Chapter 6
Desmond Coyle?
By Sunday afternoon, I was damn near ready to rip the hair out of my head.
Leon had been crying on and off all day, and not his usual tired or hungry fussing either—real crying.
Red-faced, sweaty, inconsolable. I changed him, fed him, rocked him.
Tried warm bottles, cold bottles, teething rings, white noise.
He tossed every toy I handed him like it offended him personally.
Frowned at every story I tried to read. Even cartoons—his usual kryptonite—didn’t get so much as a blink.
I was at the edge. The real edge. The kind where your jaw’s locked and your patience is fraying thread by thread.
So my last-ditch effort was to buckle him into his car seat and just drive.
Didn’t matter where. Around the block, down past the rusted-out factories, out near the train tracks and back again. Figured maybe the motion would lull him. The vibration, the hum of the tires, the slow roll of scenery out the window.
But if I’m honest with myself? I knew exactly what he wanted.
He wanted her.
He wanted Brielle.
And hell… so did I.
Because the truth is, when she’s around, things just work. The baby’s calmer. The apartment’s quieter. The air feels lighter. I feel like less of a man fraying at the seams.
But now, with her gone for two damn days, Leon’s unraveling. And I’m not far behind.
The driving does nothing. His cries just rise and fall like waves that never break. So I pull into the Walmart lot, mostly because I don’t know what else to do. It’s around six. The sky’s bruising up for evening when I spot dark hair, jeans, and a shape I’d know anywhere.
Brielle.
“Brielle?” I call out before I even think.
She freezes. Shoulders tighten. She doesn’t turn right away.
I roll up, park beside her. And that’s when I see it. She’s got the trunk popped on some beat-up Corolla that looks one turn away from retirement. Clothes folded tight. A grocery bag with toiletries. A blanket laid out across the back seat like a makeshift bed.
It hits me all at once, hard and mean.
She doesn’t have a place to live.
And for a second, with my kid hiccuping from the tail end of his crying fit, and Brielle standing there trying to act like this is normal, I feel something twist in my gut. Something sharp. Something protective. Something I don’t have a name for yet.
But I know one thing.
This woman shouldn’t be living out of a damn car. And she sure as hell shouldn’t be facing it alone.
I get out of the car, Leon still sniffling in the back like he’s run out of fuel but not out of misery. Brielle finally turns toward me, and her face says everything she’s trying to hide. Tired eyes. Tight smile. Chin lifted like she’s bracing for a punch that hasn’t landed yet.
“Hey,” she says, casual as she can manage.
“Hey,” I echo, but it comes out rough, too thick in my throat.
For a second we just stand there, the three of us, in this pathetic Walmart parking lot with the sun dropping and the cars rolling past like none of this matters.
“Brielle… this your car?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Just gives me a tight nod.
“And you’re—what? Sleeping in it?”
Another nod. She swallows like it burns going down. “Just for now.”
She shrugs. “Just figuring things out.”
That phrase hits me harder than it should. Figuring things out. I’ve used it myself plenty of times, usually when everything’s falling apart.
“How long?” I ask.
She shakes her head like she’s clearing thoughts she doesn’t want me in on. “It’s fine, Desmond. Don’t worry about it.”
Leon whimpers at the sound of her voice. A tiny, tired cry. And he reaches a hand toward her. Just a little wobble of his fingers, but it guts me.
Her face breaks. Not a full crack, just a flicker. Like seeing him hurts and heals her at the same time.
I open the back door. “He’s been losing his mind without you.”
She steps closer, slow, cautious. “He’s teething. It’s not me.”
“Brielle,” I say, quieter now, “he wants you.”
She looks away like she can’t handle hearing that. And I realize, with this ugly clarity, that she’s been carrying something heavy long before today. Way before the trunk full of folded shirts.
“You got somewhere to go tonight?” I ask.
She hesitates. That’s answer enough.
“Brielle.”
“Desmond, I’m not dragging you into this,” she mutters. “You’ve got enough on your plate.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I say. “You still need a place.”
She laughs, small and tired, like she doesn’t believe she’s allowed to accept help. “I’ll figure something out.”
“That’s not a plan,” I say. I step closer, close enough to see how red her eyes actually are. “Come home with us.”
She jolts a little. “Desmond, no. That’s… I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s weird. Because I don’t want to mess up whatever you’ve got going. Because I’m your kid’s nanny. Because—”
“Because nothing,” I cut in.
She flinches like my tone grazed a bruise.
I lower it. “Brielle… look at me.”
She does, barely. Eyes shiny. Jaw set like she’s trying to hold herself upright with pride alone.
“You working for me doesn’t mean you get to sleep in a parking lot,” I say. “I’m not letting that stand.”
She shakes her head. “You don’t get it.”
“Then explain it.”
“I don’t want to be a burden,” she says, voice small but stubborn. “I don’t want to take more than what you’re already giving. I don’t want you to think I’m using you.”
The word using hits like a slap. I take a slow breath so I don’t react, because she’s already wound tight enough to bolt.
“You’re not using me,” I say. “You show up. You help. You care about him.” I nod toward Leon, who’s stretching his hand toward her again, little fingers in the air. “And he cares about you. That’s not something I can fake. Trust me, I’ve tried everything today.”
That pulls a tiny huff of breath from her. A not-quite laugh. It’s exhausted, but it’s real.
I keep going. “And let’s be honest, I’m not exactly drowning in help. Having you around isn’t a burden. It’s the opposite.”
Her shoulders sag. The fight drains out of her. She presses her palms to her eyes for a second, like she’s trying to wipe the whole day off her face.
“It’s just temporary,” she whispers.
“Fine,” I say. “Temporary.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Yeah, I do. One night. Two. Whatever you need until you figure out what’s next.” I gesture at the Corolla. “But sleeping in this thing isn’t it.”
She glances back at the car like it’s a secret she was planning to guard until the day she died. Like she’s embarrassed it’s even visible.
“Desmond…” Her voice cracks around my name. “I don’t want you to feel responsible for me.”
“I’m not doing it out of responsibility,” I say. “I’m doing it because I don’t want you out here alone. And because he—” I nod toward Leon, whose bottom lip is wobbling again “—is about two minutes away from a full meltdown unless you hold him.”
That’s what breaks her. Not logic. Not pride. Him.
She steps forward. I unbuckle Leon and place him in her arms. The kid melts into her chest like she’s home base, and for a moment the whole world quiets.
Her chin trembles. She holds him tight.
I let the silence sit. Then I say, “Let’s go home.”
She closes her eyes, breathing slow, steadying herself.
“Just for tonight,” she finally says.
“Yeah,” I answer, opening her door for her. “Tonight’s enough.”
But the truth is, as she settles into the passenger seat with my kid curled against her, I already know one thing:
I’m not letting her disappear again.
----
Brielle Shaw
This is not what I wanted.
I never wanted Desmond to find out about my situation. Not like this. Not in a parking lot with strangers walking past and pretending not to stare. Not with my things spread out in the open like a yard sale of everything I’ve been trying to hide.
He’s moving my stuff into his trunk, one armful at a time. Quiet. Focused. Not asking questions, which somehow feels worse. The silence makes my skin crawl, like he’s already imagining the full sad picture and I can’t do anything to stop it.
Leon is out cold on my shoulder. The same baby who screamed for hours today is now breathing soft against my collarbone, gripping my shirt like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go.
I tried settling him into the car seat again, thinking maybe I could slip back into the background where I belong.
He woke up instantly, eyes wide and betrayed, like I’d dropped him into an ice bath.
So here I am. In a Walmart parking lot. Holding my boss’s son while he loads my life into his trunk.
This is humiliating. And strangely comforting. And worse than both, it’s dangerous. Because part of me likes that someone noticed. Part of me likes that someone didn’t look away this time.
He shuts the trunk and glances over, and I swear I stop breathing. He doesn’t look angry. He doesn’t look pitying either. He just looks… steady. Like he’s made up his mind.
That scares me more than sleeping in my car ever did.
I shift Leon a little, brushing his hair off his forehead. He snuggles closer, warm and trusting, and my heart squeezes with something I’m not ready to name. This kid shouldn’t be mine to soothe. This man shouldn’t be mine to lean on.
And yet.
He walks over to me, keys in hand, expression soft in a way Desmond rarely lets himself be. I don’t know what to do with that softness. I don’t trust it. I want it anyway.
His voice comes quiet. “You good?”
I nod, even though I’m not. Even though the knot in my chest is pulled tight enough to choke me. Even though every instinct I have is telling me to run before I start hoping for things that aren’t mine to have.
Tonight. Just tonight. That’s what we agreed.
But as he opens the door for me and guides us into his beat-up car, I can’t shake the truth that’s sitting heavy in my ribs:
I never wanted him to see me like this.
And now that he has…
I don’t know how to go back to pretending I’m fine.
I don’t know how to go back to pretending I’m fine.
When we cross his door, the same apartment I’ve come to know as well as my own hands, something feels different. The air is warmer somehow. Thicker. Like it knows I’m not just here to work today.