Chapter 14 #2
Smells like garlic and herbs. Smells like someone gave a damn.
But there’s no sign of Brielle.
No sign of Leon in the playpen either.
I check the living room. Nothing. Then the nursery—crib empty, blanket still rumpled from his nap this morning. So I pad down the hall, heart doing something stupid and hopeful against my ribs, and I push open my bedroom door—
—and stop dead.
They’re there.
Both of them.
Curled up in the middle of my bed like a picture I didn’t know I wanted until it was right in front of me.
Brielle’s stretched on her side, hair fanned out messy across my pillow, her arm around Leon like she’s been holding him for hours.
His little body is pressed right into her chest, nose tucked under her chin, fists relaxed in sleep.
And her nose—her sweet damn nose—is tucked into his soft blond hair like she couldn’t help it.
They’re matching. Breathing the same slow rhythm. Out cold.
They look… right.
Too right.
Like this is how they’re supposed to be.
Like I walked in on something holy.
I lean on the doorframe because my knees go a little weak—yeah, weak, I’ll admit it to myself at least.
My throat gets tight in a way I don’t fucking love but can’t fight.
She must’ve bathed him—he’s in fresh pajamas, hair still damp and sticking up in that adorable cowlick—and she must’ve kept holding him afterward, because that’s what she does.
She holds things together without even noticing.
Guess they both fell asleep.
Guess my bed felt safe enough for that.
Safe enough for her.
Safe enough for them.
I sit on the edge of the mattress, the dip of my weight shifting the whole thing.
Leon grunts like the world just offended him, and Brielle wakes with that tiny startled inhale she always does.
Her eyes flutter open—soft, unfocused, the prettiest shade of sleep-heavy blue I’ve ever seen—and the second she spots me, she tries to sit up.
“Sorry,” she murmurs, voice thick and warm, “Did you get home a while ago?”
“No,” I say, brushing a strand of her hair back behind her ear, letting my knuckles drag along her cheekbone just because I can. “Just got in.”
She blinks slow, trying to pull herself together. “Good… there’s food ready. I’ll get you a plate and—”
“It’s alright,” I cut in gently before she can scramble off the bed. “I can grab it later. Did he give you too much trouble today?”
Her hand instinctively drops to Leon’s belly, rubbing slow circles through his pajamas. “Not much. But he was colicky.” She winces a little, like she’s taking blame for something that’s not even close to her fault. “I think the pumpkin mash I gave him was too much for his stomach.”
I shake my head. “Nah, he has days like that no matter what he eats.”
She shrugs one shoulder. “He only settled down after bath time. I think the warm water helped.”
“That always does,” I murmur, watching the way she’s still half holding him even in sleep—like even tired she’s still taking care of him. “You handled it?”
“Yeah,” she says, cheeks turning a little pink, like she’s shy about admitting it.
“He fussed and cried for a while, but once he calmed and I got him clean and warm… he was all cuddly. Which means…”
she glances down at him, smiling a tiny tired smile, “…I think he used me as his personal pillow until we both passed out.”
“That’s usually my job,” I tease quietly.
“Not today,” she says, brushing her thumb across Leon’s forehead. “Today he wanted me.”
Something about the way she says that—soft, almost surprised—hits me in the ribs.
“Well,” I mutter, rougher than I mean to, “can’t blame him.”
She lifts her eyes to mine, confused. “For what?”
“For wanting you,” I say simply.
Her breath catches just a little.
Then, softer: “You hungry?”
“Starving,” I admit.
She pushes a hand through her hair, still half asleep, half glowing. “Let me get him in the crib and we’ll have dinner.”
I nod and watch her for a second—just a second—while she gathers Leon against her chest, murmuring to him as she walks down the hall. Even tired, she holds him like she was built for it. Like she could do it in her sleep. Hell—she basically did.
I shake myself out of it and head to the kitchen. Wash my hands at the sink, the water running warm while I scrub off work grit. My forearms are tense from a full day of welding, but it’s the good kind of ache—the kind you earn.
I grab a couple plates from the cabinet, set them on the little kitchen table, adjust them so they’re straight even though I don’t usually give a damn about that kind of thing. I’m reaching for the silverware when something on the coffee table catches my eye.
The stack of bills I left for her this morning.
Same place.
Same angle.
Not a single one missing.
I frown, wiping my hands on a dish towel as I walk over. The money sits there like it’s glued down, untouched—exact number I counted, crisp enough to still show the crease from my wallet.
“Brielle…” I mutter under my breath, jaw clenching just a little.
She didn’t take the pay.
Not a dollar.
Not one damn bill.
I lean my hands on the back of the couch, staring at it.
It hits me wrong—tight in the chest, somewhere between irritation and worry.
I started paying her to keep things clean between us, to make sure she wasn’t trapped, to keep this from turning into some messed-up situation where she depends on me for everything.
And now she’s… what? Ignoring the money? Pretending she doesn’t need it? Or maybe she thinks she can’t accept it anymore because we’re…
Whatever we are.
I breathe out slow, trying to get ahead of the twisting in my gut. Because this—her not taking it—means something. And I don’t know if I like what it might mean.
The bedroom door opens down the hall—soft footsteps, her voice whispering something gentle to Leon as she settles him.
I look back at the money.
Yeah.
We’re gonna have to talk about that.