Always Enough (Guardian Hall #3)

Chapter 1

ONE

Morgan

LAST CHRISTMAS MORNING

My lungs ached. Every breath was a fight.

But I wouldn’t stop. It didn’t matter if every cop in Chicago was chasing me down.

The only thing that mattered was the baby in my arms.

Gabbi. My daughter.

She was crying hard, and her tiny fists punched at the air, her cheeks raw from the wind.

I clutched her to my chest, trying to shield her from the night, shaking so violently I nearly dropped her.

Snow stuck to her blanket, making it wet and heavy, but I couldn’t stop to fix it. Couldn’t stop at all.

I didn’t look over my shoulder. I’d seen enough. Gabbi’s mom was dead. Addicts had already pushed past me, grabbing whatever was left. Someone called the cops. I left. There was nothing there for my daughter or me.

The card was creased in my pocket, half torn, the edges soft from being handled too many times.

Guardian Hall. No questions. Veterans welcome.

It was all I had. I didn’t even know if the address was still good.

Didn’t care. My legs carried me on instinct, out of the dead streets and toward the faint glow of the city’s edge.

My vision blurred, not sure if it was exhaustion or tears.

“Just hold on,” I whispered, my voice cracking.

“Please.” I tightened my grip on her, adjusting her against my chest so her face was tucked under my chin.

She was warm. Still breathing. “I’m gonna get you help.

” Her cries quieted to little hiccups, which terrified me more than the sound itself.

She was so light. Too light. My jacket wasn’t enough to keep either of us warm.

The cold crawled into my bones, and every step sent fire through my legs.

I’d been walking for hours—days maybe—it all blurred together.

Then I saw it.

Light.

Somewhere safe.

Guardian Hall. Big old brick building, windows glowing.

My heart stuttered. I forced myself forward, up the steps, and banged my fist against the door.

This was worse than anything I’d seen in the war—worse than the bodies, the smoke, the sound of men pleading to live.

This was a horror I couldn’t leave behind. If I lost Gabbi…

If anything happened to my daughter…

For a heartbeat, there was nothing, and then the porch light flickered, and the door opened. A tall man stood there, and he would see the baby in my arms, the dirt on my hands, the wildness in my eyes.

“Please,” I croaked. “She won’t stop crying. I don’t know what to do.”

The man didn’t hesitate. “Come in. My name is Alex.”

The warmth hit me and I staggered forward, boots dragging, clutching Gabbi.

I sucked in a breath, the heat stinging my lungs, and blinked hard, trying to get my bearings.

The door shut, the sudden quiet making my breath catch.

Words wouldn’t come. My mouth opened, but only a rasp escaped.

Gabbi whimpered against my chest, and panic tore through me.

The man—Alex, I thought he’d said—stepped closer, his expression sharpening.

“Hey, look at me,” he said evenly. “Can I take the baby?”

I shook my head violently. “No. Please—no.” My fingers tightened on her blanket. “She needs me.”

Alex kept his distance, palms open, sending a quick nod to another man beside him.

I froze, alert, tracking every movement the other man made.

What was he doing? Where was he going? My heart hammered, and I shifted my stance, ready to bolt if I had to.

Alex lifted one hand, voice low but firm.

“That’s Jazz. Okay. He’s just getting our doc, all right?

He’s coming to help. No one’s taking her away. ”

“Help her,” was all I could manage. My mind was a storm of panic and exhaustion, every instinct screaming to protect her even as I didn’t know how.

The room blurred around me—Alex moving closer, careful and steady, his voice grounding me.

“She’s okay. A doctor is on his way. You did the right thing bringing her here.

All right, easy. We just want to help. Let me see her, we’ll get her warm.

” His voice was calm, but there was command in it, something solid I could cling to while my world crumbled.

“I can’t…”

Another figure appeared—a man shorter than the first, quick, focused, streaks of pink in his hair catching the light.

“I’m Marcus,” the new arrival murmured, “I’m a doctor. Can I help?”

I could barely get the words out. “I had your card. Said you help veterans. No q-questions.” I was shivering so hard my teeth clattered, the cold and the shock rattling through me.

I tried to speak, but the words tangled in my head.

Every instinct screamed to keep talking, to stay alert, but all I could think about was Gabbi’s small body in my arms, and whether she was still breathing.

“I’m… was… I am…” I shook my head to clear the disorientation.

“Corporal Morgan Armitage. This is my daughter.”

Alex nodded at me. “No questions,” he said. “Marcus here can take a look at her.”

The doctor moved closer, his eyes scanning Gabbi, then flicking to mine.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” I blurted out.

My voice cracked. “She won’t stop crying, and she’s red, and the hospitals ask too many questions…

the cops… I can’t—” I stopped, staring past the doctor…

Marcus… to the door, measuring the distance to get out if I needed to.

My brain was already plotting an escape before I realized it.

Would I take Gabbi? What kind of life could I give her?

“What’s her name?” Marcus asked gently, taking a careful step closer, his palms open as if to say, I’m not armed. It’s okay.

“My daughter. Gabriella. Gabbi,” I whispered. My grip loosened just enough for her blanket to slip. “She’s five months old. Her mom—” My voice cracked again. “She’s… I found her…” I couldn’t say the rest. Couldn’t drag the image of Annie dead, the needle, my crying daughter, out into the open.

Marcus nodded once, his gaze steady, kind but firm. “May I?” he asked, holding out his arms.

I hesitated, my hands trembling so hard I thought I might drop her.

My brain screamed don’t, but my heart knew I had to.

Slowly, Marcus cradled her with ease, his touch gentle but sure.

I lurched after him as he turned down the corridor and into a room smelling of antiseptic.

My legs were heavy, my balance gone. I used the wall to stay upright, watching every move he made, terrified to let her out of my sight.

“Okay, Morgan, we’ve got you both. It’s going to be okay.”

Gabbi let out exhausted whimpers. The room spun around me, and all I could think was that maybe—just maybe—I’d found the one place that wouldn’t turn us away.

I swayed on my feet, the edges of my vision closing in, and I almost collapsed against the exam table.

My whole body was shaking, my knees threatening to give out.

“Please,” I whispered, my voice breaking.

“Help her.” The words sounded so small, too fragile for the weight of what I meant.

I clutched at the metal edge of the table, cold biting into my palm, desperate to stay upright long enough to hear that she was going to be okay.

Alex stood in the doorway, talking to the doctor. “Do we need to go to the hospital?”

Despair clawed up through the fog in my mind. Hospitals meant cops, and cops meant questions I couldn’t answer. I just needed one night with her—one night to make sure she was okay, to be with her, to know she wasn’t alone. That was all I wanted.

“Anything,” I heard myself whisper. “I’ll find a way out of this mess if it means she’s okay. Please, help her.”

“When did she last have a wet diaper?” the doctor asked.

My throat closed up again, the memory flashing hard and fast—me standing outside Annie’s door, filled with so much hope that maybe this time she meant it when she said she was clean, that she’d stopped using, that she was taking care of our daughter.

I’d been smiling, ready to believe her, ready to see Gabbi’s face.

But when I opened the door, the smell hit me first. Then a baby crying.

Then the sight I couldn’t scrub from my mind—her body on the floor, the needle still in her arm, Gabbi beside her, red-faced, reaching out for someone who wasn’t coming back.

I blinked hard, dragging myself back to the room, to the sound of Gabbi breathing.

“I don’t know.” My voice cracked as I slumped into a chair, my hands shaking.

“Her mother told me she cared for Gabbi, that she wasn’t using anymore, that I could trust her, but…

I found both of them when I went to check…

Gabbi was lying there next to her mom, there was a needle in her mom’s fucking arm, and Gabbi was crying—”

The doctor’s gaze ran from my head to my toes and back up again.

I felt stripped bare under it. He didn’t say anything, but suspicion flickered in his eyes, and panic surged through me.

I wanted to scream that it wasn’t me, that I didn’t hurt her mom, that I’d tried to save her—but nothing came out.

My throat was raw, my tongue heavy. I just needed to know, needed someone to tell me what I couldn’t bear to ask.

“Is she okay?” I managed to stay conscious as I coughed, my vision blurring with black dots closing in from the edges.

“She’s uncomfortable and hungry,” Marcus said, checking Gabbi’s mouth and gums. “She needs feeding now, but we don’t keep formula on hand—Guardian Hall’s not stocked for babies.”

I blinked at him, struggling to process the words.

She was hungry. Something simple. Something I could fix.

My heart twisted with helplessness. I fumbled for my backpack—the old one I’d carried everywhere—and tipped it out on the nearest counter.

Spare onesies, a half-used tin of formula, a bottle, and a handful of mismatched baby things tumbled free.

Everything I’d managed to save from the people stealing from Gabbi’s mom.

My fingers shook as I pushed them toward him.

He nodded once, already moving. I watched as he rinsed the bottle, then filled a kettle and poured the boiling water into a clean bowl.

I leaned in, watching every step, trying to commit it to memory so I could do it myself next time.

He dropped both bottle and nipple inside, the hiss of steam rising as he sterilized them.

I need to remember how to do this.

I need him to slow down so I can learn.

I blinked, everything around me tilting, my head too light.

The world sounded far away, voices blurring together, and Doc and Alex were still talking.

I tried to focus, but my body wasn’t listening anymore.

My knees trembled, and the room spun. They talked over me about getting formula, and it being Christmas Day; none of that made sense.

“It’s Christmas?” I heard my own voice, small and disbelieving.

The word felt wrong in my mouth, like something from another lifetime.

The shock hit me hard, the realization that it was morning, that people out there were probably waking to gifts and laughter while I stood here shaking apart.

My vision blurred, the floor rushed up to meet me, and everything went dark.