Chapter 13 - Lola #2
Sam’s soft, sleepy breaths greeted her the moment she stepped into the nursery.
The sound was small. Fragile.
Lola pressed a trembling hand to her chest and exhaled, then crossed the room, lowering herself gently onto the edge of the armchair beside the crib. The white noise machine hummed on the shelf, blending with the rustle of blankets as Sam stirred.
She didn’t need to pick him up. Not yet. He wasn’t wailing, just fussing, shifting in that disoriented, baby-like way that suggested he’d briefly left sleep and didn’t like it.
“Hey,” she whispered, reaching through the bars to place a light touch on his back, “you’re okay. You’re safe.”
Sam settled almost instantly at the sound of her voice, the way he always did now.
Like she meant comfort. Like she meant home.
The thought struck her with a dull throb.
You’re not home. You never were. You’re temporary.
Her throat tightened, and she leaned forward, resting her forehead lightly against the edge of the crib. The wood was smooth and cool beneath her skin.
Everything else was hot. Embarrassed. Ache and anger coiled together in a hollow pit under her ribs.
What had she even expected?
Dane wasn’t some storybook man who would wrap his arms around her and say I didn’t mean it like that, I just don’t know how to love yet, but I want to learn.
He wasn’t built for soft reassurances and heartfelt confessions.
He was built for violence, for keeping the peace by brute force, for doing what needed to be done without letting anyone too close.
She’d always known that.
But still…still…she’d hoped.
And that was the most humiliating part. That she, Lola Devereaux, who had spent her whole life watching from the outside, had let herself hope that someone like Dane could choose her.
Stupid. Na?ve. Absolutely hopeless.
Sam shifted again, this time with a sleepy little squeak that made her breath catch.
He was the only uncomplicated thing in all of this.
He didn’t care about politics or roles or whether or not his existence complicated someone else’s life. He just wanted comfort, food, and love. And he gave it back without conditions.
Lola reached down and scooped him up, lifting his warm little body against her chest. He tucked his face instinctively into her neck, a small hand clutching the neckline of her borrowed shirt.
She closed her eyes and held him tighter.
“We’ll be okay, sweetheart,” she whispered, brushing her lips against his silky hair, “even if everything else falls apart, we’ll be okay.”
He was already drifting off again by the time she settled back in the armchair, rocking slowly. She kept her cheek against the top of his head, letting the motion soothe them both.
She thought of Rick’s visit. Of the questions. Of the way Dane had glared like he wanted to tear someone apart.
And then tonight. The heat between them. The need. The connection.
It hadn’t been one-sided. She knew that. Dane didn’t fake things, not that well.
But the moment it had meant something real, he’d panicked.
He hadn’t meant to hurt her. She truly believed that. But she also believed that if she reached for him again, he’d just flinch again. That this would turn into a quiet cycle of closeness and retreat, intimacy and cold silence. And she wasn’t sure her heart could take that.
She’d made this mistake once already, hoping someone might pick her.
This time, she’d protect herself.
Keep your head down. Do your job. Be helpful. Don’t get in the way.
It was the oldest rule she knew. The one she’d carried from her girlhood, tucked inside her bones like marrow.
Sam made a small sound, nuzzling his face closer into her neck, and she gently rocked him again, adjusting her hold so he was cradled more comfortably.
Her eyes burned, but no tears came.
Not here.
Not now.
She just sat there, the only light in the room spilling from the night lamp, holding a child who wasn’t hers and aching for a man who didn’t know how to want her out loud.
Eventually, when she was sure Sam was deeply asleep, she stood and laid him gently back in the crib. He wriggled once, made a soft noise, then stilled.
She stayed there for a long moment, looking down at him.
He was so small. So helpless. And so full of possibility.
He didn’t deserve to be caught between two emotionally stunted adults trying not to ruin everything.
“I’ve got you,” she whispered, “no matter what.”
She stepped out of the nursery and closed the door quietly behind her.
The hallway beyond was still and dark, the soft creak of the floorboards beneath her bare feet the only sound.
Dane hadn’t come after her.
Part of her had hoped he might.
Even if he didn’t know what to say, just a hand, a word, a glance that said wait, don’t go.
But the living room was empty.
The kitchen, too.
His bedroom door was closed.
Good.
She wasn’t sure she could face him again tonight without doing something humiliating like begging for a scrap of affection or asking him to take it all back.
She padded softly to the front door, slipping away back to her own apartment just across the hall. She was hardly there by herself these days. She came in to crash, shower, and maybe do a load of laundry if she was lucky. The space felt overwhelmingly silent with just her in it.
Her bed was cold, the covers crisp and untouched from this morning.
She slid under them and lay staring at the ceiling, the silence now thick and unforgiving.
Tomorrow, she’d be fine.
She’d make breakfast. She’d dress Sam. She’d answer Dane’s questions about naps and bottles and teething like nothing had changed.
And she’d only speak to him when absolutely necessary.
Because anything else…anything more…would just hurt.