Chapter 8 Danae
Eight
Danae
I lose track of time these nights. Working regular night shifts, I’m used to having my sleep pattern being different. These nights, though, with a newborn, well, it’s a special brand of torture.
They blur together here in Salemburg, measured not in hours but by cries, diapers, bottles and the soft whir of the noise machine. A week in, my instincts have adjusted in a way my brain hasn’t. I wake before Journey even cries now, already half-sitting, listening for the change in her breathing.
Josie sleeps through most of it. That’s the point. She needs rest—real rest—so she can heal, so her body can remember how to be her own again. She pumps during the day, labeling bags with dates and times, lining them up in the fridge and freezer as necessary. At night, I take over.
It’s strange, holding someone else’s newborn in the dark.
Sacred, yet ordinary at the same time. Journey fits perfectly against my chest, her weight light but powerful, like she knows she belongs.
I settle into the rocker in the nursery, bottle warmed, house quiet except for the hum of the white noise machine, and the occasional creak of settling wood.
She makes these little sighs when she eats, tiny sounds that feel like trust. “You’re doing great,” I whisper to her, even though I don’t know if that’s more for her or for me.
Sometimes I think about Papa in those moments.
About how many nights I’ve spent awake with someone who needed me, how my life has been shaped around other people’s fragility.
But this feels different. This feels lighter.
Maybe because her life is just beginning and the reality is every day he wakes up is another day closer to his death because that is the inevitable. The circle of life that owns us all.
During the day, the house fills with life. Justice bursts in after school, loud and joyful, always checking on his sister first before anything else. Raff moves like a man learning a new routine, but all of it focused on his family with awe tied with a bit of exhaustion.
And Miles. I don’t plan for him. He just shows up. Not every day. Not predictably. But often enough that my body starts anticipating him before my mind does. The sound of his bike outside sends a quiet jolt through me every time, even when I tell myself not to react.
Tonight, it’s late. Later than usual. Journey has just finished her bottle, eyelids fluttering, when I hear the soft click of the back door.
I freeze.
My heart kicks hard in my chest as I ease her back into the bassinet, making sure she’s settled before stepping into the hallway. The house is dim, lights low, shadows long.
Miles stands in the kitchen like he belongs there.
I stare at him. “You can’t just break into people’s houses,” I hiss.
He grins, that slow, maddening smile that shouldn’t do things to me anymore but absolutely does. “Didn’t break in.”
“Yes, you did.”
He jerks his chin toward the hall. “Raff knows I’m here. I have a key.”
My stomach drops. “You,” I lower my voice instinctively. “You told him about us?”
Miles’s expression shifts, not alarmed, not guilty. Just thoughtful. “Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
He steps closer, boots quiet on the tile. “It means I don’t know what to say about us.”
“There is no us,” I respond immediately. Too quickly. “I don’t even know your name.”
Something flickers in his eyes. Amusement, maybe. Or something more dangerous.
“Danae—”
I shake my head tossing a hand up to silence him. “This is a bad idea.”
He closes the distance. My breath hitches. I don’t speak because I don’t know what to say.
Before I can process that he is merely inches from me, that every inhale is filled with the scent of his cologne, he leans down and kisses me.
It’s not rough. Not hurried. It’s deliberate, like he knows exactly how loud my thoughts are and how to quiet them. My hands come up to his chest before I can stop them, fingers curling into his shirt.
I melt. I hate that I melt.
When he pulls back, my forehead rests against his chest. “That right there,” he murmurs, “means more than a name ever has.”
I swallow. “That doesn’t make it okay.”
He exhales softly, brushing his thumb along my jaw. “I know.”
That almost undoes me.
“I’m not here to sneak around,” he continues. “I’m not here to make this messy. I just,” He hesitates, rare and honest. “I want to take you out. Tomorrow night. Dinner. Somewhere that’s not this house. I want to actually get to know you.”
I laugh under my breath, a shaky sound. “You’re insane.”
“Probably.”
“And you think that fixes the fact that I don’t know your name?”
His mouth curves. “Miles is who matters. Friends, family, and everyone in between know me as Miles. But since it seems important to you. My name by birth is Dixon Hardison.”
The name lands heavier than it should. “Dixon,” I repeat more to myself than him. He nods. “And you already know mine.” I add the obvious. I look away, my chest tight. “I’m here for Josie, for Journey. I can’t complicate things.”
“I know why you’re here,” he whispers gently. “That’s part of why I’m asking to take you out and not just showing up and taking you.”
I don’t answer because this is insanity.
Normal people don’t just get taken, literally taken out to dinner.
Then again, normal people don’t get held at gun point, take a man home, stitch him up, to later sleep with him.
Nothing about Dixon “Miles” Hardison is normal.
Which only makes my curiosity for how good dinner might be climb even higher.
I nod just once, my body answering before my mind can stop me.
He smiles, satisfied but not smug. “Tomorrow,” he says. “I’ll pick you up at five.”
When he leaves, the house feels different. Charged. Like something has shifted. I don’t sleep much after that.
In the morning, Josie catches me staring into my coffee like it owes me answers.
“You look like hell,” she remarks cheerfully.
“Thanks.”
She squints at me. “You didn’t sleep.”
“I slept,” I lie. “Just lightly.”
She studies me a second longer, then grins. “You gonna tell me why Miles was here last night?”
My coffee nearly goes everywhere. “What?”
“Oh, please,” she states with a dramatic wave of her hands.
“Raff told me he stopped by when I heard a noise and woke up. He didn’t say why, but I saw your face this morning.
So if Miles was here and my man didn’t get out of bed to see him, and you got this look like you want the floor to swallow you whole, I think Miles was here for you. ”
I close my eyes. “I need to tell you something. And you have to promise not to judge.”
Her grin widens as she nods with enthusiasm. “I love when you say that.”
“Miles is the one-night stand,” I blurt it out.
The silence lasts exactly half a second. Josie squeals. “You are kidding me.”
“Um, nope, not kidding. This is somehow my life. I get reckless and do something out of character and boom, life puts it right back in my face.”
“Oh my God,” she says, clapping her hands. “Oh my God. Danae.”
“I don’t know how this happened,” I say, panic rising. “I didn’t know he was, I swear. I didn’t know he knew you. I didn’t know any of this.”
She grabs my hands. “This is amazing.”
“No, it’s overwhelming.”
“Same thing,” she says easily. “Are you going out with him before you leave?”
I groan. “Yes.”
She beams. “I knew it. I love this for you.”
I press my palms to my eyes. “He’s here. I’m here. I didn’t plan any of this. And Josie Mosie, you are way too excited for something that isn’t going to work.”
Josie’s voice softens. “You don’t have to plan everything, Danae.”
That’s the problem. I always do. I like having a plan. I like order and organization. I don’t like surprises and unknowns.
The rest of the day crawls. I help with Journey. I fold laundry. I nod at conversations I barely hear.
By late afternoon, I’m standing in the guest bathroom staring at my reflection, trying to decide who I’m supposed to be tonight. I don’t recognize the woman looking back at me. She looks vulnerable. Terrified.
More than anything though, the woman looking back at me, she looks alive.
I choose a simple flowy tank top and jeans. Nothing fancy. Something that feels like me. I wear my hair down in waves, my makeup soft, subtle, but with a little shimmer on my eyes. I’m not overdone, but I’m a step above the casual way he normally sees me.
When I hear the bike outside, my heart stutters. Am I really going to do this?
Miles knocks like a normal person this time. I take a breath and open the door.
And whatever this is, whatever it’s going to be, begins now.