Chapter 21
Cassian
Three days had passed since that morning.
Three days since I'd sat on the floor building trains with my son, while Isla looked at me like I was someone worth loving. Since we'd held hands over Leo's sleeping body after his nightmare. Since I'd said "I could get used to this" and meant it with every fiber of my being.
Three days since I'd felt hope—real, dangerous hope—and then spent every moment since trying to kill it.
I stood on the balcony, the October night air cold against my face, watching the city lights blur below. A glass of scotch sat untouched on the railing. I'd poured it an hour ago, but couldn't bring myself to drink it. Couldn't do anything but stand here and hate myself for what I was doing.
For what I'd been doing for three days straight.
Avoiding breakfast. Working late. Manufacturing excuses to stay away from the penthouse until after Leo was asleep. Creating careful, deliberate distance between myself and the woman who'd started to make me believe in impossible things.
Behind me, the penthouse was quiet. Leo had finally fallen asleep after asking for the fourth night in a row why Daddy wasn't there for dinner. Why I didn't play trains anymore. Why everything felt different.
Because his father was a coward. That was why.
The balcony door slid open behind me. I didn't turn, already knowing it was Isla by the soft sound of her footsteps, the subtle shift in the air.
"Can't sleep?" she asked, coming to stand beside me at the railing. But she didn't touch me. Didn't reach for my hand like she would have four days ago.
"Seems to be a pattern lately." I finally picked up the scotch, swirling it without drinking. "You?"
"Hard to sleep when you're trying to figure out what you did wrong." Her voice was tight, controlled. "When you're trying to understand why the man who held your hand three days ago now won't even look at you."
I forced myself to meet her eyes. She looked exhausted—dark circles, tension in her jaw, the careful blankness of someone trying not to break.
"You didn't do anything wrong," I said.
"Then why does it feel like I'm being punished?" She wrapped her arms around herself. "Leo asked me today if you're mad at him. If he did something wrong. Because his father stopped eating breakfast with us. Stopped playing after dinner. Started coming home after he's asleep."
Guilt twisted in my gut, sharp and vicious. "I've been busy. The business—"
"Bullshit." The word cracked between us. "Three days ago, you made pancakes with us. You sat on the floor and built train tracks. You held my hand and said you could get used to mornings like that." Tears shone in her eyes. "What happened? What changed?"
Everything. Nothing. I'd realized I was falling and tried to stop myself before I hit the ground.
"Nothing changed," I lied.
"Don't do that." Fire flashed in her expression. "Don't lie to me. Not after everything. I deserve better than that."
She was right. She deserved so much better than what I was giving her.
"I realized something," I said finally, the words coming out harshly. "That morning—the pancakes, the trains, the hand-holding—it felt real. It felt like we were a family. And that terrified me."
Understanding dawned on her face. "So you ran away."
"I created distance. There's a difference."
"Is there?" She stepped closer, refusing to let me hide. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you got scared of something good and decided to destroy it before it could destroy you."
"You don't understand—"
"I understand perfectly." Her voice cracked. "You felt something real. Something that made you hope. And you've spent your whole life learning that hope is dangerous. That caring about people gets them killed. So you pulled away to protect yourself."
"To protect you," I corrected, voice dropping. "To protect Leo."
"From what? From having a father who loves them?" Anger mixed with hurt now. "From having a family?"
"From me." The admission tore out of me, raw and desperate.
"Everything I touch turns to ash eventually.
The people I love end up dead or broken or wishing they'd never met me.
That morning—when I looked at you and Leo and felt happy—I realized I was setting you both up for destruction.
And I can't—" My voice broke. "I can't be the reason that light goes out. "
Tears spilled over her cheeks. "So you're going to push us away instead? Keep us at arm's length while we live under the same roof?"
"If that's what it takes to keep you safe."
"Safe from what? From you?" She moved closer, closing the distance I'd tried to create.
"You think you're protecting us by shutting us out?
Leo cries himself to sleep, asking what he did wrong.
I spend every day wondering if I imagined that morning.
If I made up the man who looked at me like I mattered. "
"You didn't imagine it." I couldn't meet her eyes. "That's the problem. It was real. Too real."
"And that scares you."
"It terrifies me." The honesty cost me, but she deserved it.
"Because I've spent my life building walls.
Keeping distance. Never caring too much about anything that could be taken away.
And then you and Leo—you made me want things I never thought I could have.
Made me believe, for one morning, that I could be more than what I am. "
"You are more than what you are," she said fiercely. "That morning proved it. The way you made pancakes with Leo. The way you held my hand like it was precious. The way you looked at us—"
"Like I loved you," I finished, the words escaping before I could stop them.
She froze. "What?"
"Like I loved you. Both of you." I finally looked at her, letting her see everything I'd been hiding. "That's what terrified me. That's why I ran. Because somewhere between hating you and being terrified of you, I fell in love. And I don't know how to do that without destroying everything."
Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. "Cassian—"
"Don't." I stepped back, even though everything in me wanted to pull her close.
"Don't tell me it'll be okay. Don't tell me I'm wrong.
Because I've seen what happens when I care too much.
My mother died because my father had enemies.
Marcus died protecting you. Everyone I've ever loved has paid for it. "
"That's not your fault—"
"It is." I thought of every loss, every death, every person who'd paid the price for my weakness. "This life destroys good things. You and Leo are the best things. And I will not—I cannot—be the reason you're destroyed too."
"So what?" Anger flashed through her tears. "You're just going to keep avoiding us? Keep Leo wondering why his father doesn't love him anymore?"
The words hit like a physical blow. "That's not—I do love him—"
"Then show him!" Her voice rose. "Stop hiding. Stop running. Stop destroying this family because you're afraid of caring too much!"
"I'm trying to protect you!"
"By breaking his heart?" She stepped forward, jabbing her finger into my chest. "By making me feel like I imagined everything good between us? That's not protection, Cassian. That's cowardice."
The word landed like she'd slapped me. "Maybe it is. But it's all I know how to do."
"Then learn something new." Her voice softened, broke. "Learn to stay. Learn to fight for this instead of against it. Learn to believe that maybe—just maybe—you deserve to be happy."
"I don't deserve it. I don't deserve you or Leo or any of this."
"That's not your choice to make." She touched my face, and I couldn't bring myself to pull away. "I'm standing here, knowing exactly what you are, what you've done, what you're capable of. And I'm telling you that I love you anyway."
The words hit like they had the first time—salvation and sentence wrapped together.
"You shouldn't," I whispered.
"Too late." Her thumb traced my cheekbone. "I already do. I love you, Cassian. I love the man who makes terrible pancakes to hear his son laugh. Who holds my hand through nightmares. Who got scared of something good and ran away because he's spent his whole life learning that love is dangerous."
"It is dangerous—"
"Everything worth having is dangerous." She stepped closer until I could feel her warmth. "But you can't protect us by shutting us out. You can't keep Leo safe by breaking his heart. And you can't save me from being hurt by hurting me yourself."
"I don't know how to do this." The admission cost me everything. "How to love without destroying it."
"Then we'll learn together." Her forehead pressed against mine. "But you have to stop running. You have to let us in."
I wanted to. God, I wanted to more than I'd wanted anything. But the fear was overwhelming—the certainty that I'd ruin this, destroy them, prove that I was exactly the monster I'd always believed myself to be.
"What if I can't?" I whispered. "What if I try and fail? What if I hurt you both anyway?"
"Then we'll deal with it. Together." Her hands framed my face, forcing me to look at her. "But you can't keep living like this—terrified of happiness, running from love, destroying good things because you're afraid of losing them."
"I don't know how to stop."
"Start by staying." Her voice was gentle now, pleading. "Tomorrow morning, come to breakfast. Play trains with Leo. Hold my hand. Just… stay. That's all I'm asking. Just stay."
I looked at her—this woman who'd seen the worst of me and was still standing here, offering me love I didn't deserve. Asking me to be brave enough to accept it.
"I'm scared," I admitted, the words barely audible.
"Me too." A small, trembling smile. "But I'm more scared of living without you. Of Leo growing up thinking his father didn't love him. Of wasting this chance because we were both too afraid to try."
She was right. She was right about all of it.
I'd spent three days running from the best thing that had ever happened to me. Three days breaking my son's heart because I was too afraid to risk my own. Three days proving that I was exactly the coward she'd called me.
"I love you," I said, the words coming easier this time. "I love you, and it terrifies me. Because I don't know how to do this. How to be what you need."
"Just be you." She pressed closer. "The you from that morning. The one who held my hand and said he could get used to this. That's all I need. That's all Leo needs. Just you, staying."
I pulled her into my arms, finally letting myself hold her the way I'd wanted to for three days. She collapsed against me, her tears soaking into my shirt, her body shaking with relief.
"I'm sorry," I murmured against her hair. "I'm so sorry I hurt you. Hurt Leo. I was trying to protect you and I just—"
"You broke our hearts," she finished. "But you can fix them. If you stay. If you stop running."
"I'll stay." The promise felt like jumping off a cliff, but I made it anyway. "I'll stay, and I'll try. I can't promise I won't get scared again—"
"Then I'll remind you." She pulled back to look at me. "I'll remind you every day that you're worth loving. That we're worth fighting for. That you don't have to run."
I kissed her then—desperate, apologetic, full of promises I hoped I could keep. When we broke apart, she was crying again, but this time with something that looked like hope.
"Tomorrow morning," she whispered. "Pancakes with Leo. No running."
"No running," I agreed, even though the fear still clawed at my chest.
But maybe that was the point. Maybe love was supposed to be terrifying. Maybe the bravest thing I could do was stay anyway.
We stood there on the balcony, holding each other, both of us trembling with fear and hope and the fragile beginning of belief that maybe—just maybe—we could make this work.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
"For what?"
"For not giving up on me. For calling me on my bullshit. For being brave enough for both of us when I couldn't be."
"Always." She pressed a kiss to my jaw. "But tomorrow, you're going to have to be brave, too. Leo deserves to see that his father loves him. That you're not going anywhere."
"I'm not," I promised, meaning it with everything in me. "I'm staying. For both of you. Forever, if you'll have me."
She smiled through her tears. "Forever sounds perfect."
We went inside together, and I walked her to her bedroom door. She paused, looking up at me.
"Will you come to breakfast tomorrow? Please?"
"I'll be there." I touched her face gently. "I promise."
"Okay." She rose on her toes and kissed me softly. "Goodnight, Cassian."
"Goodnight, Isla."
I watched her door close, then moved down the hall to Leo's room. He was asleep, his face peaceful in the soft glow of his nightlight. I sat in the chair beside his bed—the same chair where Isla and I had held hands just days ago.
"I'm sorry, little man," I whispered. "I'm sorry I've been gone. Sorry that I let fear win. But I'm going to be better. I'm going to try."
Tomorrow, I'd make pancakes with him. Tomorrow, I'd prove that I could stay. Tomorrow, I'd start learning how to be the father—the man—they both deserved.
It terrified me. But staying terrified me less than losing them.
And maybe that was what courage really was—not the absence of fear, but choosing love anyway.
I stayed there for a long time, watching my son sleep, gathering the strength I'd need for tomorrow.
For all the tomorrows after that.
Because I was done running.
It was time to stay.