Chapter 4
STELLAN
I pull the door shut quietly behind me, the click soft, final. I don’t linger. I don’t give myself a reason to second-guess what just happened in there.
The stairs creak under my boots as I head down, hand sliding along the railing out of habit. My shoulder twinges when I reach the turn, nothing sharp, just a reminder that my body still keeps a tally.
The packet is on the passenger seat where it's been since Tuesday, corner curled from the heat vent. Department letterhead, eleven pages, one signature line on page nine. I move it to the dash at the first red light so it stops sliding into the door.
Hartley didn't rush her. I noticed that right away, he let her decide, didn't fill the silence or soften it for his own comfort. He trusted her to know herself, which is harder than it sounds and most people can't do it.
Alaska I expected. Quiet kid, careful, watching everything. I've met kids like her before, and the trick with them is always the same, don't reach first.
I didn't expect her uncle.
He stood half a step in front of her the whole time and I don't think he knew he was doing it. Kept checking my face for something and never said what.
He looked tired. Not worn down, just stretched thin. There was a tension in the way he held himself that didn't switch off even in his own home, and I know that one. I've worked with guys who carry it. It doesn't come from nothing.
I should be thinking about PT tomorrow.
The drive home is quiet, radio off, city lights streaking past the windshield. Somewhere on Ashland I catch myself running the evening back for the third time and make myself stop.
By the time I get home my shoulder is tight enough that I feel it in my neck. I drop my keys on the counter and set the packet down beside them, square the edges out of habit, then peel off my jacket and head straight for the shower.
Hot water pounds down, steam filling the room while I roll the shoulder slow and careful, the way the physical therapist showed me. I brace a hand against the tile, bow my head, and breathe.
When I come back out I fill a glass at the sink. I set it down without looking and it lands on the packet, and I watch the ring spread through the first page before I think to move it.
I don't move it, instead I pick up my phone.
Me: Thanks again for letting me stop by tonight. Alaska's great. No rush on anything, just wanted to say I appreciate it.
I read it back once. It says what I meant it to say.
I send it, set the phone face down, and go back into the kitchen, where the glass is still sitting exactly where I left it.
HARTLEY
I’m standing in the middle of the living room, hands on my hips, staring at nothing like I might find answers hidden in the scuffed floor or the slightly crooked bookshelf. Alaska slides her crayons back into the box with care, then taps the lid twice.
“You ready for bed?” I ask.
She nods.
“Alright let’s get this kitchen tidied up, and then it’s jammies and bed for you.”
We move through the routine quietly. I rinse cups while she dries, I wipe the table, and put the dishes away.
Alaska pads down the hall ahead of me, going to her room. When I step inside, she’s already pulling her pajamas from the drawer. The princess ones with Tiana and Rapunzel on them.
“Good choice,” I say.
She smiles.
I help her into pajamas and brush her hair, careful with the tangles. She hums under her breath while I do it, not a tune, just sound. It’s new, or maybe it’s old and I’m just noticing it again. I keep brushing after the tangles are gone so she doesn't stop.
“You feel okay?” I ask softly.
She nods, then pauses, hands hovering before she signs something I haven’t seen her use much since the fire. Calm or maybe comfortable. I'm not sure, and I make a note to dig out the signing book I bought.
“That’s good,” I tell her. “I like calm.”
I tuck her in and sit on the edge of the bed longer than usual, waiting for her breathing to even out. She rolls onto her side, fox tucked under her arm, thumb brushing that same worn patch of fur.
I watch her until I’m sure she’s asleep.
Only then do I let myself leave the room.
The apartment is quiet in a way that presses in instead of relaxes. I straighten the couch pillows, then stop myself halfway through and drop them where they land.
This is ridiculous.
Nothing happened.
A man came over and met my niece. He was respectful. He left.
But still…I trusted him faster than I should have. Trust isn't something I hand out easily. It's not a flaw, it's a survival skill.
I sink onto the couch and rub my hands over my face.
This isn't about attraction. It can't be. Alaska needs a tutor, a bedtime, and a guy who doesn't blow up her life again. I don't get to be reckless anymore. I don't get to follow something just because it feels good. The little girl down the hall needs me boring.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table. I flinch, then laugh quietly at myself.
Stellan: Thanks again for letting me stop by tonight. Alaska’s great. No rush on anything, just wanted to say I appreciate it.
That’s it.
No pressure or expectation.
I read it once. Then again. Then a third time, like the words might rearrange themselves into something different if I stare long enough.
They don’t.
I type a response, delete it. Type another.
Me: Thanks for coming by. She seemed comfortable.
Too stiff. Delete.
Me: Appreciate you stopping over. She doesn’t warm up that fast usually. She likes you.
Better. It’s safe and controlled.
I send it before I can second guess myself into silence.
The phone goes dark in my hand.
I pick it back up and read his message one more time.