Chapter 9
NINE
ABBY
The hospital smells like antiseptic and coffee that’s been sitting on a burner too long.
Daisy hates it here. She always has. Even when she was little and we came in for stitches after she tripped chasing a dog she absolutely should not have been chasing. She said hospitals felt too bright, like they were trying to pretend nothing bad ever happened inside them.
Tonight, she’s too tired to complain.
She sleeps curled against my side on the narrow bed in the pediatric exam room, wrapped in a blanket that’s at least two sizes too big. A pulse oximeter blinks softly on her finger, steady and reassuring. The doctor already told me her lungs sound good. That she’ll be fine. That kids are resilient.
I nod every time someone tells me that.
I don’t tell them that resilience isn’t what I want for her.
I want safety. I want boring. I want a life where she doesn’t have to be brave to survive.
I smooth her hair back, careful not to disturb her, and finally let myself breathe all the way out.
Across the room, Brendon stands near the window, his helmet tucked under his arm like he doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands now that the emergency is over. He looks wrecked. Soot still streaks his jaw. His eyes are red-rimmed, exhausted, alive with too much feeling.
He hasn’t left.
That shouldn’t matter.
It does.
“You don’t have to stay,” I say softly, even though the words feel like a lie I don’t want him to believe.
He turns toward me immediately. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The certainty in his voice makes my chest ache.
I gesture toward Daisy. “They said she’s okay.”
“I know,” he says. “I just… want to see her wake up.”
I nod. I understand that instinct intimately.
Silence stretches between us, not uncomfortable, just heavy with everything we almost lost.
“I panicked,” I say finally.
He doesn’t interrupt. He just waits.
“When she called you that,” I continue, my voice shaking despite myself, “all I could see was her crying later. Asking where you went. Asking what she did wrong.”
His jaw tightens. “She wouldn’t think it was her fault.”
“I know,” I whisper. “But I would.”
He crosses the room in three quiet steps and stops beside the bed, careful not to wake Daisy.
“I don’t want to hurt her,” he says. “Or you.”
“I know,” I say again, because the truth is finally settling in. “And that’s the problem.”
He frowns slightly. “How is that a problem?”
I swallow hard. “Because I’ve been so focused on protecting her from pain that I forgot something important.”
He waits.
“She already loves you,” I say quietly. “And pushing you away didn’t protect her. It scared her.”
His breath stutters.
“I saw it in her eyes when you left the café,” I continue. “She didn’t understand. She thought she’d done something wrong.”
Pain flickers across his face, sharp and unmistakable. “I never wanted that.”
“I know,” I say. “And I finally understand that leaving wouldn’t make it better.”
I reach out, my fingers brushing his wrist. The contact is small, deliberate.
“Staying is the risk,” I say. “But it might also be the gift.”
His hand turns, covering mine gently, grounding me.
“I’m not perfect,” he says quietly. “I don’t know how to do this without messing up sometimes.”
I huff a weak laugh. “Join the club.”
He smiles faintly, then sobers. “But I’m not running. Not from you. Not from her.”
My eyes burn.
“I believe you,” I say, and the words feel like something sacred.
“But I’ll give you more time,” he says. “I’ll give you the space you need.”
I nod, swallowing past a lump in my throat. I wish I could tell him how long it’ll take for me to get past this fear of losing everything I care about again. He deserves better than me and my old bullshit.
Daisy stirs then, her lashes fluttering as she blinks awake.
“Mom?” she murmurs.
“I’m here, baby.”
She turns her head, squinting. “Brendon?”
“I’m right here,” he says immediately, stepping closer.
She smiles, small and sleepy. “I had a dream you were a firefighter and a teacher and you made pancakes.”
He laughs softly, emotion thick in his voice. “Sounds like a good dream.”
She studies him seriously. “You came back.”
“Yes,” he says without hesitation. “I did.”
She nods, satisfied, then yawns and snuggles back into the pillow. “Okay.”
Just like that.
No fear. No doubt.
Trust, offered freely.
Something in my chest finally gives way.
I need to talk to him. Just as soon as Daisy falls asleep and we have a moment alone.
But I must nod off. Because when I open my eyes, from what I thought was a blink but was actually a short nap, he’s gone.
He’s giving me space and time to process. For his and Daisy’s sake—hell, for mine—I hope I don’t leave him hanging for too long.