Chapter 6 Cole
SIX
Cole
New Year’s Eve was tomorrow, and the whole city felt wired—bright, loud, revving itself up for parties I had no interest in attending. I was in my office instead, forty-five floors above Chicago, surrounded by glass and steel and the legacy of a family that never quite let go of me.
Severs-Braxton occupied the forty-third through forty-sixth floors of a glass tower.
Back when the company started, when my great-grandfather married into money and founded it, it was a small investment outfit tucked into a cramped brick building in Old Chicago.
Then came expansion, mergers, real estate, tech—each generation padding its ego by adding another industry to the empire.
And now I was the latest Braxton sitting at this oversized oak desk, pretending I fit the mold.
The city stretched out beneath me, headlights smeared in the early-evening drizzle. I should’ve been reviewing the performance sheets and projections scattered before me. Instead, all I could think about was Morgan.
Morgan… and little Gabbi.
Alex had asked if I could share my number with Morgan, and of course, I’d said yes, and our exchange had been short but…
I craved more. I wanted to know how Gabbi was, whether she needed anything, and whether her dad needed anything. Either of them might need me. I’d re-read our short exchange so many times, and that was ridiculous.
Morgan: Hey… Alex gave me your number. I just wanted to say thank you for everything.
Cole: You’re welcome.
Cole: How’s Gabbi?
Morgan: She’s good. Settling. Staring at me like I’m supposed to know what I’m doing.
Cole: Good.
Brilliant. Pulitzer-worthy texting right there.
Was Morgan looking for me to reassure him that I was sure he knew what he was doing?
I didn’t know how to do that. I knew how to get Rowan to work the case; I knew how to get my lawyers on Morgan’s side, but I didn’t know what the right thing to say to Morgan was.
Nope. Not happening.
“Cole?”
I blinked and looked up. My PA—Lennox Hart, twenty-six, too competent for his own good—was standing in front of my desk, holding a tablet full of reports. He had that patient look he got whenever he realized I’d stopped listening.
“So, as I was saying… EBITDA variance for Q4 looks stable as long as—”
I had no clue what he’d been saying. “Right,” I said. “EBITDA. Yes.”
Lennox raised an eyebrow. “Did you even hear a word I just said?”
I sighed. “Not a single one.” Morgan and Gabbi had somehow become a kind of obsession for me, and I know business is quiet between Christmas and New Year’s, but still, my head was not in the game.
He huffed a laugh and put the tablet down. “Want to tell me what’s got you so distracted you’re ignoring end-of-year projections? Because that’s new.”
“Did I get any deliveries today?” I asked, and he frowned, went out the door, and came back within a few minutes holding a box.
“This one?”
I tried to act cool, but I still reached for it faster than I meant to, opening the tape and peering inside.
Inside were a couple of baby care books, even one specifically for single dads.
Underneath them was a pack of silicone bibs, a tiny lavender-scented nightlight shaped like a cloud, a thermometer with a soft-tip probe designed for infants, a set of hypoallergenic soaps because she “might have sensitive skin,” and a white-noise machine with eighteen different sound profiles and child-safe volume limits.
And right at the bottom, tucked beneath the packing paper like an afterthought, was the thing that I spent an hour researching.
A tiny, knitted hat.
Cream yarn. A little teddy bear on the brim. Handmade with love. I’d found the shop online at three in the morning after falling down a rabbit hole titled “winter essentials for newborns.” The designer customized every piece, and I’d asked her to stitch one word onto the inside tag.
Gabbi.
It was stupid. Overly personal. I shouldn’t have ordered it. But the moment I saw it, I knew she needed it—something warm, something that was hers, something that said someone out there had been thinking about her.
And this was on top of the delivery I’d organized for pediatric items to be added to Marcus’s onsite surgery.
Lennox leaned in. “What’s all this?”
“Nothing,” I said too quickly, closing my hand around the tiny hat.
But it wasn’t nothing.
It was the thing I shouldn’t have bought.
And the thing I wanted Morgan to see most.
Lennox smirked as if he’d just solved a puzzle. “Something you want to tell me? You gonna be a daddy?” His grin widened, and then he faked shock. “You finally gave in and got a girlfriend mom and dad would approve of?”
“No, this is for a friend,” I kept my eyes on the box, but I could feel the heat in my cheeks.
“Right,” he drawled.
I shot him a look. He grinned, completely unfazed.
“Go home, boss,” he said, tapping the stack of untouched reports. “It’s dead in the office. End of the year, no one’s working. You’re not working. And if you sit here staring out that window for another hour, I’m gonna revoke your access badge for your own good.”
“I have tasks to finish.”
“You clearly have something to finish,” he said pointedly and gestured at the box. Then, more gently, “It’s okay to leave early. It won’t make the shareholders cry.”
I blew out a slow breath. I still couldn’t get Morgan and Gabbi out of my head. The way Morgan had looked at me as if he didn’t believe he deserved any kindness. The way he’d held that baby—careful, terrified, aching.
And the way I hadn’t wanted to walk away from either of them.
I shoved back my chair. “Fine. I’ll head out early. But only if you go too. And anyone else who wants an extra day of leave. Tell everyone.”
Lennox rolled his eyes. “We are not setting that precedent,” he huffed. “Everyone will go home, and then what happens?”
“They have a life?” I blinked at him innocently.
“I’ll let everyone go an hour early.” He headed for the door. “But you, boss, you’re going now.”
I ignored that and pulled the box toward me. Whatever this was in my head… it mattered.
And for the life of me, I didn’t know why.
I didn’t begin to pretend I was going home. I told myself I was just dropping off the box. No lingering. No checking in. No being weird.
Guardian Hall was quiet when I arrived—early evening hush, snow drifting in lazy spirals across the courtyard. I carried the box in both hands, rehearsing a quick drop-off, a wave, and a fast exit like some UPS driver who didn’t want a signature.
Alex spotted me before I reached the front desk.
“Oh, good,” he said brightly, far too brightly. “You’re here.”
“I’m not staying,” I blurted. “Just dropping this off.” I held up the box like a shield.
“No! Come and see your donation in action!” he insisted, already walking, herding me down the corridor. I allowed it because apparently, my brain wasn’t in control of my feet.
Alex pushed open the door to the music room.
And everything in me stopped.
Warm light spilled over the sofa, where Morgan sat with Gabbi in his lap.
Marcus’s partner—Tyler—had a guitar, playing lilting nursery rhymes with a gentle, unhurried ease.
Morgan was humming along, Gabbi in his lap, supported by his knees, facing him, tiny hands clapping with his help—his big hands wrapped around her small ones, guiding her.
She kicked his belly, delighted. The teddy I’d bought her lay beside them on the sofa, propped against Morgan’s thigh as if it belonged there.
Morgan glanced up mid-hum.
And he lit up.
Not a full smile—nothing obvious—but something shifted in his eyes. Recognition.
He looked better—tidy, not quite so tired and strung out. He had on a Blackhawks sweatshirt and jeans; socked feet tucked under him on the sofa. His dark hair was ruffled, and he wore glasses. Glasses. I didn’t remember that sexy addition before.
Something punched low in my chest. I just wanted to cross the room, haul him up off the sofa, and hold him until he melted into me.
“Hey,” he said, as Tyler stopped playing.
“Hi, Cole!” Tyler said with a grin, tapping his guitar. “Come to see music in action?”
“Always,” I lied.
Alex clapped me on the shoulder. “Thought you might want to say hi before you vanish again.” Then he slipped out, the traitor.
Tyler set his guitar in its stand. “I’m grabbing coffee. You want one, Morgan? Cole?”
“Please,” Morgan said.
I nodded too.
“Back in a minute,” Tyler added, before leaving the room suddenly, shockingly quiet.
I was tight with nerves. “I, uh… brought some stuff for… y’know.
” Jesus, where was the man who could run a board meeting with confidence?
Where was the buttoned-up man who had his life in order?
I opened the box on the floor next to Morgan, and his gaze dropped to it, then lifted back to me.
“You didn’t have to but thank you. Really. ”
Gabbi made a little squeak and twisted in Morgan’s lap, reaching for me, her chubby hands opening and closing, and somehow I reached for her and somehow Morgan let me hold her.
I shifted her into the crook of my arm, her warmth blooming through my shirt.
“Hey, Princess Gabbi,” I murmured. “Are you okay?” She blinked up at me, content.
“Of course you are,” I added, unable to stop my smile.
I reached for the teddy beside Morgan. “Do you like Bear?” I asked, brushing the fur under her tiny chin.
My heart melted.
“She loves Bear,” Morgan said, and I noticed he was tense—probably not one hundred percent okay with me holding her or Bear.
I passed her back after kissing the top of her head, then dropped to my knees beside the open box, suddenly aware of how ridiculous and exposed this felt—me on the floor, explaining baby supplies as if I was presenting quarterly results to the board.
“Okay, so… this stuff.” I cleared my throat and took out the first item. “These are silicone bibs. Easy to clean. Supposed to be, uh… leak-proof? Or spill-proof. Something-proof.”
Morgan’s lips twitched, just a little.
“And this,” I said, holding up the nightlight, “is a cloud. Literally, it glows. Apparently, babies like soft, light-shaped things. Who knew?”
Gabbi made another tiny sound, almost like agreement.
I removed the thermometer next. “This one’s gentle on infants. No scary, cold metal parts. Reviews said it’s pretty much idiot-proof.” I hesitated, then added, “I know Marcus is here and all, but if you’re ever worried, then you can use it.”
Morgan watched me, really watched.
“And this—” I lifted the white-noise machine. “For sleep. Or… attempted sleep. There are, uh, eighteen sound profiles. Don’t ask me why a baby needs eighteen, but people online were very passionate about it.”
Morgan huffed a quiet laugh.
“And…” My hand went to the bottom of the box. I hesitated before lifting the tiny, knitted hat, the cream yarn glowing under the warm lights. “This is… just something I thought she might want. Or need. Or both.”
I didn’t offer it to him. I just held it, waiting, stupidly nervous.
Morgan reached out, brushing a thumb over the teddy bear.
“This is…” His voice caught. “This is really sweet.”
And when he smiled, and his eyes brightened with emotion, I couldn’t breathe for one tiny impossible second.
“Have you heard anything from Rowan or Harold?” I asked.
He frowned. “Only that Gabbi is definitely my daughter,” he said, “but they probably already told you that.”
“No. They’re working for you, not me. They won’t share anything without your say-so.
Not even Rowan—and she’s my best friend.
” I wasn’t sure why I added that. Maybe I wanted him to know he could trust her.
Perhaps I wanted him to trust me. Flustered, I stood and picked up Tyler’s guitar, unsure what to do with my hands.
“Do you play?” he asked.
I threw him a rueful smile. “No, I’m tone-deaf. I’m more of a practical numbers person.”
“Cool.”
“What about you?”
“I don’t play; I’m more of a…” He stopped, then shrugged, and something about the hesitation pulled at me.
“What?”
“A reader. Stories. Literature. At least, that’s what I was planning to… I read a lot.”
“What were you planning to do?” I picked up on that one thing, and he frowned again.
He shifted, eyes flicking away for a second.
“When I left the infantry, the plan was to use the GI Bill—get to college, study something I actually cared about. I always figured I’d end up there sooner or later.
” He let out a breath and shrugged again, a smaller gesture this time.
“But now… I think I should focus on finding work. You know. Something steady. Something that pays.”
The way he said it—quiet, resigned—made something in my chest tighten.
“Where I work, what I… I mean… we have on-the-job training programs—and an excellent on-site daycare. It’s free for employees. You should apply.”
“And me with no fixed address?” he said, throwing me a wry smile. “I don’t even know what your company does.”
“Money, investments, that kind of thing.”
“As we said, not my area of expertise.”
“We’re considering putting feelers out into publishing,” I lied like a rug, and he stared up at me, and I knew he didn’t believe me. He gave that look which implied I couldn’t fix everything.
I freaking well knew that.
But I wanted to.