Chapter 14
Elyna
The door clicked shut behind him, and the loft fell into silence so heavy it pressed against my ribs. I stood frozen in the kitchen, staring at the empty space he’d just walked out of, my hands gripping the edge of the table until my knuckles turned white.
Why did he have to do that? Why did he have to come in here with food, sit on my floor, make Braden laugh like it was the easiest thing in the world, and then look at me like he could see straight through my armor?
And me. How could I allow my defenses to slip so easily.
I hated how he saw a glimpse of how broken my life has been.
I wasn’t supposed to unravel in front of him.
I’d been holding my family together since I was seventeen, since Mom left me with a broken father and a little brother who still believed in fairy tales.
Falling apart had never been an option. Not after Mom died.
Back then, I told myself I was strong, but the truth was, I had fallen apart.
Just not in the way people expected. I’d surrounded myself with the wrong crowd at school, kids who drank too much, partied too hard, and didn’t care about anyone but themselves.
I pretended I fit in with them. I pretended recklessness was a kind of strength, but I knew better.
I just wasn’t willing to do anything to change myself.
That was how everything with Phoenix went sideways. I was drowning in grief, angry at the world, and I dragged him into it by leading him on. I hurt him when he was the last person to deserve that kind of spite from me. That mistake etched a scar between us, one that never quite healed.
And now, years later, I sat in the chair he’d just vacated, burying my face in my hands. I could still smell him; warm cedar, hops from the brewery, sharp and male. My chest tightened, because, damn it, I didn’t just want his help. I wanted more and that terrified me.
Braden cooed from the play gym, smacking his toy with a chubby fist, grounding me the way only he could. I forced myself to lift my head, to meet his wide-eyed stare. He deserved strength, not a mother who cracked open because Phoenix Thorne showed me what a kind man who cares looks like.
I pressed a shaky breath through my lips. “It’s just us, baby boy,” I whispered. “It’s always been just us. And we’re gonna be okay.”
The words felt hollow, like a lie I’d repeated so many times I almost believed them.
Because for the first time since those reckless years in high school, the thought of someone else carrying a piece of the weight didn’t sound like weakness.
It sounded like relief. And that scared me more than anything.
Braden started fussing, so I picked him up and took him over to the couch to undress him for his nighttime bath.
I’d read a lot of books on child development while I was pregnant, and a common theme that always came up was babies needed routine.
I stuck to our nightly bath. He loved being in the warm water and the bathroom in the loft had a generous-sized counter where I placed his bath.
Braden kicked his feet around in the water, smiling and laughing.
I sang him some songs as I sponge-bathed him.
Some of the tension I felt from earlier rolled right off me.
I was content being a mom. Braden was my whole life.
After his bath, I got him dressed in a onesie and sleeper and placed him gently into his playpen, brushing a kiss across his forehead.
I noted, at almost eight months old, he was starting to grow out of his playpen.
He was starting to crawl and needed a crib, but I’d have to save some money first. His little fist twitched around the edge of his blanket, already drifting toward sleep.
The sound of his soft breathing filled the loft, and I finally felt like I could relax.
I lingered there, watching my boy sleeping peacefully. He deserved better than the chaos I kept dragging behind me. He deserved stability, safety, love. And though I’d been doing everything I could to give him that, tonight the walls of the loft felt too quiet, too new, too temporary.
When I finally padded back to the futon which converted to a couch, I collapsed with my phone in hand, scrolling mindlessly until the screen lit up with a name that made my stomach drop.
Riley Jansen.
My pulse spiked.
The message preview flashed across the screen:
You think you can just disappear with my son?
My chest tightened, anger and dread warring inside me. Of course he’d text now. Of course he’d remind me in the most venomous way possible that no matter how far I ran, Riley Jansen still lingered like a shadow I couldn’t shake.
I locked the phone with shaking fingers, pressing it to my chest as if that could muffle the storm clawing at me from the inside.
Braden shifted in his sleep, a soft sigh carrying through the room, and I forced myself to breathe with him. To hold on. To remind myself why I left and why I’d keep fighting, no matter what Riley threw at me.
But deep down, I knew this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
I stared at his message until my vision blurred, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Part of me wanted to ignore it. But ignoring Riley always made things worse.
I typed back quickly before I could second-guess myself.
Me: Riley, coming here isn’t a good idea. You’re the one who told me to leave. Be a good person and do the right thing for once. I want Braden safe. You should want the same thing.
The dots appeared right away, then vanished and reappeared. My stomach knotted.
Riley: That’s why I told you to leave, but he’s my son too. I didn’t think you planned on leaving forever. I have rights.
I swallowed hard, forcing my fingers steady. How could he speak of his rights when he’d done nothing for us since he found out I was pregnant?
Me: Did you pay off your debts?
For a long minute I waited and nothing. Then my phone buzzed again.
Riley: No.
Just that single word. My blood went cold. What a jerk.
Before I could respond, another message came through.
A photo this time. His face filled the screen, swollen and bruised, one eye purple and nearly shut.
I gasped and nearly dropped the phone. Whoever he owed money to wasn’t playing games.
The photo wasn’t just a warning. It was a reminder of the world he was tangled in, the danger that always trailed him like smoke.
But why did he have a sudden interest in our son when he never cared before?
I didn’t trust Riley. It felt like he was up to something, but I didn’t know what.
Braden stirred softly in his playpen, letting out a little sigh, and I pressed the phone to my chest like I could shield him from it all.
But the truth gnawed at me because Riley wasn’t just a bad memory. He was a storm on the horizon, and sooner or later he was going to crash into our lives again.