7. The Space Between Us #2
Nina followed his eyes and then returned her attention to him slowly. “That’s not all.”
Trevor let out a quiet laugh that held no humor. “You ever considered becoming a detective?”
“I don’t need the badge,” she replied calmly. “What else is going on?”
He hesitated, and that hesitation told her more than his words would have.
“Trevor.”
He looked at her fully then, and for a moment he was not a director or a single father navigating a public divorce. He was simply the youngest brother trying to sort through something unfamiliar.
“There’s someone,” he said finally.
If Nina was surprised by that admission, she didn’t let it show. The only tell that Trevor saw was the slight quirk of her eyebrow. She did not interrupt. She waited.
“She’s Zara’s teacher,” he continued, and that made her eyebrows lift slightly.
“All right,” she said carefully. “Keep going.”
“She and I went to school together. I never really talked to her back then, but I noticed her. Everybody noticed her. She didn’t move loudly. She didn’t have to. She had this way of standing in a room like she knew exactly who she was.”
His voice shifted when he spoke about it, softening in places without him realizing.
“You liked that,” Nina observed gently.
“I respected it,” he corrected quietly, then let the distinction sit. “I was already with Katelyn when I started realizing how much I paid attention to her. By then it didn’t matter. I was in too deep. Life kept moving. ”
Nina listened without inserting herself.
“She’s Zara’s teacher now,” he continued. “We had parent teacher conferences, and I don’t know how to explain it without sounding dramatic, but she was there in a way nobody else was. She didn’t treat me like I was broken. She didn’t pity me. She just… saw me.”
“That did something to you, didn’t it?”
“It steadied me,” he admitted.
Nina folded her arms again, thoughtful rather than reactive. “And now?”
“And now I kissed her. She’s been avoiding me like the plague ever since. The shit is driving me nuts, even though I understand.”
The confession hung between them. Nina’s eyes sharpened assessing Trevor in the moment, trying to pick up on what he wasn’t saying.
“How long ago was your divorce finalized?”
He let out a breath. “Recently.”
“She’s right to be cautious,” Nina said softly.
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
He looked away for a moment, then back at her, “I don’t want her to be a rebound. I don’t want to use her to prove I’m fine. That’s not what this feels like.”
“What does it feel like?”
He thought about that carefully before answering, “It feels like something I should take my time with because it will lead to something real.”
Nina’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “Then take your time.”
He gave her a look, “That sounds simple when you say it.”
“It is simple,” she replied. “It’s not easy. But it’s simple. If you’re serious, then court her.”
He blinked, “Court?”
“Yes,” she said, completely unbothered by the word. “Take her out properly. Make plans. Open doors. Let her see who you are when you’re not rebounding. Show her that what you feel is real, Trev.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed and amused at once. “It’s simple but you just made it sound complicated. Like I’m running a campaign for her to get with me.”
“It is,” Nina said evenly. “You’re not running for office. You’re trying to build her trust.”
He laughed softly, but there was weight in it.
“Don’t treat her like a distraction either,” Nina added, her tone shifting slightly, protective in the way only someone who loves you deeply can be. “You’ve been moving a certain way since the divorce. I have eyes. Out here being fast with these hoochies.”
He didn’t argue with that. Although he had only been with Sapphire, he knew that he was in a delicate state.
“Don’t let her be another place you land just because you’re lonely,” Nina continued.
“If you want her, show her you are stable. Show her you’re patient.
Don’t rush her just because your feelings are loud at the moment.
The biggest hurdle she is probably trying to overcome with you is trusting that what you’re showing her is the real deal and not a band-aid. ”
Trevor nodded slowly, “I hear you.”
“Good,” she said gently. “Because she has every reason to protect herself. You have to make it safe for her not to.”
Before he could respond, Mackenzie’s voice carried more clearly down the hallway as the cameras began rolling.
They both turned toward the set.
Mackenzie stood tall beneath the lights, her face bright and hair wild as she spoke about heartbreak and finding her voice through art.
She described how she once believed love had passed her by, how she poured that grief into photographs until she could recognize herself again in the frame.
She spoke about meeting Jackson when she was not searching, about how working beside him felt like alignment instead of collision.
“The right love,” she said into the camera, her voice steady and sure, “does not chase you. It meets you where you are and builds with you from there. Love is not scarce, it’s abundant. Even when you feel like it has run out.” Her eyes flicked toward Trevor for the briefest moment.
It was subtle.
It was intentional.
Trevor felt the message settle somewhere deep inside him, not as pressure, but as an invitation.
Nina glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.
“You hear that? Because we both know she said it for you,” she murmured softly.
He nodded.
He would make sure that Aniyah knew what she meant to him.
Dr. Sanders’ office felt intentionally warm, like every detail had been chosen to soften whatever walked through the door.
The walls were painted a muted honey tone, and the late afternoon light filtered in through gauzy curtains that made the room glow without glare.
A faint citrus scent lingered in the air, clean but gentle, blending with something sweeter he could not quite identify.
The waiting room chairs were cushioned in soft fabric instead of cold vinyl, and a small shelf of children’s books curved along the far wall beneath framed artwork drawn by other small hands.
Trevor sat with his knees slightly apart, elbows resting on his thighs, Zara’s hand folded tightly in his. She had chosen the seat closest to him and leaned just enough that their shoulders touched. He could feel the tension in her fingers where they wrapped around his.
“Do I have to talk the whole time,” she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
He looked down at her and smiled softly. “You only have to talk about what you want to talk about. Dr. Sanders is just someone who listens and helps you sort out the big feelings that don’t fit in your backpack.”
Zara considered that, her brows pulling together slightly. “Like when my chest feels tight.”
“Exactly like that,” he said. “You don’t have to carry that by yourself.”
The door to the inner office opened slowly, and Dr. Sanders stepped out with a presence that felt immediately steady.
She wore a deep emerald blouse tucked into tailored slacks, and her natural curls framed her face in a way that made her smile feel expansive rather than overwhelming.
Her skin held a rich cherry tone that caught the warm light, and when she looked at Zara, her attention was complete.
“Miss Zara,” she said with gentle brightness. “I’m so glad you’re here today.”
Zara looked up at Trevor instinctively, searching his face for confirmation.
He squeezed her hand lightly. “I’ll be right here when you’re done.”
Dr. Sanders crouched slightly to Zara’s level without diminishing herself. “We’re just going to talk and maybe draw a little. Nothing scary. You get to decide what we do first.”
Zara hesitated for a breath, then nodded and slid her hand from Trevor’s grasp. The release felt bigger to him than it should have.
He watched her small frame walk through the doorway, her curls bouncing slightly with each step. When the door closed, the quiet returned with weight.
The hour that followed moved differently than time usually did.
Trevor tried to read a magazine left on the table, but the words blurred.
He found himself replaying moments from the past year, scanning for signs he might have missed, questions he should have asked sooner, comfort he could have given better.
He wondered whether she blamed herself in ways she did not articulate. He wondered whether he had said enough to make her feel chosen.
When the door finally opened, Trevor stood without realizing he had been holding his breath.
Zara stepped out first, and something about her posture had shifted. Her shoulders were not as rigid. Her hand was not balled into a fist.
Dr. Sanders followed, her expression warm but thoughtful.
“Zara did beautifully today,” she said, gesturing gently toward a corner where a small art table sat. “She shared more than I expected for the first session.”
Zara wandered toward the table and began stacking small wooden blocks without being prompted, humming faintly to herself.
Dr. Sanders lowered her voice slightly as she addressed Trevor. “There is clear grief associated with maternal separation and what we would clinically refer to as attachment disruption. That is developmentally appropriate given the abrupt termination of parental involvement.”
Trevor nodded slowly, absorbing each word letting her words sooth him.
“She presents with adaptive coping behaviors,” Dr. Sanders continued. “She’s observant and eager to maintain stability in her environment. What we will focus on is processing the loss while reinforcing secure attachment with you as her primary caregiver. She looks to you as her emotional anchor.”
The phrase settled in his chest.
Anchor.
“Is she going to be okay,” he asked, the question leaving him before he could filter it.