Page 26 of Wildflower and Whiskey
I stared at her across the table, the tired slump in her shoulders, the guarded flicker in her eyes, and then down at Braden on the floor, cooing at a plastic rattle like the world was simple.
My chest burned. Anger, yes, but underneath that, a raw ache I hadn’t felt in years. I knew what it was to grow up with a parent who checked out. Who was too wrapped up in their own demons to see the kid right in front of them. That wound never closed. And I wasn’t about to let that baby boy carry it too.
I leaned back in my chair, jaw tight, forcing myself not to let it spill out. Elyna didn’t need me raging at Riley on her behalf.What she needed was someone solid at her side. Someone who wouldn’t walk away.
“He doesn’t deserve to call himself a father,” I muttered low, but sharp enough that she looked up. “Braden deserves better than that.”
Her throat bobbed, like she wasn’t sure what to say. I could see the way her guard wanted to snap back up, the way she hated letting anyone see her weakness. But it was too late. I’d already seen the cracks.
I dragged a hand down my face, trying to mask the storm inside me. “Look, I’m not trying to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong. But if Riley ever shows up here or even tries, I want you to tell me. You don’t have to carry this on your own.”
Elyna’s lips parted, surprise flickering there, then something else. Something softer.
And that did me in. Because I realized right then that protecting Braden wasn’t just about him. It was about her too. About making sure Elyna Chabot never had to shoulder the world alone again.
Her jaw tightened, and just like that, the softness in her eyes snapped shut. “I’ve been handling my life on my own for a long time, Phoenix. I don’t need you swooping in to save me. I’ve managed since I was seventeen, since Mom died. I’m not about to give up control now.”
I leaned back, heat buzzing in my chest, fighting the urge to argue. She was unraveling, I could see it plain as day, but damned if she was going to let me see her fall apart.
The silence stretched, sharp and heavy. Braden squealed from the floor, smacking his toy, oblivious to the war simmering at his mother’s table.
I should’ve said something. Pushed harder. Instead, I forced myself to nod, even though every bone in my body screamed to do the opposite.
“Fine,” I muttered, standing and collecting the take-out containers. My voice came out rougher than I intended. “You do things your way.”
But as I walked out of that loft and into the night, one thought burned like fire in my chest. . . She might not want saving, but hell if I could stop myself from wanting to try.
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, Ihadfallen 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 pretendedrecklessness 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 himsome 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.
