Chapter 203
Kaiden
Morning hit soft and sideways, gray light through the new curtains, jacaranda confetti stuck to the dew on the lawn. The house smelled like coffee and lemon cleaner and the warm, faint. proof of last night. Mia was already up. I heard the bathroom tap, the cupboard, the top drawer where she keeps hair ties and the bottom one I wish she’d throw out. By the time I made it to the kitchen, she was at the sink in one of my shirts, sleeves shoved to her elbows, staring out
the window like the glass might answer back.
“Toast?” I asked. “Eggs?”
“No, thanks.” Polite like a stranger’s elevator smile.
I set bread down anyway. The toaster clicking into place. “Tea, then.”
“I don’t want anything,” she said, and the way she held the edge of the bench told me she meant it to the bone.
I crossed the tile and put a hand at the small of her back, gentle, just weight, nothing else. She went still. Not leaning in. Not away. Just… still.
“Do you want space?” I asked, keeping my voice like hers was, quiet, even.
“Yes.” A breath. “Just for today.”
The ask was simple; the cost wasn’t. Every part of me that wants to fix the problem, wanted to pick her up, tuck her into the chair, make the world smaller until she could breathe. Every part of her that survives by bracing wanted no hands on her at all.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you change your mind.”
She nodded without looking at me, I backed off like you do from a ledge, slow, eyes open, careful not to make it a fall.
The toast popped; I didn’t eat it. I poured two mugs and let both go cold. The nursery door across the hall was still inched open. The blue elastic sat on the chair arm where she’d left it; the rug lay flat where we’d smoothed it. Small proofs that last night happened and mattered. This morning didn’t erase it/It didn’t know how to hold onto it either.
My phone buzzed across the counter. Luciano.
Chapter 203
“Yeah,” I answered, and stepped into the hallway so my voice wouldn’t bounce.
“Morning, kid,” he said. You could hear the suit in it, soft, pressed, ten things happening at once. “I need you at the riverfront office. Contract questions turned into respect questions. Two hours, maybe three.”
A part of me unclenched at the excuse to leave. That felt like treason; maybe it was mercy. “On
my way.”
“You good?” he asked, too casual to be casual.
“Fine,” I lied well enough for business and not at all for family.
“Bring the heavy smile,” he said, and hung up.
I pocketed the phone and went back to the kitchen. Mia had moved to the table. Not sitting. Not leaving. Just standing with her fingers resting on the back of a chair like she might push the whole room somewhere else.
“Luciano needs me,” I said. “Couple hours. Hunter’s out on a run, he’ll be back in twenty. Do you want me to tell him to grab anything?”
“No,” she said, eyes on the wood grain. Then softer, as if she remembered who she was talking to: “Thank you.”
I nodded. Useless gesture. I put a bottle of water on the table within reach, set my keys down where she could find them if she wanted to flee and didn’t want to ask. “I’ll text when I get there. If you need me, say ‘home‘ and I’ll be in the car before you finish typing.”
She finally looked at me. The look wasn’t sharp or soft, just tired, like marrow is tired. “Drive
safe.”
“I will.”
I stood in the doorway one second too long and felt her feel it. So I moved, grabbed my jacket, laced boots, the motions of a man going to work and not walking away from the thing he wants most. On my way out I paused at the nursery and put two fingers to the chair arm, to the stupid blue elastic. “Please,” I told the room under my breath, and walked. The morning air had bite. My chest felt tight in the way it does after a fight you didn’t have.
I texted Hunter: “She wants/quiet. Be soft when you come in. I’m heading to L’s.” He replied with a thumbs–up and a heart, then, “Got her. Plant the olive after?”
Chapter 203
“Sure,” I sent back.
The engine turned over. The driveway spat jacaranda petals under my tires. I didn’t want to be in the house any longer if being in it meant watching her hurt and not touching it. I hated that leaving helped. I promised myself it was a lap around the block, not a retreat. Two hours, I told tmyself. Three, if respect needed more time. Then i’ll be back home. Then the sprig in dirt. Then whatever she asked for, chair, silence, hands, tea we can both ignore until it’s cold. Fucking hell…when did it all become like this? When did we lose the laughter, the fun, the light in her eyes? What must a man do to get it back?
The riverfront office sat with its back to the water, glass, steel, and the smell of diesel slipping in under the doors. I parked beside a stack of shipping containers, let the engine idle once, then killed it and put the heavy smile on. Inside thr lobby it was stone cold with the elevator humming. I went up to the fifteenth floor, where the carpets soften and the people don’t. Luciano’s door was open; jacket off, tie loosened, reading a contract like it had personally offended him.
“Kid,” he said without looking up. “Tell me why I shouldn’t send these clowns back to their
fathers.”
“Because we like our money on time,” I answered, stepping in. “And humiliation never signs the next deal.”
At the table sat one red–eared Rivermark rep and a woman who made the room look cheap. Long blonde hair twisted into a clean knot, crisp white blouse, a watch that actually told time. Russian, I assume by the way she spoke on the phone.
“Alina Sokolova,” she said, standing to shake my hand with a firm grip. “Rivermark strategic
ops.”
“Kaiden,” I said. “Penalty clause is not a suggestion.”
Pink Ear scoffed. “It’s predatory.”
Alina didn’t even glance at him. “It’s expensive,” she corrected, eyes on me, bright and unblinking. “And avoidable. You want punctual. We want predictable. Give us a rolling visibility window, forty–eight hours on berth assignments and we accept the fee as written.”
I liked her in spite of myself. She knew what she wanted and didn’t waste air getting there.
“You miss, you pay,” I said. “We move you, we discount. Two percent per hour, capped at twenty.”
Chapter 203
“Ten,” she countered smoothly. “And you add a dedicated dispatcher after midnight.”
Luciano’s mouth tipped. I held her gaze. “Fifteen, dispatcher included, payment net five.”
Alina smiled like a door clicking shut. “Deal.“.
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