Chapter 34
Small Victories
Reed
I woke up with my neck screaming and my back reminding me that hospital chairs weren't designed for long-term sleep. Day four. Maliyah was still asleep, monitors beeping their steady rhythm.
The bruising on her face had started to change—less angry purple, more sickly yellow-green around the edges. Dr. Pettit said that was good. It was progress and there were no signs of infection.
As I stared at her, though, the fading bruises only highlighted what lay beneath—all the broken bones he’d left behind but with less swelling. I could see everything. Everything she felt.
Her survival was nothing short of a damned miracle—a sign of her strength and resolve.
I stood carefully, joints protesting. My shirt—unchanged for two days—bore deep creases from the chair. One quick armpit check confirmed it: I reeked. Like a locker room after double shifts.
Yesterday’s nurse had brought me a washcloth, soap, and a bin—without me even asking for it. That was a sign in and of itself. Now it was even a day later and the “bath” I’d tried to take with the supplies hadn’t done a damn thing. I was ripe.
I needed to shower. Change clothes. Get my shit together and get things ready for Maliyah. But first, more coffee.
I'd memorized the hospital by now, which vending machines worked and which didn't. The cafeteria opened at six and shut down for an hour to prep for lunch and again before dinner.
There was a decent coffee shop two blocks away that opened at five-thirty. I'd timed my trips to coincide with nurse shift change—never gone more than twenty minutes. Never leaving her alone longer than necessary.
The coffee shop guy knew my order now. Two large black coffees. One with cream and sugar that I'd bring back for Felicity when she came this morning.
When I got back to her room, Maliyah was awake. She tracked me as I entered but she didn't reach for the tablet. Just watched.
"Morning," I said, settling back into my chair. "How'd you sleep?"
She reached for the tablet.
Okay. You?
"Great. That chair's basically a luxury mattress—not as high-end comfort as your couch, of course."
The corner of her mouth twitched. Almost a smile. Not quite. But close enough to count it as a win.
Carol, on days again, came in with her morning routine—vitals, medications, the standard protocol. She'd ask about pain levels, check the wires in Maliyah's jaw, help her clean her teeth with this weird sponge thing, and then update the whiteboard with the day's plan.
"You're doing really well, honey," Carol said, checking Maliyah's oxygen levels. "Dr. Pettit will be by later, but everything looks good. Bruising is improving. Ribs are healing nicely. We might be able to talk about discharge soon."
Maliyah's eye widened slightly. She grabbed the tablet.
When?
"That's up to Dr. Pettit. But if you keep improving like this? Maybe a couple days—as soon as the worries about infection and your head trauma are clear."
After Carol left, Maliyah stared at the tablet for a long moment. Then she wrote something but didn't turn it to show me. Just kept looking at it.
I didn't push. Didn't ask. Just drank my coffee and gave her space.
Breakfast arrived—another chalky vanilla protein shake. I prepped it with a straw and offered it to her. Maliyah's gaze flicked between me and the bottle. She took it reluctantly, winced through several swallows, then pushed the half-finished drink away and turned toward the window.
"Want me to see if they have chocolate?" I asked.
She considered this, skeptical at first, then nodded in resignation.
Please.
"Be right back."
I found Carol at the nurses' station. She returned with two chocolate protein shakes, winking as she handed them over."Don't tell anyone where these came from, they’re supposed to be in the gastro unit," she whispered.
When I brought them back, Maliyah's good eye actually lit up slightly. She reached for one immediately, managed to drink nearly the whole thing.
Better. Thank you.
Two words that made my morning. Around ten, I stepped out to make calls. Kept Maliyah's room in view through the window as I dialed.
Felicity answered quickly. "How is she?"
"Better. Bruising's improving. Possible discharge in a few days."
"Thank God." Her relief was audible. "Lucas is getting suspicious. Says his mom wouldn't leave without telling them."
"Smart kid."
"I know." She sighed. "What now?"
"Video call? Good lighting, careful camera angle. Maybe bring concealer so she feels better about them seeing her."
Silence on the other end. Then: "That's actually a good idea. Think she'll go for it?"
"Don't know. But I'm going to suggest it—see how she feels."
"Okay. I'll tell the kids it's just Mom checking in from her work trip." A pause. "Reed? Thanks for staying. For everything."
"You don't have to thank me."
"Yeah, I do."
Next call was to John.
"Morrison, where the hell are you?" His voice was loud, familiar. "Captain's been asking. And I haven’t heard from you for a couple days."
"Still at the hospital."
"It's been four days, man."
"I know how many days it's been."
John was quiet for a beat. "When are you coming back?"
"I've got three months of paid leave saved up. Haven't taken a vacation in four years. I'm using it."
"Three months? You're taking three months?"
"At least two. Maybe more."
"Holy shit. You're serious about her."
"Yeah, John. I am."
"The captain's not going to like this."
"The captain can deal with it. I've got the leave. I'm taking it." I watched through the window as a nurse checked Maliyah's vitals. "She needs help. And I'm going to be there."
"Alright. I'll handle the captain. But Reed? Don't fuck this up. Don't do what you did before."
"I won't."
"You better not.”
After I hung up with John, I called Harbor House Road.
Got transferred three times before reaching the office manager—said her name was Delilah.
After explaining that I was calling to help with Maliyah's leave process, the office manager's clipped "Yes?
" transformed into a lingering "Oh!" Her voice dropped half an octave, softened at the edges.
The rapid keyboard clicking in the background paused. "How is she?"
"Healing. Slowly. She's going to need significant time off."
"Of course. Her position is safe. With state medical leave, she’s covered for up to twenty weeks while she recovers."
Relief hit me. "Thank you. She can’t talk on the phone. Is it okay for her to email with you guys?"
"Definitely. Maliyah is family here. We take care of our own. You tell her not to worry about anything. I’ll send her an email and we can do everything electronically."
"Great. I will."
"And Detective? Thank you for finding her and caring for her. I’m sure you can understand that what she went through—well, it’s something that resonates deeply here."
"She saved herself. I just showed up at the end."
"You showed up. That matters."
After the calls, I went back to the room. Maliyah was dozing, the tablet resting on her lap. I settled back into my chair and pulled out my phone.
Texted Felicity: Can you meet me tonight? Need to talk about logistics.
Her response came immediately: Sure. 7 PM? Hospital cafeteria?
Perfect.
Around two, Dr. Pettit came for rounds. Maliyah was awake, alert. He examined her, going through the motions from head to toe.
"Everything looks good," he said. "Overall, you’re healing well. Even your jaw is progressing well. I know it’s hard, but the wires will need to stay in for about six weeks."
Maliyah grabbed the tablet.
Discharge?
"If you keep improving like this, probably tomorrow or the day after.
We'll monitor you another day or two. My biggest concern is the concussion combined with your wired jaw—as I mentioned the other day, there's a real aspiration risk if you get nauseous and can't open your mouth.
I want to see your concussion symptoms improve before we send you home. "
Had he mentioned that? I felt like the last week had been a whirlwind and I was having a hard time keeping everything straight. I can’t imagine how Maliyah must be feeling about it too.
I think I forgot that.
"That’s not surprising. There’s been a lot going on."
So, when I go home. Are there things I need to do?
Dr. Pettit pulled up a chair. "You'll need significant support. Liquid nutrition multiple times daily—protein shakes, broths, smoothies. Medication management. Wound care for your face. Assistance with showering, until your ribs, shoulder, and wrist have healed more. You also can’t drive until your vision returns fully. "
Maliyah wrote: I can manage. Sister nearby.
"With all due respect, this is more than one person can handle alone, even with family close by. You'll need consistent help for at least the first two weeks."
I leaned forward. "What about overnight? Is there a risk of complications?"
"There's always some risk. Infection, complications with the jaw wires, difficulty breathing—with her panic attacks happening almost nightly, you can expect that will continue for a bit. Having someone there to monitor, to call for help if needed—that's ideal."
Maliyah's expression shifted. She knew where this was going.
I'll be fine.
"She won't be alone," I said firmly. "I'll be there." Maliyah's head whipped toward me. She grabbed the tablet, wrote furiously.
No. You're not staying with me.
"Yes, I am."
No. My kids will be there.
"You said you wanted your kids to stay with Felicity until you're ready for them to come home. You need help, and I'm going to help you."
Don't need help.
The words sat on the screen between us. Dr. Pettit looked between us, cleared his throat.
"I'll leave you two to work this out. But, Ms. Davenport, you do need help. Whether it's Detective Morrison or someone else, this is not a recovery you should do alone and I can’t release you safely without a support system at home." He stood. "I'll be back tomorrow."
After he left, Maliyah stared at me.
You can't just decide to move in.
"I'm not moving in. I'm staying temporarily to help you recover." I thought I exercised remarkable strength by not tacking on, once you recover, we can decide who’s moving in with who—or if we should get a whole new place.
It feels weird.
"I did say it was temporarily. And Felicity agrees with me." Take that. Even your sister knows I’m not giving up.
Her eye narrowed. You talked to my sister first?
"I talked to her about logistics. About what you'd need. We just want to make sure you’re safe.
" I leaned forward. "Maliyah, you can't lift anything heavy—you only have the use of one arm and hand.
You can't even open your drinks without help yet.
You can barely get in and out of bed without someone helping you up.
Add to all of that the concussion—sweetheart, you need someone to be there. "
Not your help.
"Why not?"
She didn't say anything. Just looked away.
"Is it because you don't trust me? Because you think I'll leave again?" I did my best to keep my voice steady, but my own heart hurt at the knowledge of how much of an asshole I’d been. "I'm not leaving. I took medical leave from work. Two months. I'm here for as long as you need me."
Her face was a vision of surprise. Her fingers trembled slightly against the edge of the tablet as she turned it toward me. The screen glowed with two words and a question mark: Two months?
"Yeah. I told them at minimum two. But I have more than three available if I need to take more. I’m not going anywhere, Maliyah. Never again."
She stared at me.
You can't put your life on hold for me.
"I'm not putting my life on hold. I'm living it. Right here, right now, with you."
Reed—
"I'm staying, Maliyah. At your apartment.
On the couch, at the foot of your bed—wherever you want me.
But I'm staying. You can be pissed about it. You can ignore me. You can make it as difficult as you want.” I looked her in the eyes and enunciated clearly and firmly, “But I'm not leaving you to do this alone. "
She looked at the tablet for a long moment. Then wrote slowly:
I'm terrible company.
"I don't care."
I'm not entertaining you.
"Don’t expect you to."
No promises. About us. About anything.
"I'm not asking you for promises, but I'll make you one—you can't get rid of me easily.
I'm going to be there to support you at every turn.
" I leaned forward, the chair creaking beneath me.
My voice softened as I added, "No matter how mean you are to me.
" I felt my face shift into that expression I’ve learned made me look like a kicked retriever—eyebrows lifting slightly, bottom lip jutting forward just enough to catch the overhead light.
She studied my face, searching for something—trying to hide the quirked corner of her lips. Not fast enough for me to miss it though!
Fine. You can stay in Lucas’s room while he’s at Felicity’s. You leave when I’m better.
"Lucas’s room it is." I prayed she missed my complete avoidance of the latter requirement. I needed enough time to win back her trust before I just put it all out there. Needed to help her fall back in love with me.
She turned away, clearly done with the conversation. But she didn't look angry anymore. Just exhausted.
Within minutes, her breathing had evened out—asleep again. The conversation had drained her. I pulled out my phone and texted Felicity:
Me: She agreed. I'll move my stuff in tomorrow.
Felicity: Good. She needs you, even if she won't admit it. This will give you time to win her back. Don’t. Fuck. Up.
Me: Copy that. She passed out already again before I could talk about a call with the kids.
Felicity: Okay. Maybe we can talk to her about it later.
Me: Sounds good. Was hoping to head out and shower/change before coming back for the night.
Felicity: On my way to relieve you.
I turned back toward my future, watching her doze. She’d almost smiled at me more than once today. It wasn’t forgiveness—I was a long way off from that. But it was a victory, and even small victories count.