Chapter 4
The cookies are still sitting on my kitchen counter three hours later.
I haven't eaten one yet.
Which is ridiculous.
They're cookies, not a damn emotional crisis.
But every time I walk past them, I picture Chloe standing outside my apartment looking like she was one wrong movement away from bolting down the hallway.
Like a frightened animal deciding whether it's safe to get close.
And for some reason, that image gets under my skin in a way I don't like.
I lean against the kitchen counter, coffee mug in hand, staring down at the plate again.
Chocolate chip.
Slightly burnt around the edges.
Homemade.
Nobody's baked for me since my mother died.
That realisation lands harder than it should.
A soft laugh escapes me under my breath as I shake my head.
Jesus.
I pick one up, finally, and take a bite.
Still warm in the middle.
Actually good too.
Dangerously good.
The apartment next door is quiet for once. Not silent exactly - I can hear faint movement through the walls if I focus hard enough.
A cupboard is closing.
The baby is making tiny noises.
Chloe's footsteps.
But no crying.
Which means either Ava finally settled...
Or Chloe crashed from exhaustion.
Honestly, I'm hoping for the second one.
I glance at the clock on the microwave.
11:43 am.
I should be sleeping.
Instead, I'm sitting at my kitchen counter in track pants, thinking about my neighbour like some lovesick idiot.
I barely know her.
But there's something about Chloe Dawson that makes every protective instinct I have sit up and pay attention.
Maybe it's the bruises.
Maybe it's the way she flinches first and speaks second.
Maybe it's because I know exactly what fear looks like.
And Chloe wears it like a second skin.
I scrub a hand over my jaw and head toward the living room.
The stack of deployment paperwork sitting on my coffee table immediately kills whatever softness had been creeping into my mood.
Reality check.
This is temporary.
Everything about my life is temporary.
Apartments.
Leave periods.
Assignments.
People.
That's how it has to be.
I've spent the last ten years making sure nobody depends on me outside the military because deployments ruin things. Distance ruins things.
And I definitely don't need to get attached to the exhausted single mum next door.
Even if her baby already smiles at me like I hung the damn moon.
My phone buzzes across the coffee table.
Callahan.
I answer with a sigh. "What?"
"You sound grumpy."
"I was sleeping."
"That's a lie."
Fair point.
I drop onto the couch while my best friend continues talking loudly through the speaker.
"You coming by tonight?"
"Probably not."
"Still hiding in your cave?"
"I like my cave."
Callahan snorts. "You're thirty-two years old and own exactly one plate."
"I own two plates."
"Living large."
I glance absently toward the shared wall beside the couch.
Then freeze.
A muffled thud sounds from Chloe's apartment.
Followed immediately by Ava crying.
Not normal crying.
Distressed crying.
My body reacts before my brain catches up.
I'm already standing by the time another sound comes through the wall, something falling over hard enough to shake the picture frame near my kitchen.
Fear spikes sharply and immediately in my chest.
"Callahan, I'll call you back."
"What-"
I hang up.
Another crash.
Then silence.
Absolute silence.
Every muscle in my body tightens instantly.
No.
I know this kind of silence too.
I'm out the front door before I can think better of it.
Three hard knocks hit apartment 4C.
"Chloe?"
Nothing.
Ava starts crying again inside.
Louder this time.
"Chloe."
Still nothing.
Adrenaline kicks hard through my system.
I try the handle manually.
Unlocked.
The door swoops open.
The apartment has a faint smell of burned toast and panic.
Chloe is crouched on the kitchen floor, surrounded by shattered ceramic pieces, breathing so hard it looks painful.
Ava screams from her bouncer nearby.
For one terrifying second, Chloe flinches away from me like she thinks I'm going to hurt her, too.
The reaction hits me like a punch to the chest.
"Hey," I say immediately, keeping my voice low and calm. "You're okay."
Her eyes are glassy with panic.
"I-I dropped it," she stammers. "I'm sorry, I didn't mea-"
"You don't need to apologise."
The words come out firmer than I intended.
Chloe freezes instantly.
Shit.
I lower my voice again immediately.
"You cut?"
She looks down at her hand like she forgot it existed.
Blood drips slowly from her palm where ceramic sliced across her skin.
"Damn it," she whispers shakily.
Ava cries harder.
Everything happens at once after that.
Chloe looks sufficiently overwhelmed to pass out.
The baby's screaming.
Blood keeps dripping on the floor tiles.
Training takes place automatically.
"Okay", I say calmly. "I'm gonna grab Ava, alright?''
Chloe hesitates.
Then nods once.
The second I lift the baby from the bouncer, Ava quiets slightly against my chest.
Not fully calm.
But calmer.
I bounce her carefully while grabbing a dish towel from the counter with my free hand.
Chloe still appears frozen in place.
"Meds?" I ask. "Bandages?"
"Bathroom."
I move carefully around the broken ceramic, while Ava grips the front of my shirt with little fists.
The entire apartment feels tense. Not just messy or stressful.
Unsafe.
Like Chloe, who is waiting for something terrible to happen because things went wrong.
I know that feeling too well.
When I come back with the first aid kit, Chloe's trying unsuccessfully to clean the floor one-handed.
"Stop."
"I can do it.''
"You're bleeding."
"I'm fine."
"You're definitely not."
That almost earns a smile.
Almost.
I crouch carefully in front of her.
All instinct tells me not to touch without warning.
"Can I see your hand?"
Her eyes flick to mine nervously.
Then she slowly holds it out.
The cut isn't deep enough for stitches, but it's nasty.
Chloe winces when the antiseptic touches it.
"Sorry."
"You apologise a lot," I mutter before I can stop myself.
Silence.
Then quietly:
"I know."
Something about the way she says it twists painfully in my chest.
Ava's tiny fingers curl around my dog tags again while I finish wrapping Chloe's hand.
The baby's almost asleep against me now.
I glance down automatically.
Then back at Chloe.
She's staring at us.
Not fearful this time.
Just... emotional.
Like she's seeing something she doesn't quite know how to process.
"What?" I ask softly.
Chloe blinks quickly and looks away.
"Nothing."
But I know it isn't anything.
And somehow, sitting on her kitchen floor with her baby asleep on my chest and her injured hand in mine, I realise I'm already in deeper than I meant to be.