Chapter 5 Morgan
FIVE
Morgan
“Now what?” I asked Cole. I wasn’t sure what I meant—what happened now for Gabbi, for me? For the first time since I’d collided with him, I realized he was the one I was asking, and I didn’t know why.
Maybe because he hadn’t run? Or was it because he calmed me?
He blinked at me, confused, and I was suddenly embarrassed.
“We should… uh… talk to Alex. Or one of the others. Marcus, maybe. Get you both settled into a room. There’s—hang on—”
Alex appeared behind me, calm and smiling. “You want me to show you where you can set up a place?”
“I’m staying here,” I asked. “Not on my own… with Gabbi, right?” My voice felt too small.
“No question,” Alex said. “We’ve got an apartment with some privacy. A separate area for Gabbi. Quiet. There are some things up there for Gabbi as well.”
“I have some savings… not much though.” I’d handed the last of it to Annie, sent everything her way. She’d promised me she was getting clean. She’d told me about the baby. I thought I had something to come home to.
“It all arrived today,” Alex said, clearing his throat as he flicked a glance toward Cole. “We covered it. Don’t worry about the cost.”
For some reason, Cole wouldn’t meet my gaze then, and a stupid stab of hurt went through me.
I figured he considered me a huge mess—some useless idiot who’d screwed up his life and was the worst possible option for a baby.
The thought hit harder than it should’ve.
It spiraled fast, dragging every ugly thing I already believed about myself to the surface.
Of course, he couldn’t look at me. Who would?
I was the guy who’d blown up his own life, who’d trusted the wrong person, who didn’t have a home anymore.
A liability with a baby I had no right to be responsible for.
I wasn’t just a mess—hell, that would’ve been merciful.
He probably thought I was the last person who should’ve been entrusted with her, and yet here I was, pretending I could keep her safe when I could barely keep myself standing.
I waited for him to say he’d stay, or that he’d walk with us. It made no sense, the way my chest tightened when he took a couple of steps away from me. I barely knew him, but something in me kept reaching for him anyway, as if I’d already decided he was safe.
Instead, he extended his hand to shake. His palm was warm, his grip steady, and the moment we touched, something flickered low in my stomach. Recognition? Relief? I didn’t understand it, and it startled me enough I almost forgot to let go.
“It was nice to meet you both,” he said quietly.
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
He was going and I didn’t know why that hit so hard.
I didn’t want him to go, and I had no idea what that meant.
The reaction didn’t feel like mine—it felt borrowed, like I was standing in the wrong life wearing someone else’s skin.
Everything since arriving here had been too much, too fast, as though I was half a step out of sync with myself.
And now this stranger’s absence was suddenly the thing my body decided to latch onto?
Displacement, shock, exhaustion—maybe all three. But the pull toward him was real, sharp enough that it left me unsteady on my feet, clutching Gabbi closer just to ground myself.
“Thank you,” I managed, letting Alex guide me away, though my steps felt uncertain.
I couldn’t stop myself from glancing back at Cole.
He caught my eye and gave me this small, warm, almost stupidly hopeful smile—as if he believed I’d be okay here, as if he believed I could handle all of this.
And for one brief, disorienting second… I almost believed him.
Alex led me down a short hallway, his pace steady and quiet, as if he understood I was hanging on by a thread. Gabbi had fallen asleep against my shoulder, her breath warm on my neck, the only thing in my world that made sense.
“We put you in here, on the ground floor, so you’re not carrying Gabbi up and down stairs,” Alex said as he pushed open a door. “It’s one of the quieter apartments. People can come by if you need help, but no one will bother you unless you want them to.”
The room was bigger than I expected. Clean. A couch. A small kitchenette. And along the far wall—
A crib.
Not just a crib, but boxes stacked neatly beside it. Baby wipes. Formula. Tiny clothes were still folded in plastic—there was a mobile with little felt stars. Someone had thought about this.
I stepped closer, touching the crib rail with my free hand. It was solid and new—I could see the box for it in the corner. Safe. Too safe. I didn’t know what to do with that feeling.
Alex moved around the space with the calm efficiency of someone who’d done this a hundred times. “There’s bedding in that box. Clothes in these two. Diapers here. Bottles and a sterilizer on the counter. If you need anything bigger—a stroller, a carrier—just ask. We can get it for you.”
“Why is all of this here? Do you have other veterans with babies? This is… a lot.”
He smiled gently and gestured vaguely at the crib and the mountain of boxes. “This is actually the first time we’ve ever had a baby stay at Guardian Hall.”
I blinked. “The first?”
“Yeah.” Alex smiled proudly. “But when people arrive in need, our benefactors don’t let that last, and Cole ordered everything overnight. Every last item.
“Cole? No wonder he’d stopped looking at me after Alex explained that. He must have spent hundreds on Gabbi.
Something in my chest twisted.
Alex’s voice softened. “You’re safe here, Morgan.
Both of you. No expectations. No judgment.
We have some rules that I’d just like to run through.
” I nodded. I was good with rules. “There are other guests here, and a baby could potentially trigger someone or calm them—we won’t know which until we see how everyone reacts, so for safety reasons we need you to be mindful of that and keep yourself and Gabbi safe.
That means keeping your door locked at night, letting staff know if you notice anyone getting agitated, if Gabbi is upset, and telling us immediately if anything feels off.
You won’t be handling any situations alone—not here. ”
“I don’t belong here, I don’t… I mean… you specifically help with post-trauma for veterans…” I glanced down at Gabbi, who was fast asleep again. Was I experiencing trauma? I just felt numb right now. Iced up inside.
“True, and we offer addiction support, counseling, job and education pathways, legal help, medical check-ins, and whatever else someone needs to start standing on their own again.”
“But not for me, I mean, I’m a veteran… but I’m okay…
I’m… I dealt with it all.” I ended the sentence with so little confidence it barely felt like I believed a word of it.
It sounded pathetic even to my own ears—as if I was trying to convince him of something I’d stopped believing a long time ago.
A veteran. A survivor. Fine. Okay. I didn’t feel like any of those things.
I was a fraud wearing the title of someone stronger, someone smarter, someone who hadn’t fucked up every major decision in his life.
Someone who hadn’t shown up here with nothing but a baby he wasn’t sure he deserved to keep.
“We will never turn anyone away, but if you want us to find a more appropriate place for you and Gabbi, one more suitable for family in residence, then we’ll keep that option open.”
“I just want to…” get a place, get a job, childcare, be a good dad. Be the best dad. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”
“Right now?” Alex said. “You breathe. You put Gabbi down for a rest, and you get some sleep. Everything else can wait. Lunch is in a few hours, but one of us will come and get you to help you down there, introduce you and Gabbi to some people.”
He stepped back toward the door but paused, giving me space to speak if I needed it.
I didn’t. I stood there, staring at the crib, feeling like the ground under me had shifted again—only this time, it wasn’t falling away. It was settling. Maybe. A little.
Even if I was a fraud.
A pretender in this place with veterans who had real issues, who’d seen worse than me, injured, lost, broken.
I lifted my chin.
“Okay.”
He stopped at the door. “One last thing, we have a counselor on staff, and I’ve asked her to come down and see you and Gabbi later today. Is that okay?”
A counselor. For what? I wasn’t the one who needed help—Gabbi did.
I was fine. I was managing. I always managed.
I didn’t need someone rummaging around in my head, telling me I was broken when all I needed was a safe place for my kid.
Still… this place was giving Gabbi safety, and that mattered more than whatever pride I was clinging to.
I’d say what I needed to say and find a way to get through this.
I nodded. “Sure.” He opened the door, and I stopped him. “Do you have a number for Cole? I want to thank him for all of this.”
Alex smiled. “I’ll see if he’s okay giving that out.
” And then he left, shutting the door behind him, and I saw the room could be locked from the inside.
I turned the latch and sank onto the bed, just as Gabbi blinked her eyes open, and I launched myself up to be the one reassuring thing she saw, scooped her up out of the crib, and rocked her.
Was I doing this right? She wasn’t crying.
She didn’t need a feed; it didn’t smell as if she needed her diaper changed. She was just awake… and staring at me.
“Hey, baby girl. It’s Daddy.” She blinked up at me, steady and calm, and I matched my breathing to hers without thinking. Then my voice dropped into that low, ridiculous register I didn’t use with anyone else. “You want to see something?”
I lifted her carefully, holding her so she could look out the window. The snowy garden stretched out from our ground-floor room, and right in the middle of it, someone had built a lopsided snowman—stone-button smile, twig arms, scarf trailing in the wind.
Gabbi made a soft, breathy “mmnh?” noise—half-question, half-complaint, and I’m sure it was the kind of sound babies made when they weren’t sure what they were looking at. It was probably one big white blur, given that it was snowing lightly.
“Yeah, that’s a snowman,” I murmured, like we were having a real conversation. “See him? Big guy. Cold. Much colder than you.” She kicked my arm, her version of excitement, maybe?
“I know,” I told her, pretending she’d said something important. “He does look like he needs fixing, huh? Maybe we’ll help him out later. Give him better arms. Or a proper smile. What do you think?”
She answered with another tiny “ahh—boh,” like she was trying out the sound of her own voice, and something unfamiliar and warm pushed through my ribs.
“Good talk,” I whispered against her hair. “You’re already the best company I’ve ever had.”
I bobbed around the room, stopped at the mobile and spun it, watching the four little felt animals sway in a slow circle—an elephant, a fox, a bear, and a penguin.
“Look at them, Gabbi,” I told her. “That’s Ellie the Elephant.
She’s the boss. Bit of a worrier, but she means well.
” The elephant drifted past again, and she blinked, following it with surprising focus.
“And that guy—” I tapped the tiny felt fox, its stitched grin permanently smug. “That’s Finn. He’s trouble. Always stealing snacks from the others, always pretending he didn’t.” Another tiny noise left her, as if she approved.
The bear floated through next. “Bruno,” I said. “Big, soft, thinks he’s scary, but actually just likes naps and warm blankets. Kind of like someone I know.” I nudged her nose with mine, and she huffed a tiny breath that could’ve been a laugh.
Last was the penguin, wobbling as the string twisted. “And that’s Pip,” I whispered. “He’s small but fast, and he’s always the one who fixes things when everyone else messes up. Holds the whole group together.”
I spun the mobile again, slower this time, letting the animals drift past her line of sight. “They’re your team now, okay? They’re gonna watch you sleep. Make sure the monsters stay away.”
I picked up a small teddy, its fur impossibly soft, and waggled it in front of her. She reached for it with those clumsy grabby hands and made a cooing sound that went straight through me. Cole had bought this for her, or ordered it overnight, probably without even thinking twice.
It shouldn’t have meant anything.
It did.
And I had no idea what to do with that.