice calling her name, over and over, until it broke him. Until it broke me.
Sandra hums down the line. “You don’t have to do it alone, Sebastian. You’ve done enough alone.”
“We’re fine, Sandra. He’s fine.”
“You’ll be a lot better with Olivia around for a while, I reckon.”
“She’s not staying forever,” I mutter, then add quickly, “Anyway, is Andrew still doing weekend jobs? I’ve been thinking about repainting the back pergola. Reckon he’d be up for it?”
“Uh… sure,” she says before humming all too knowingly. “Funny how quick you are to change the subject whenever her name comes up.”
“Don’t start.” She’s needling me on purpose, and she knows it.
“I’m not starting. Just observing,” she says, smug enough I can picture the tilt of her head. “You’ve had plenty of sitters, Sebastian. Never once have you called me sounding like this.”
I drag a hand down my face, forcing a slow exhale through my nose. “Like what?”
“Like you’re fighting yourself. It’s almost entertaining.” Her laugh is the kind only an older sister can perfect. “Don’t try too hard, or people will think you actually like her.”
“Christ, Sandra.” My chair scrapes as I lean back, spine locking into the kind of posture that says I’m done. “You’re being absurd. She’s Teddy’s babysitter. Stop trying to make this something it’s not.”
Movement flashes in my peripheral vision.
Reynolds drifts past the open office door, eyebrows climbing halfway to his hairline after clearly catching the tail end of that sentence.
I swat a hand through the air like I’m batting away a fly.
He chuckles under his breath, muttering something about “babysitter, huh?” before disappearing down the hall.
“Mm,” Sandra hums again. “Defensive much?”
I rub at the ache between my eyes, biting back the urge to snap. “I’m not defensive. I’m tired. There’s a difference.”
“Mm.”
“Goodbye, Sandra.” I hang up before she can pester me further, leaving her words sitting heavy in the quiet. I stare at the reports in front of me, but none of the numbers or names sink in.
By some miracle, or maybe sheer determination not to get chewed out again, I finish the day’s jobs ahead of schedule.
I leave everything signed off, organised, and even typed up my end-of-month inventory without a single typo.
Gary stares at me like I’ve grown a second head and, in the most Gary way possible, tells me I’ve “earned the right to fuck off early.”
Fine by me.
The sun’s still high when I pull into the driveway. There’s a stillness to the house that I don’t trust. I’m halfway through wondering if something’s gone wrong when I step inside and hear it—
Singing.
Bad singing.
High-pitched and slightly off-key, the kind that should make your ears bleed but somehow… doesn’t. I follow the sound to the lounge, pausing in the doorway.
Olivia’s on the couch, sitting cross-legged in an oversized hoodie, and the shortest fucking shorts I’ve ever seen, belting out a song with all the energy of someone performing for a crowd.
My son, meanwhile, sits beside her, totally unbothered. Completely deadpan. Like this is normal. She hits a particularly dramatic note, clutching her chest like she’s in an opera, and Teddy snorts into his juice box.
I blink. “What the hell am I looking at right now?”
Olivia jumps, nearly falling off the couch. “Jesus Christ, Sebastian! Don’t just appear like that.”
“Didn’t realise I had to knock to enter my own house.”
She turns fully toward me now, strands of hair stuck to her cheek. “We’re watching Coco.”
I frown. “Coco?”
“Pixar?” she offers, as if that’s supposed to mean something.
I shake my head slowly. “Should I know what that is?”
“It’s only the most emotionally devastating animated film ever made,” she says, like that’s a good thing. “Teddy’s obsessed. We’re on our third watch this week.”
I glance at my son, who just shrugs.
“And the singing?”
Olivia grins. “It’s a sing-along version. Don’t act like you’re above it.”
“I’m very much above it.”
She laughs and tosses a popcorn kernel at me. I catch it mid-air without thinking. “You gonna stand there and judge, or join in?”
“Neither.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t be a grump.”
Too late. But she’s already refocused on the screen, picking up the next line of the song with unearned confidence.
Her voice is still bad, but it’s unapologetic.
Loud. Full of something I can’t put my finger on.
Joy, maybe. Teddy rests his head against her arm.
She doesn’t flinch. Just shifts slightly to make room, steadying him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
And that right there? That’s what gets me.
Not the movie. Not the singing. It’s everything else.
Or maybe it’s the shorts. Those fucking tiny shorts. Short enough to make my brain malfunction, hugging her hips and showing off smooth, lightly tanned thighs that should not be this distracting. I catch myself staring, and immediately hate myself for it.
I drag a hand down my face, trying to force my brain into something resembling professionalism before I do the unthinkable, or worse, get hard over my son’s babysitter. That’s it. I’m calling it. She’s annoying. She’s chaotic. She sings like a wounded bird. And this is not going to end well for me.
Not one bit.