Page 32 of Wings
His arms tightened fractionally. "Always, baby girl."
The endearment slipped out natural as breathing, and I knew—knew with the kind of certainty that comes from recognition—what I needed to say. What had been building since that first night on my couch when everything fell apart and he'd called me little one.
"Gabe?" My voice came out small, vulnerable.
"Shh, little one. I've got you." His voice dropped into that register that made me feel safe and small and held. "Daddy's got you."
The word hit like lightning, but gentle. Illuminating instead of destroying. I pressed my face into his chest, breathing him in, letting the truth of it settle into my bones.
"Thank you, Daddy," I whispered, so quiet the storm almost swallowed it.
His whole body went still. For a heartbeat, I panicked—had I misread everything? Had I ruined—
Then his arms tightened, pulling me impossibly closer. His lips pressed to the top of my head, and when he spoke, his voice was rough with emotion.
"Always, baby girl. Daddy's always got you."
Chapter 7
Kiara
Daddy.
The word had fallen from my mouth like a key turning in a lock, opening something I'd kept sealed for years. And he'd answered—God, the way his voice had dropped when he'd said it back.
Daddy's got you.
My stomach twisted with equal parts want and terror. What if morning had brought him clarity? What if he'd woken up, remembered who I was—his brother's broken ex—and realized his mistake? What if right now he was figuring out how to let me down gently, how to take it back without destroying me?
I sat up slowly, cataloging the evidence of last night. My clothes from yesterday draped over the chair where he'd placed them after helping me change into sleep clothes. Two empty water glasses on the nightstand—he'd made sure I stayed hydrated after all the crying. Small acts of care that made my chest ache.
The mirror above the dresser showed me exactly what I'd expected—puffy eyes, tangled hair, the general disaster of a woman who'd sobbed through a thunderstorm in a man's arms. I looked young. Vulnerable. Exactly like the little girl I'd let him see.
Panic tried to claw its way up my throat. I needed to look normal. Adult. Put together. Show him I could handle whatever gentle rejection was coming.
I dressed carefully, each choice deliberate. Jeans that actually fit instead of hanging loose. A soft blue sweater that brought out my eyes—not little clothes, not yet, but not the shapeless things I'd been hiding in either. I brushed my teeth twice, used mouthwash, tried to scrub away any trace of neediness.
My hands shook as I braided my hair, muscle memory from years of making myself presentable after bad nights. Look normal. Act normal. Don't let them see how desperate you are for kindness.
When I finally opened my door, prepared for emptiness or awkwardness, I found Gabe instead.
He leaned against the opposite wall like he'd been carved there, two cups of coffee steaming in his hands. His prosthetic bore his weight easily, and he'd changed into fresh jeans and a black henley that did criminal things to his shoulders. But it was his expression that stopped my heart—soft and sure and looking at me like I was something precious.
"Morning, baby girl," he said, voice still rough from sleep.
The endearment hit me like a physical touch. My knees actually wobbled, and I had to grab the doorframe for support. Not a mistake then. Not something to take back in daylight.
"Hi," I managed, brilliant conversationalist that I was.
He pushed off the wall, offering me one of the cups. "Vanilla latte with an extra shot. Figured you might need the caffeine after last night."
The coffee was perfect—exactly how I liked it. Such a small thing, but it made my eyes burn. When was the last time someone had paid attention to my preferences without me having to spell them out?
"We need to talk," he said gently. "But first, I have something to show you."
Those words should have terrified me. Nothing good ever followed "we need to talk." But Gabe's expression held nervous excitement, not regret. He looked like a kid with a secret he couldn't wait to share.
"Okay," I said, truly trusting him.
