17. Athena
ATHENA
Nathan’s thumb stays under my chin, steadying it, and his eyes don’t flinch away from mine. He waits like he can afford patience, then he waits like he’s terrified I’ll use it to disappear again.
I swallow slowly and try to find the part of myself that makes clean decisions, then I realize it’s buried under six years of habit and fear. My throat feels tight, my eyes feel hot, and my body is still singing from everything we just did and everything we just said.
“I don’t know,” I admit, and the words scrape on the way out. “I don’t know how to let you in without risking her.”
Nathan’s hand slips from my chin to my cheek, then he stills it there like he’s reminding himself to stay gentle. His voice drops, warm and quiet, and it doesn’t sound like a man trying to win. “You don’t have to decide tonight. You don’t have to decide tomorrow, either.”
I frown at him, suspicious on instinct. “You’re not going to push?”
“I’m not going to push.” He says it like a promise he can keep. “You take your time, and I show you who I am now.”
The room is oddly quiet, and the truth in his face makes it harder to hide behind anger. I look down at the sheet bunched at my waist, at the faint mark on his shoulder where my nails were, then I look back at him and feel my chest twist.
“Time,” I repeat, voice thin. “That’s new.”
Nathan’s mouth curves briefly before it fades into something softer. “I’m learning.”
I press my palm against his chest again, not as a shield this time, more as a test. His heart beats steady under my hand, his skin is warm, and the fact that he’s here in my bed makes my throat tighten again.
“I’m not letting you spend alone time with Ivy right now,” I tell him, because that’s where my mind goes first. “I’m not ready for that yet, and I apologize if that’s selfish.”
Nathan’s gaze holds mine. “Good,” he says quietly. “I’m not offended, Athena.”
I narrow my eyes, and he lifts a hand as if to surrender. “I’m not being cute,” he adds. “You’re right to protect her.”
I sit back slightly, the sheet shifting over my thighs, and I pull air into my lungs until my voice doesn’t shake. The need in my body is still there, bright and restless, yet the bigger thing pressing on me is Ivy’s face in the hallway, her sleepy fear, her tiny voice asking if he’s a bad guy.
“She’s going to wake up early,” I say, mostly to myself. “She always does when she senses something off.”
Nathan’s attention shifts toward the hallway, and his expression turns alert in the same way it does in a hospital when a monitor changes. He looks back at me quickly, then he lowers his voice. “Do you want me to leave now? I can go.”
I drag a hand through my hair and stare at the wall for a second, then I turn back to him and force myself to speak like an adult instead of a woman running on fear.
“I want you out of her sight until I decide what we’re doing,” I say. “But I also don’t want you gone again.”
Nathan’s mouth tightens at that, and he nods once, slow. “Tell me what you want.”
I exhale through my nose, then I steady myself with a small nod. “Breakfast,” I say. “You can show up for breakfast, and you can meet her in daylight, when she’s awake and stable and not scared.”
Nathan goes still, then his eyes soften in a way that makes my throat tighten again. “You’re sure?”
“No,” I reply with a little shrug. “I’m choosing it anyway.”
He holds my gaze, and gratitude moves across his face like he’s trying not to show it too openly. He looks like a man who has been starving quietly, then someone put food in front of him and told him he could take one bite.
“Thank you,” he says, voice low.
I lift a finger in warning. “Don’t thank me like I’m doing you a favor. This is for her.”
Nathan nods again. “I know. That’s why it matters.”
I stare at him, and my eyes sting again, so I look away fast and adjust the sheet like I’m busy. “What time?”
“Whatever works for you,” he says. “I’ll be here when you tell me to be here.”
I glance at the clock, then I picture Ivy’s morning routine, the bus schedule, the way she needs time to eat or she melts down in her shoes. “Seven,” I decide. “No later.”
“I’ll be here at seven,” he says, then he pauses and adds, “If you change your mind, you text me.”
I look back at him. “You’re leaving now?”
Nathan’s mouth curves slightly. “I’m leaving now,” he agrees. “I’m not staying and turning this into something she feels through the walls.”
The practicality of that makes my chest ache. He shifts off the bed and moves quietly, collecting his clothes without making a show of it. He dresses with the same efficient competence he brings to everything else, then he turns back toward me and hesitates near the doorway.
“You should sleep,” he says.
I roll my eyes at him. “That’s optimistic.”
His mouth twitches. “Try,” he replies, then his expression turns serious again.
There’s nothing more I have left to say, so I settle for a nod. Nathan holds my gaze for a beat, then he nods as if he believes me and steps out. The door clicks softly behind him, and I’m left sitting in my bed with the sheet twisted around my waist and my mind spinning.
Naturally, I don’t sleep much, or at all.
I check on Ivy twice without waking her, then I lie back down and stare at the ceiling until the dark shifts into that gray pre-morning light. My body keeps replaying Nathan’s hands on my waist, his voice against my hair, his promise that I don’t have to decide yet.
It sounds easy when a man says it.
It’s not easy when you’re the one who has to trust it.
At 6:15 a.m., Ivy’s door creaks open and she pads into the hallway like a tiny ghost. She pauses, listening, then she pushes into my room and climbs into my bed with a sigh that sounds older than six. “Morning,” she murmurs, face pressed into my shoulder.
“Morning, baby,” I whisper, wrapping an arm around her.
She shifts, then tilts her head up and blinks at me with those storm-gray eyes that always make my chest do something tight and strange.
“Mom,” she says, voice quiet. “Was that man bad?”
I keep my face calm and stroke her curls back from her forehead. “No, he wasn’t.”
She studies my expression, then nods slowly like she’s filing the answer away. “Okay,” she says, then her eyes drift toward the hallway. “Is he coming back?”
I swallow, then choose the truth I can carry. “He’s coming for breakfast,” I tell her gently. “Only breakfast. You’ll meet him when the sun’s up.”
Ivy’s brows lift. “Breakfast like pancakes.”
“Breakfast like food,” I say, and she smiles faintly.
She sits up and stretches dramatically, then looks at me with that serious little face she gets when she’s working through something big.
“Is he your friend?” she asks. “His eyes are like mine.”
I pause, then I tap her nose lightly. “He’s someone I used to know, and we’re going to be polite.”
Ivy nods, then she slides out of bed and heads toward the bathroom, already humming to herself. I sit there for a moment and let my head drop back against the pillow, then I drag myself up and start moving.
Morning routines don’t care about emotional whiplash.
I get Ivy dressed in her school clothes, then I wrestle her hair into something that looks intentional. She argues for glitter socks, then she argues for a different sweater, then she changes her mind twice. I pack her lunch while she brushes her teeth and makes faces at herself in the mirror.
At 6:58 a.m., I hear a soft knock.
My heart jumps anyway. I wipe my hands on a dish towel and walk to the door with measured steps, then I check the peephole out of habit. Nathan stands outside with a paper bag in one hand and a grocery tote in the other, hair still damp, shirt rolled at the forearms like he’s ready to work.
I open the door, and he looks at me like he’s been holding his breath since midnight.
“Good morning,” he says.
“Morning,” I reply, keeping my voice level.
His eyes flick past me toward the hallway then return to my face quickly, respectful. “Is she up?”
“She is,” I reply, then I step back. “Come in. Shoes off.”
Nathan nods once and slips inside, then he removes his shoes neatly and lines them up by the door without being asked twice. The detail is ridiculous, and it makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time.
Ivy appears in the hallway mid-step, backpack half-zipped, hair still slightly damp at the ends. She stops the moment she sees him, then she straightens her shoulders like she’s trying to be brave.
Nathan doesn’t approach her. He stays where he is and lets her decide the distance, and that alone makes my chest loosen by a fraction. “Hi,” he says, voice gentle. “Good morning.”
Ivy stares at him, then her eyes flick to me.
I give her a small nod that says you’re safe.
Ivy takes one step forward. “Are you the breakfast man?” Her voice is suspicious.
Nathan’s mouth curves. “I can be,” he replies. “If you like breakfast.”
Ivy thinks for a beat. “I like pancakes,” she says firmly.
Nathan nods once. “Then pancakes it is.” He lifts the grocery tote slightly. “If your mom lets me use her kitchen.”
Ivy’s gaze shifts to me again, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “He can use the kitchen,” I say, then add, “If he cleans up.”
Nathan looks at me. “Deal.”
He moves toward the kitchen with steady steps, just stepping into the space like he understands he’s a guest. He sets the paper bag on the counter and opens it, then he pulls out a carton of eggs, a box of pancake mix, strawberries, and a small container of whipped cream.
Ivy lights up like he just performed magic. “Strawberries,” she says, reverent.
Nathan glances at her and keeps his hands busy. “Wash hands,” he says calmly.
Ivy hesitates, then she obeys instantly, and I stare at both of them like my brain can’t compute the cooperation.