Page 102 of Daddy's Ring
I don't have an answer for that. Don't know how to reconcile the terror with the wanting, the protection with the possibility.
"You have to decide." Naomi says gently. "Either move away from him for good—cut ties completely, take Maeve somewhere he can't find you, actually move on. Or let him in. All the way in. Stop holding back, stop protecting yourself, stop waiting for it to fall apart. But you can't keep doing this in-between thing. It's not fair to him and it's destroying you."
She's right. I know she's right. I can't keep living in this space between wanting and fear, can't keep letting him show up and care for us while holding myself back emotionally in case everything crumbles.
I either have to leave for real or I have to stay for real. Choose protection or choose possibility.
Choose fear or choose him.
"Come on." Naomi pulls me into a hug, and I collapse against her, breathing in her familiar scent. "Pull yourself together and let's get back out there before someone comes looking."
I nod against her shoulder, then pull back to splash cold water on my face. My eyes are red but hopefully everyone will assume it's exhaustion from managing Maeve. I dry my face carefully, check that my braids are still neat, and follow Naomi back into the hallway.
The dinner table is set when we return, and Declan's plating food with the careful precision he always brings to cooking.Stellan's pouring wine, and everyone's finding seats, and Maeve's still sleeping peacefully in the other room.
I slip into the chair Declan indicates, and he sets a plate in front of me that looks like something from a magazine—perfectly arranged, beautiful, made with care.
"Okay?" He murmurs, hand briefly touching my shoulder.
"Yeah." I manage a smile. "Just tired."
He doesn't look entirely convinced but he doesn't push, just moves on to serve everyone else.
Dinner is incredible. Of course it is. Declan's always been an excellent cook, something he taught himself because he wanted to take care of me, wanted to make sure I ate properly when I was working multiple jobs and forgetting meals.
The conversation flows easily—Naomi and Stellan discover a shared appreciation for classic cars, Jordan asks Nilos about something related to security systems, Jamie makes dry observations that have everyone laughing. It feels normal. Natural. Like we could be any group of friends sharing a meal.
Except we're not. We're a collection of people from dangerous worlds and complicated pasts, and somehow it works anyway.
I watch Naomi laugh at something Nilos says, watch the way he looks at her like she's the center of his universe. I remember warning her about him. Telling her that men like Nilos were dangerous, that his world would consume her, that she needed to be careful.
But he's been good to her. More than good. He's protected her and Jordan, given them stability and safety and love. He's chosen them over and over again, made space in his life for the family they're building together.
I was wrong to warn her away from him. Or maybe I was right to be cautious but wrong about what would happen. Because watching them now, I can't see anything but happiness.
After dinner, we move back to the living room. Declan checks on Maeve, returns with her awake and babbling, and suddenly she's being passed around again. Stellan takes her without hesitation now, and she grabs at his collar with sticky fingers while he makes quiet sounds that might be attempts at conversation.
Jamie accepts her next with surprising gentleness for someone who looks like he's never held a baby in his life, and Maeve studies his face with serious concentration before patting his cheek.
"She's got excellent taste." Jamie observes. "Clearly knows quality when she sees it."
"She's drooling on your shirt." Stellan points out, and Jamie looks down at the wet spot spreading across his shoulder.
"Battle scar." He hands her back to Declan. "I'll wear it with pride."
Everyone laughs, and Declan settles Maeve against his chest, and she makes that happy humming sound she makes when she's content. She bounces between Stellan and Declan all evening, perfectly comfortable with both of them, clearly viewing them both as safe people.
As family.
I sip my wine and watch it all unfold—the easy conversation, the comfortable silences, the way everyone fits together despite their differences. Naomi catches my eye across the room and raises her eyebrows slightly, a silent question.
What's more important?
Staying safe or staying here. Protection or possibility. Fear or love.
Declan's laughing at something Jordan said, Maeve still in his arms, and he looks so genuinely happy that something in my chest cracks open.
I can't deny how much I love him anymore.
