Chapter Twenty-Five
Now Or Never
Maverick
I’ve faced down men twice my size. I’ve taken punches that cracked bone and left blood in my mouth. I’ve walked into rooms knowing I might not walk out again. None of that compares to this.
I stand in Zora’s living room with my hands shoved into my pockets, my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest, while Ivy sits cross-legged on the floor in front of me, her curls a wild halo around her face.
She’s holding the teddy bear I brought her weeks ago, the one she named Bear-Bear, and she’s studying me like I’m a puzzle she’s already halfway solved.
Zora stands to the side, arms wrapped around herself, eyes shiny and terrified and hopeful all at once. This is it. There’s no script for this. No way to make it perfect. All I have is the truth.
I drop to one knee so I’m at Ivy’s level. My throat is tight, but I force the words out anyway. “Hey, Trouble.”
She looks up at me, those storm-gray eyes locking on mine. My eyes. The realization still hits me like a punch every time.
“Mommy says you wanted to talk to me,” she says solemnly.
I nod. “Yeah. I did. Is that okay?”
She considers that for all of half a second, then shrugs. “Okay.”
God. Kids.
I take a breath, slow and careful. “So, you know how some families look a little different than others?”
She nods again. “Lily has two mommies. And Jake doesn’t have a mommy or a daddy, just his grandma.”
Smart and observant. Already more emotionally competent than most adults I know.
“Well,” I say gently, “you have a daddy.”
Her brows pinch together. “I do?”
My heart stutters. I glance at Zora, who gives me the smallest nod. Permission. Trust.
“It’s me,” I say quietly. “I’m your dad.”
The silence that follows is deafening. My chest locks up, fear roaring in my ears. I brace myself for confusion, for tears, for questions I won’t know how to answer.
Instead, Ivy blinks. Once. Twice.
Then she tilts her head. “Oh.”
Oh. “That’s it?” I ask, a little stunned.
She shrugs again, completely unfazed. “I kind of hoped you would be.”
I actually laugh. A startled, disbelieving sound that punches right out of my chest. “You did?”
“Yeah,” she says, like it’s obvious. “You look like me. And you say things Mommy says. And Bun-Bun likes you.”
Bun-Bun. The ultimate seal of approval.
She stands and walks right up to me, close enough that I can see the faint smudge of marker on her fingers. She smells like sunshine and crayons and safety.
“So does this mean you’ll come to the park with us now?” she asks.
I swallow hard. “If you want me to.”
Her face lights up like I just handed her the moon. “I want you to.”
And just like that, the world rearranges itself around that sentence.
Zora makes a small, broken sound behind us, and I glance up to see tears streaming down her face. Not the panicked kind. The relieved kind. The kind that comes after holding your breath for too long.
I turn back to Ivy, my voice rough. “I’m really happy you’re okay with this.”
She reaches out and takes my hand, small fingers wrapping around mine without hesitation. “I am. I’ve always wanted a daddy.”
That does it. I pull her into my arms, careful, gentle, like she’s something sacred. She fits against me like she’s always belonged there, her head tucked under my chin, her arms slipping around my neck like it’s instinct.
Maybe it is.
****
The park smells like cut grass and sunscreen and laughter.
Ivy is already halfway across the playground before Zora finishes locking the car, her little legs pumping as she makes a beeline for the swings.
“Daddy!” she calls over her shoulder. “Push me!”
Daddy. The word hits me so hard I actually stop walking. Zora’s breath catches beside me, her hand flying to her mouth.
I look at Ivy, who’s grinning at me like she hasn’t just changed my entire world with one word. “Yeah, Trouble,” I manage. “I’m coming.”
I push her on the swing, higher and higher, her laughter ringing out bright and unfiltered. Every giggle feels like it stitches something back together inside me. Zora watches us from a nearby bench, sunlight catching in her hair, her smile soft and real in a way I haven’t seen since we were kids.
I jog over when Ivy hops off the swing and runs toward the slide.
“Are you okay?” I ask Zora quietly.
She nods, eyes shining. “I’ve never seen her this happy.”
I smile. “That’s good.”
She looks at me then. Really looks at me. “Thank you for doing this right.”
I shrug, suddenly unsure. “She deserves it.”
“So do you,” Zora says softly.
I don’t know what to say to that, so I lean in instead. The kiss is gentle. Unrushed. Not desperate like when we are alone, not fueled by chaos or fear of loss. Just ... right. Her hand curls into my shirt, mine settling at her waist, and for the first time in my life, everything feels aligned.
When we pull back, Ivy is watching us with her hands on her hips.
“Ew,” she says. “But also, good ew.”
Zora laughs, wiping at her cheeks. “You’re impossible.”
“I know,” Ivy says proudly.
She runs back to me, grabbing my hand again like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Can we get ice cream?” she asks.
I grin. “Absolutely.”
****
Later, as the sun dips low and the day winds down, Ivy falls asleep in the back seat, Bear-Bear clutched tight, thumb tucked into her mouth.
I carry her inside, my chest full in a way I didn’t know was possible, and tuck her into bed. She stirs just enough to mumble, “Night, Daddy.”
I freeze. Then I lean down and kiss her forehead, my voice breaking. “Good night, sweetheart.”
I step back into the hallway where Zora is waiting, her eyes soft. “She called you Daddy,” she says quietly.
“I heard.”
She steps into my arms, and this time, when I hold her, it doesn’t feel like holding on. It feels like home.
“We made it,” she whispers.
I press my forehead to hers. “We did.”
For the first time in my life, I’m not running. I’m not chasing fire or fighting ghosts. I’m right where I belong. And I’m never letting go.