Chapter 8
She doesn't even realize she's drifting off at first.
One minute, Chloe is sitting there on the couch, shoulders tight like she's trying to hold herself together by force alone, eyes half-lidded but still fighting it. Next, her head tilts slightly against the cushion.
Then stillness.
Real sleep.
I keep my pace slow, so Ava doesn't shift too much against my chest, but my attention flicks back to Chloe anyway.
Her mouth is slightly parted. One hand still loosely curled like she was mid-grip on something she forgot to let go of. Exhaustion has completely overtaken her face-no tension, no guarding, just pure collapse.
She needed that more than she knows.
Ava gives a tiny sigh against my hoodie and settles deeper into my chest, warm and heavy in that way babies are when they finally give up fighting sleep.
I adjust her carefully, one hand steady on her back.
"Yeah," I murmur under my breath. "You too, bug."
The apartment is quiet now.
Properly quiet.
Not the strained kind of silence from earlier. Not the kind that feels like something is about to break.
Just... still.
I glance back at Chloe again.
Something in my chest tightens.
She's asleep like she hit a wall she couldn't see coming. Like her body finally decided it didn't care what her mind was doing anymore.
I've seen soldiers crash like that after long ops and seen men drop into sleep standing up if you let them.
But it hits different seeing it here.
In a small apartment with scattered baby things, a half-lived life, and a woman who looks like she's been running on empty for far too long.
I shift slightly, careful not to wake Ava, and take a step closer to the couch.
"Chloe," I say quietly.
Nothing.
I already knew there wouldn't be an answer.
I reach down and pull a throw blanket from the arm of the couch, lightweight, probably not enough, but it'll do, and drape it gently over her shoulders.
She doesn't move.
Doesn't wake.
Good.
Ava makes a small sound, and I immediately resume pacing, slow and steady again, like motion is the only thing keeping her fully settled.
My gaze flicks around the apartment.
It's cleaner than last week, but still looks like someone trying to rebuild life from scratch. Boxes half-unpacked. A single saucepan sitting on the stove like it's both a joke and a confession.
One chair is slightly out of place.
A baby bottle on the coffee table.
I exhale quietly through my nose.
"Right," I mutter. "This is organized chaos."
Ava stirs again.
I lower my voice instinctively.
"It's alright," I murmur. "You're alright."
Her fingers curl into my hoodie like she's anchoring herself there.
And I get it.
Weirdly.
Because that's what this feels like, too.
Like I've walked into something fragile,e and I don't entirely know the rules, but I know I'm not supposed to drop it.
My comms phone buzzes once in my pocket.
I ignore it.
It buzzes again.
I shift Ava slightly and pull it out, glancing at the screen.
Callahan.
Of course.
I stare at it for a second, then silence it entirely.
Not tonight.
Not this.
I look back at Chloe again.
Still asleep.
Still safe.
Something in me settles at that more than I want to admit.
Ava lets out a tiny whimper, and I bounce her gently once, twice, until she relaxes again.
"There we go," I murmur. "That's it."
I keep pacing, slow circles through the small lounge room.
It's domestic in a way I don't have language for.
Doesn't feel like mine.
Doesn't feel like hers either.
Just... temporary overlap.
And yet my brain keeps catching onto details I shouldn't be noticing.
The way Chloe's breathing has evened out now.
The way her hand has loosened instead of clenched.
The fact that she looks younger asleep. Less guarded. Less like she's bracing for impact.
Ava shifts again and presses her face into my chest.
I glance down automatically.
"You're doing alright now, huh?" I whisper.
She doesn't answer, obviously, but her breathing evens out again as she agrees.
After a while, I stop pacing.
Carefully.
Slowly.
I lower myself into the armchair opposite the couch, keeping Ava secure against me.
My legs feel heavier than they should.
Training, drills, full kit hikes-none of that feels like this kind of fatigue.
This is different.
Softer.
Worse in its own way.
Because I don't want to move.
Ava is out cold now, fully asleep.
I look across at Chloe again.
Still there.
Still breathing steady.
The sight should feel normal.
It doesn't.
My mind runs through the last few hours on repeat anyway.
The knocking.
The panic in her voice.
The way she handed Ava over made it seem like she was both relieved and terrified to do it.
The way she looked at me was like she didn't quite believe she was allowed to stop holding everything together.
I lean back slightly in the chair.
"You're in over your head, Kane," I mutter under my breath.
Ava makes a tiny noise in response, as if to disagree.
A faint, almost unwilling smirk pulls at my mouth.
"Yeah," I whisper. "I know."
The apartment stays quiet for a long time after that.
Just the soft sound of breathing.
Hers.
The baby's.
And mine, slower now than it was an hour ago.
I don't move.
Not because I can't.
Because for the first time in a long time, nothing feels urgent enough to make me leave.