Ivy
Hampton, Virginia
Hadley smells like vanilla shampoo and toothpaste.
She’s curled on her side in her new room at Dalton’s, snuggled into the light pink sheets and fluffy duvet Lila helped him pick out.
I don’t admit that I know this. I don’t admit that I kind of love how he asked my best friend for help making his home feel more like ours.
I don’t admit how cute I find that. Her favorite bear stuffed animal is tucked under her arm, and her ballerina night-light glows soft pink on the antique wooden nightstand, casting swirls on the wall like she’s already dreaming of dancing.
I sit beside her, legs folded under me, gently brushing the blonde ringlets from her face as she talks a mile a minute.
“Did you see the pool here, Mama? It’s so big! Maybe we could swim tomorrow if it’s not rainy. Maybe Dalton will swim with us? But I don’t want to get my hair wet. But maybe I do because I’m going to be Ariel and Ariel’s hair is always wet but it still looks nice. Why is that?”
I try not to laugh. “I don’t know, baby. Maybe mermaid hair is magic.”
Hadley gasps, delighted. “Like unicorns?”
“Exactly like unicorns.”
She grabs my hand and squeezes it, blue eyes wide and dreamy. “Dalton could be a prince.”
“Oh yeah?” I smile, smoothing a crease in her blanket. “What makes you say that?”
“He has the same hair as Prince Phillip.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “But he talks quieter.”
I snort softly. “He does.”
She shifts a little, then peers up at me with her thoughtful, too-wise-for-three expression. “How long are we staying here, Mama?”
The question hits like a quiet arrow. Not mean. Not worried. Just curious.
I play with the edge of her sleeve. “Just for a little while, sweetheart.”
“Is it like a sleepover?”
“Sort of.”
“But it’s a big sleepover.”
I nod. “Yeah. A really big one.”
She thinks. “Okay.”
But she’s not done. Her little fingers twist in the edge of the blanket. “Does Daddy like that we’re at Dalton’s house?”
I pause. “I think...Daddy wants us to be safe. That’s the most important thing to him. And this house is a good place to be safe.”
She nods again, serious. “Dalton has good snacks. That’s safe too.”
I bite back a laugh, tears threatening behind my eyes. “Very safe.”
There’s a long, peaceful moment where she yawns and cuddles closer to her bear, blinking slower. Then, “Do you think Daddy’s going to come home soon?”
I swallow the lump in my throat and lean down to kiss her temple. “I hope so, baby.”
She nestles into her pillow. “You should tell Dalton thank you for letting us do the sleepover. He’s being nice.”
“I will.” I smooth her curls one more time.
The door creaks slightly as I stand, and I glance over. Dalton’s in the doorway, barefoot in sweatpants and a plain black tee, leaning a shoulder against the frame. Watching. Quiet.
“Dalton?” Hadley’s sleepy voice drifts from the room behind us, soft and raspy.
I turn back immediately, but he’s already moving. Quiet steps. Calm hands. He eases the door open with the kind of gentleness you can’t fake and steps inside like he belongs there.
Hadley lifts her head slightly off the pillow, curls mussed and one arm still hugging her bear. “You forgot to say goodnight,” she says, all pouty and fake-serious.
Dalton smiles, that slow, steady one that makes me feel safer. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Hadley. Can I say it now?”
She nods, wide-eyed.
He crosses to her bed and crouches down so he’s eye level. “Goodnight, Hadley.”
“Goodnight,” she whispers, then tilts her head. “Do you always live here? Even when we don’t?”
He blinks. “Uh, yeah. This is my house.”
Her nose wrinkles. “Do you sleep in your room?”
I choke on a laugh and cover my mouth.
Dalton, to his credit, just smiles. “I do sleep in my room. I’ll show you it tomorrow, okay?”
She studies him like a tiny FBI agent. “Do you like my mama?”
I freeze.
Dalton glances at me, then back at her. “Your mama is very easy to like.”
“Do you like me too?”
“I do,” he says softly. “Very much.”
She yawns, settling back into the pillow. “Okay. But you have to like princesses if you’re going to live with us.”
He grins. “I’ll work on that.”
She hums, eyes drifting closed again. “You can start with Ariel. She’s red-haired and sings a lot like Mama.”
I raise a brow, amused and touched all at once.
“Deal,” he says.
Hadley’s breathing starts to slow again, her grip on her bear loosening as she drifts off.
I brush her curls back one last time. “Sweet dreams, baby.”
She murmurs something about apple juice and tiaras, and we both quietly slip out of the room, closing the door behind us with a whisper-click.
We step into the hallway together, door closing gently behind us. The house feels softer at night. Dim light pools in the corners. His energy is calm, steady. Like an anchor I didn’t realize I was drifting toward.
“She’s incredible,” he says quietly, reaching to grab the back of his neck.
Something he seems to do when he’s nervous, but all it does is flex his massive bicep, stretching the fabric of his T-shirt tight over a shoulder broad enough to carry the weight of his world—and apparently, mine and Hadley’s, too.
His forearm is tanned, veins faint beneath skin that’s all strength and quiet restraint.
The kind of strength that doesn’t need to announce itself.
And suddenly, I’m a little too aware of the space between us.
Of how safe he feels.
Of how dangerous that is.
“Yeah,” I murmur, trying not to stare. “She is.”
We pause at the end of the hall, just standing there.
The silence stretches, and I realize what I must look like barefoot, hair half falling out of the claw clip I didn’t bother to fix after the shower.
I’m wearing one of Kyler’s old Army shirts, soft from a hundred washes and swallowing me from the shoulders down, except where it’s not, because the sleeve slides off one shoulder and the hem barely covers the tiny sleep shorts I threw on without thinking.
Not exactly strategic. Definitely not the version of me the world usually sees. Usually, I’m all expertly applied makeup and perfectly curled hair to distract from all the wreckage underneath. I wear nail polish like armor. I need control like oxygen.
But right now, I’m soft edges and impulse decisions. And I can feel Dalton looking at me.
Not like he's going to pounce—though part of me would welcome his warm, sexy body as a distraction from this mess—just like he’s noticing.
His gaze drags over me slowly, like he’s trying to stop it but can’t quite help himself. My bare legs. The curve of my shoulder where the T-shirt hangs loose.
It’s not a moment, not really. It shouldn’t be anything. But it lands anyway, low in my stomach, hot and stupid and reckless. I fold my arms because I don’t know what to do with them and because I want to reach for something I absolutely shouldn’t.
He’s not mine.
He’s not anyone’s right now. At least I don’t think.
But he’s here. Dalton looks at me like he sees me. Like my thoughts are written on my forehead in dark ink and he doesn’t run.
“Are you okay?” he asks gently.
“Not really,” I admit. “But I’m functioning. That’s something.”
He nods. “It is.”
I lean back against the wall, arms still crossed. “You didn’t have to do this, you know. Let us stay. Risk your...everything.”
“I know.”
“Why’d you say yes?”
He shrugs slightly. “Because it was the right thing to do. To protect you and your daughter.”
I blink. That word always feels heavy. “You barely know us.”
Dalton meets my eyes. “I didn’t swear to protect only the people I know, Ivy.”
The air between us shifts. Heavy with truth. My throat tightens. “And what happens when this isn’t just some temporary sleepover? When weeks go by and she starts asking why we live in your house instead of our own?”
“Then we tell her the truth. In whatever way keeps her heart whole.” His voice is low. “That’s what matters most, right?”
I nod slowly, but the ache in my chest sharpens. “And if Kyler comes back and decides this isn’t working?”
Dalton doesn’t blink. “Then you decide what’s best for you and Hadley. Not him. Not me. You.”
That sinks like a stone in my chest. Heavy. Unavoidable.
My voice wavers, just a little. “You’re too good.”
He gives a small, almost-sad smile. “I’m not. I just give a damn.”
I should walk away.
But I don’t.
“Do you think it’s normal for me to feel like someone is following me? Or watching me? Or something? I mean considering what’s happening?” I ask him trying not to let my voice shake.
His stance changes then, he squares his shoulders and takes a step closer to me. “Did something happen?”
“I don’t think so. It’s just that leaving base this morning after dropping Hadley at school, I noticed this blue car. I didn’t think too much of it until I saw it again in the Trader Joes parking lot. And maybe that’s just a coincidence but…” I trail off because I sound stupid.
“What kind of car?” he asks, his voice hardening a little.
“An old, beat-up Honda. I noticed it because it had New Jersey plates.”
“This was twice today?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t see it following me or anything, so it was probably just a coincidence…”
He contemplates for a second before saying, “Do you want me to take Hadley to school with you in the mornings?”
I hesitate because I kind of want to say yes. I was more scared today than I care to admit. I fought off a panic attack for fifteen minutes before I was finally able to go inside in the grocery store and even then, I forgot half the items on my list because I couldn’t focus.
“Ivy?” he asks again.
“No, I’m—it’s okay.”
His light brown eyes track the length of me, not like he’s checking me out, more like he’s looking to make sure I’m unharmed. “I would be happy to. Tell me if anything else happens or if you change your mind, please. Promise me.”
I nod and offer him a small smile. “I promise. Thank you, I’m sorry for all this.”
“Don’t be.”
I stand there, caught in the current of him—his words, his steadiness, the heat of him only inches away. His gaze drops for half a second to my mouth, then to the curve of my exposed shoulder, and finally back to my eyes.
And suddenly my heart is hammering.
I swallow hard and press off the wall. “I should go to bed.”
“Do you need anything?” he asks, voice a little rougher now.
I shake my head. “I already have more than I deserve.” I move past him, and his arm barely brushes mine. But it’s enough to leave a trail of heat in its wake.
“Ivy.”
I stop. Look back.
“You’re doing a good job,” he says quietly.
Something in me fractures. Just a hairline crack, but I feel it. I nod. “Thanks.” My voice is soft. “Goodnight, Dalton.”
“Goodnight, Ivy.”