Chapter 11 Morgan
ELEVEN
Morgan
I’d never been to the Chicago Children’s Museum before.
I’d never been anywhere like it—bright colors, noises bouncing off every surface, a chaos that should’ve overwhelmed me but somehow didn’t.
Maybe because Cole was there, hovering close enough for comfort but not so close that I was trapped.
Maybe because Gabbi’s delighted squeals were louder than anything else.
He paid for the tickets before I could even get my wallet out—of course, he did—and held the door open. I rolled the stroller inside, the warm air hitting us instantly.
Gabbi’s eyes went wide. Huge. Curious. She kicked her legs and made this breathy sound she always made when something new caught her attention.
“She’s into it already,” Cole murmured beside me.
“She likes lights and movement,” I said. “And people. God, she loves people. No taste.” I added the joke because I needed to—because if I didn’t make light of things, I’d start thinking too much.
Cole nudged my shoulder gently. “She has excellent taste. She likes me.”
“Proves my point,” I shot back.
He laughed, warm and low, and something in me loosened.
The first area we hit was the sensory gallery: lights that changed colors, textured walls, and a giant jelly-like floor pad that squished under each step. Kids ran across it, squealing. Babies crawled. Parents watched, tired but happy.
Gabbi reached both arms out, demanding to be freed from the stroller.
“Okay, okay,” I said, lifting her. “You want to see it properly, sweetheart?”
She twisted in my arms toward Cole as if he was part of the display.
He opened his hands. “May I?”
I nodded, and she went right to him, fingers bunching in his coat. His entire expression brightened, as if he’d just been handed the moon.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he whispered to her. “Look at all this.” Gabbi babbled enthusiastically, patting his jaw with a mittened hand. “She’s obsessed with me,” Cole said.
“She’s obsessed with ceiling fans too. Don’t get cocky.” I paused after I said that. Was I pushing the teasing too far? Was he okay with me?
“Brutal,” he muttered, but he didn’t stop smiling, and I relaxed.
We moved through the exhibits at a snail’s pace. Cole let Gabbi smack the light-up panels with her tiny fists, holding her steady while she shrieked at the colors flashing beneath her hand. He narrated everything as if she would remember it.
It did something to me.
At one point, in the soft play forest, she buried her face in his shoulder—overstimulated, maybe—and Cole immediately swayed her a little, murmuring nonsense into her hair.
“Okay?” I asked.
“She’s fine,” he said. “Just a lot for her. For you too?”
I hesitated to tell the truth. What would he think if I told him I wanted to grab Gabbi and run? “Yeah. Maybe. But… good. This is good.”
He looked at me then. “If it’s too much, we can go. Or find somewhere quiet. Or do absolutely nothing. Just say the word.”
No judgement. No pressure. Just… choice.
“I’m okay,” I said. And for once, I meant it.
We ended in a room where fabric fish hung from the ceiling, glowing as they moved with the air currents. I carried Gabbi, and Cole had the stroller, and Gabbi was mesmerized—her whole body leaning toward them.
“She loves it,” I whispered.
“So do you,” Cole said.
I didn’t argue.
The moment felt warm. Safe. Like maybe this wasn’t a date-date, but it was something—something terrifying and good all at the same time. And for the first time in a long while, I wanted the moment to last.
Then something crashed.
A metal bin? A chair? A display? I didn’t know—just that it was loud, sharp, too close. The sound knifed straight through my spine. My whole body locked. Gabbi jerked in my arms, startled, and I clutched her too tightly before I could stop myself.
My vision tunneled. The room blurred—the glowing fish, the carpets, the distant chatter. All of it collapsed into that one noise echoing inside my head like it was still happening.
Not here. Not now. Not with her.
I can’t breathe.
“Morgan?” Cole’s voice was careful in the way people spoke to skittish animals.
I shook my head, but that only made dizziness hit harder. My knees went loose. Gabbi whimpered, sensing everything I couldn’t hide.
“Hey,” Cole said again, closer now. “Look at me. Not the room. Me.”
I tried, but my gaze kept skittering, searching for exits, threats, places to shield Gabbi. My pulse hammered so hard I felt sick.
Another clatter in the distance—someone dropping toys—and something in me snapped.
“We need—” I choked out. “I need—”
Cole didn’t ask questions. He slipped Gabbi from my arms—a smooth, practiced motion—and I should’ve panicked more at that, but instead the weight leaving my chest let me gasp for air.
He kept one hand on my forearm, grounding me.
“Come with me,” he murmured, guiding me toward the quiet corner near the wall, half-hidden behind a thick sensory curtain. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
Gabbi reached for me from his shoulder, whining, but Cole kept her steady, rubbing her back.
I braced a hand on the wall, the cool surface helping clear some of the fog. My breaths were too fast, too shallow.
“Morgan, breathe with me,” Cole said, lowering his voice even more. “In… and out. You’re here. She’s safe. I’ve got her. Nothing’s happening.”
My eyes stung. Embarrassment? Fear? Relief? All of it.
“Sorry,” I whispered, voice cracking. “I’m sorry—I just—”
“Don’t apologize,” Cole said. “Not for this. Not ever.”
He adjusted Gabbi so she could see me. Her face lit up the second she did—small fingers stretching toward me as if I was her whole world, and something inside me unclenched.
Cole offered her. “Want to hold her again?”
I nodded, hands still trembling, and he passed her back with care. The second her weight settled against me, my heartbeat eased—still fast but no longer spiraling out of control. Cole stood close—not crowding, just there. Solid. Warm.
“Thank you,” I said.
His answering smile was enough to ruin me.
“I’m not going anywhere, Morgan.”
We stayed behind the curtain for a minute—maybe longer—until my breathing evened out and the buzzing in my skull eased at last. Gabbi had gone back to being her usual self, tugging on my shirt and babbling as if nothing had happened. I envied her for that.
Cole glanced toward the exit. “There’s a little café upstairs. Quiet. Want a break?”
A break sounded like oxygen. “Yeah. Please.”
He didn’t make a big deal about it, didn’t fuss.
Just nodded and walked beside me as we made our way out of the exhibit.
The upstairs café was small and tucked away—round tables, warm lighting, the smell of coffee and pretzels drifting through the air.
Peaceful. Manageable. We found a table in the corner.
I sat with Gabbi in my lap while Cole went to get drinks. My hands still trembled faintly.
He came back with two coffees and a muffin already torn into tiny pieces for Gabbi. “Fuel,” he said, sliding the plate toward me.
I smiled, a little sheepish. “Thanks.”
Gabbi immediately smeared blueberry across my knee. Cole reached over and brushed it away before I could. He didn’t comment. Didn’t joke. Just… stayed.
“Want to talk about what happened? I mean… only if you want to.”
I stared into my coffee, watching the ripples on the surface.
“I thought getting home would fix everything,” I said.
“I thought once I wasn’t… over there… my brain would just reset.
Like I could go back to being whoever I used to be.
” Cole didn’t interrupt, and he didn’t look away.
“But when I stopped fighting for my life every day, everything I shoved down just—” I tapped my chest “—surged up. Fast. Loud.”
I breathed out slowly. “Therapy helps. A lot. But it’s like peeling an onion.
I get through one layer and think, okay, that one’s done…
and then another layer hits, and I’m right back on a dirt road in ninety-degree heat, or hearing noises that don’t belong, or holding Gabbi and thinking I’m going to fail her.
” Cole’s expression relaxed in a way that made something inside me wobble.
“Hypervigilance kept me alive out there,” I said.
“But here? It’s something else. Something I can’t switch off.
And I hate that Gabbi sees any of it. I hate that you see it.
I feel weak and out of control and so fucking scared. ”
“Morgan,” Cole said, shaking his head, “nothing about what happened makes you weak. Or unfit. Or anything less than good for her. You’re doing the work, but of course, you’re scared.
You’re learning how to breathe again in a world that wasn’t built for what you’ve been through. That’s not failure—that’s strength.”
I looked away before he saw too much.
He leaned back slightly, giving me space, and his voice softened now. “And just so we’re clear, Gabbi is not even remotely bothered. She’s too busy trying to eat her own sock.”
I snorted. Actually snorted. “She’s a menace.”
Cole grinned as if that was the best sound he’d heard all day. “Then she fits right in.”
For the first time since the noise, since the fear slammed into me, I could breathe again.
And the strangest thing—maybe the scariest thing—was that sitting there across from Cole, with Gabbi drooling blueberry on my jeans, felt…
safe. Too safe, maybe. Secure enough that the crash, the panic, the whole embarrassing mess of it all now sat on my shoulders like a weight I needed to shrug off.
Safe enough that I suddenly wanted my own space again—quiet walls, familiar routines, the steadiness of Guardian Hall—before I unraveled any further in front of him.
But I had no idea how to say that without sounding like I was running away.
Cole watched me, expression filled with patience. “I’ll call Georgie. You okay to head home?”
How did he know? How did he always seem to know?
“Yeah,” I said, exhaling. “Thank you.” But the words twisted in my mouth. I didn’t want the day to end. I didn’t want him to think I was forcing him away. I didn’t want him to drop me at the door as if this whole thing had been a box ticked, a date done, a duty completed.
Okay, I needed to do something. I didn’t want him to leave. Not now that the panic had eased and I could actually think. I wanted to talk—more than that, maybe. Stay. Keep him here and not let this end.
“I know you might need to go,” I said, my voice unsteady, “but you don’t have to. Do you… want to come in? Just for a bit. We could talk.”
Cole’s smile was warm enough to knock the air out of me.
“Yeah, Morgan,” he said. “I’d like that very much.”
The drive back was quiet. Gabbi fell asleep halfway, and Cole kept glancing back at her with that stupidly tender expression that made my chest ache.
He got out first, unbuckling Gabbi and handing her to me once she was free, his fingers brushing mine—warm, steadying. Then he piled everything into the stroller, and we headed inside, Alex opening the door with a smile.
Home.
I took Gabbi to our room, Cole hovering in the doorway as if he wasn’t sure if he belonged there or didn’t want to assume.
“Come in,” I said, more gently than I meant to, and he stepped inside.
I changed Gabbi, then laid her in her crib and tugged the blanket up to her waist. She sighed in that dramatic way babies do, then settled. She’d need a bottle in less than an hour, but I wasn’t going to wake the dragon before I had to.
When I turned around, Cole was just inside, a smile on his face. “She had the best time. We should go again.”
There was going to be an again? Despite my meltdown?
“We’d love that.” I stepped closer to him, pushed the door shut so we were both inside, and I was close. “Her grandparents want to see her tomorrow.”
Cole stilled. Not shocked—we’d all known this was coming—but something in his expression shifted. Protective. Focused.
I stared down at my hands. “I don’t know what they want. I don’t know what they’re going to say. I don’t know if they—if she—” My voice cracked. “I’m worried.”
Cole reached for my hand, tentative at first. When I didn’t move, he laced our fingers together. “Okay,” he said. “I’m here for you both. Whatever happens, I’m here.”
“I… don’t want to do it alone.”
“You don’t have to,” he said. “Alex could be with you, or Marcus?”
I nodded, but the fear didn’t ease.
Cole shifted, like he was unsure how much he was allowed to offer. “I mean, I can wait out in the kitchen or the office, and if you need—”
“Will you come into the room with us?” I interrupted. “We don’t need them to know who you are, just…”
He blinked. “With you?”
“Yeah. I get why you might not want to, I mean, Alex did say he would, but maybe Gabbi and I want you.”
Silence stretched between us, and then Cole squeezed my hand. “Then I’ll be there, in my best suit.”
“No, I don’t… I mean… f—fudge.” The following words came out rough, rushed.
“I want it to be clear—this isn’t about money, or names, or what you could fix.
I didn’t ask you because you’re rich. I asked you because you’re the man I’m starting to fall for, and I can’t—” I swallowed, eyes flicking away.
“I can’t have you thinking you’re there with me because of what you have.
Or have them wondering why someone like you would even want to be with someone like me. ”
“I don’t think anything like that,” he said. “And I’m here because you’re you.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You didn’t ask for a Braxton. You asked for your friend, Cole. And that’s who showed up.”
Something in my chest unclenched. Just a little. Enough to breathe.
Enough to hope.