Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Briar
The sun isn’t up yet.
The house is quiet, the kind of quiet that feels suspended—like the world is holding its breath.
I barely slept after what happened in the parking lot last night.
After the fire. After watching Saxon disappear into the ambulance area, burned and bruised and still trying to look like he had everything under control.
He texted me at two a.m.
Home. Alive. Shower didn’t kill me. Told Rowan to stop hovering. Gonna sleep for an hour then check on you both.
I stared at that message until my eyes burned.
I didn’t reply. Didn’t trust myself to because I knew if I answered, I’d ask him to come over.
And if he came over, I wouldn’t let him leave.
Not after that kiss. Not after feeling his hands on me, his body against mine, the way he said I’d marry her right now like it cost him something to admit it out loud.
I roll onto my side, staring at the sliver of pale pink that’s beginning to seep through the curtains.
Junie breathes softly in her little bed across the room. She didn’t want to leave my side after the fire, so we camped out together in my room, the air thick with smoke residue and adrenaline and all the fear I tried not to drown in. A soft creak from the living room pulls me upright.
My pulse jumps.
I pull on a hoodie, pad barefoot across the hall, listening. A low voice murmurs. Familiar. Warm. Deep enough to vibrate in my chest.
Him.
I freeze in the hallway, hidden by the corner.
He’s on my couch, legs spread wide, worn jeans clinging to his thighs, a black T-shirt tugged too tight across his shoulders.
His hair is wet—must have showered again.
A faint red mark traces his jaw from where Junie clung to him last night.
He looks exhausted. He looks wrecked. He looks like the strongest thing I’ve ever seen.
He holds a mug of coffee in one hand, elbow resting on his knee as he stares at nothing.
Then I hear small footsteps. Junie wanders into the living room rubbing her eyes, hair a wild mess of curls sticking in every direction.
“Captain Saxon?”
Her voice is raspy with sleep.
His entire body softens.
“Hey, baby girl,” he says, voice low, gentle, stripped of all the authority he carries everywhere else. “Come here.”
She waddles straight to him—no hesitation, no shyness, no fear. Just trust. He sets his mug on the table beside him, and she climbs into his lap like she’s been doing it her whole life. He wraps an arm around her automatically. My throat closes.
“Why’re you here?” she mumbles into his chest, curling against him like a sleepy kitten.
He brushes a hand down her back. “Had to make sure you and your mom were okay.”
She yawns, patting his shirt. “We’re okay.”
“I know.” His voice cracks. Almost imperceptibly. “Still needed to see it.”
I press my fingers to my mouth, swallowing the ache building behind my eyes. Junie suddenly perks up, squirming out of his arm just enough to reach for something on the coffee table. She grabs a folded piece of construction paper covered in pink and purple crayon streaks.
“Look,” she says proudly. “I made this for you.”
His brows lift. He takes it carefully, opening it like it’s fragile.
And then he freezes. It’s the same drawing she showed me yesterday—stick figures with unruly hair and scribbled smiles.
Three people. Saxon on one side, holding Junie’s hand.
Me on the other side. And above us, a house with a crooked chimney puffing scribbled smoke.
His shoulders go rigid. His jaw works once.
A tiny muscle jumps at the corner of his eye.
“You drew this?” he asks, voice barely a whisper.
Junie nods, suddenly shy. “It’s you. And Mommy. And me.”
He swallows hard. I can see it—his throat moving, a tremor running down his spine. Junie leans closer, poking the drawing. “That’s our house. And that’s you holdin’ my hand.”
Silence stretches. Charged. Heavy. Beautiful. Then she asks it. The question. The one that knocks the air out of my lungs even before she finishes it.
“Are you gonna be my daddy now?”
Saxon’s breath punches out of him. Not softly. Like a rib just cracked. Like someone ripped the ground from beneath him. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. His eyes shine—barely noticeable but unmistakable.
Junie cuddles deeper into his chest. “I want you to.”
He closes his eyes. Just for a second. Not to hide. To survive. When he opens them again, they’re wet. He cups the back of her tiny head, pressing his lips to her hair.
“Yeah, baby girl,” he whispers, voice breaking. “I’d be honored.”
Junie smiles into his shirt, a soft content little hum vibrating against him.
She snuggles deeper in his lap, curling her legs to the side.
Saxon holds her like he’s holding something sacred.
Something he never thought he’d touch again.
My hand flies to my mouth. Tears slide down my cheeks before I can stop them.
He lifts his gaze—and sees me. He doesn’t drop it.
Doesn’t hide the emotion. Doesn’t try to pull back into captain mode.
He just looks at me. And everything he’s feeling is right there, raw and open and real.
I step toward him—slow, careful, like approaching a wild animal I don’t want to spook.
His eyes track every move as I stop beside the couch.
Junie’s already half-asleep again, tucked under his chin.
I brush a curl from her face, fingers trembling.
When I straighten, Saxon looks up at me again—and this time his expression hits with enough force to steal the air from my lungs.
It says everything. Everything he didn’t say last night.
Everything we both pretended wasn’t real.
Everything that could break us or save us.
I sit beside him.
His thigh presses against mine—solid, warm, grounding. A simple touch, but my whole body lights like he flipped a switch inside me.
“You okay?” I whisper.
He scoffs softly. “Not even close.”
His voice shakes. Just barely.
I swallow. “She meant that. Every word.”
He looks down at Junie again, brushing his thumb across her cheek with impossible gentleness. “Yeah. I know.”
“She’s never asked anyone that,” I say quietly. “Not even her… not even him.”
I don’t say father. It doesn’t fit. Saxon’s jaw tightens, anger flickering in his eyes at the mention of my ex. But he softens again as soon as he looks back at Junie.
“She deserves someone who shows up,” he murmurs. “Every day.”
“She thinks that’s you.”
His eyes snap to mine.
“And you?” he asks softly. “What do you think?”
Heat skates down my spine. Not lust—though that’s always simmering around him. This is different. A slow burn that hurts.
“I think…” I breathe, “that I’ve never seen her look at anyone the way she looks at you.”
He holds my gaze. Tension thickens—heavy, pulsing, magnetic.
My breath shivers out. “And I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you look at her.”
He shuts his eyes, jaw clenching like he’s fighting something huge inside him. When he opens them again, the restraint is gone.
“Briar,” he says low, “I’m in this. With you. With her. I’m not half-stepping. I don’t do halfway commitment.”
“I know,” I whisper. “That’s what scares me.”
He shifts—carefully, so he doesn’t jostle Junie—and cups the side of my neck with his free hand. His thumb brushes my jaw.
“Look at me.”
I do.
“Being scared doesn’t mean it’s wrong,” he says. “It means it matters.”
My breath shakes. His gaze drops to my lips for a heartbeat—but he doesn’t lean in. Not with Junie asleep in his arms. Instead, he runs his thumb along the line of my cheek, soft and reverent.
“I meant what I said last night,” he murmurs. “All of it.”
I swallow. “All of it?”
“That I’d marry you right now. That I’m done pretending. That I want you. That I want her.”
I tremble.
His hand slides down from my neck to my collarbone, fingertips brushing the edge of my hoodie—gentle but full of promise.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says. “Not running. Not hiding. Not pretending this is some arrangement.”
My voice comes out small. “So what is it?”
He looks down at Junie. Then back at me.
“It’s a family,” he says softly. “If you’ll have me.”
Something inside my chest breaks open, warm and bright and impossibly fragile.
I exhale, a shaky, cracked sound. “You’re gonna wreck me, Saxon.”
His mouth curves—a slow, dangerous smirk that still manages to look tender.
“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, brushing a curl behind my ear, “you wrecked me first.”
Junie shifts, snuggling deeper against him, tiny fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like she never intends to let go. Saxon looks down at her—and something in his face softens so completely my eyes burn again. He leans his head slightly toward mine, our temples almost touching.
“Come here,” he murmurs. I lean into him, resting my head on his shoulder.
He exhales—a deep, shuddering breath—and presses his cheek to my hair.
We sit like that. Saxon holding my daughter.
Me leaning into him. Junie breathing softly between us.
And for the first time in years, I feel something I thought I’d lost forever.
Home.
Saxon shifts just enough to kiss the top of my head.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers.
Tears spill down my cheeks. And he holds me tighter. And I know, with absolute terrifying clarity—this isn’t the end of our story.
It’s the beginning.