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And by the fifth breath, something in her began to settle. The storm behind her eyes started to calm.
“You’re…” she sniffled, then blew out a breath like we’d practiced. “You’re really good at that.”
I chuckled, brushing a thumb under her eye. “Had some practice.” I met Ollie’s gaze. “Can your daddy hold you now, sweetie?”
“Don’t leave,” she blurted, eyes wide with panic.
I shook my head. “I’m like glitter, baby. You’re stuck with me. But he looks like he needs a hug, too.”
A tiny smile flickered across her mouth as she turned and let Ollie pull her against his chest. His eyes found mine again, raw and grateful. “Thank you,” he mouthed.
I nodded.
He looked down at his daughter—safe but shaken in his arms—and then back at me. Helpless. He couldn’t fix this. Couldn’t magic it away. And it was killing him.
“I want to go home,” Tillie whispered.
“Baby, kickoff is in a few minutes,” Ollie said gently, but his voice caught.
“I want to go home,” she repeated, her eyes lifting to mine this time.
“Okay,” I said immediately, nodding. Ollie’s gaze darted between me and the man he’d been talking to earlier. Panic, guilt, frustration—it was all there.
The media might glorify and romanticize the Hart name, but they never saw this. They never saw a father stuck between duty and the daughter who needed him more than anything.
“We’ll go,” I told him, watching Matilda press herself into my side. “I’ve got her.”
“Leigh…” His voice broke. “The game.”
“It’s just a game. I love my brother, but I’ve been watching him and his stinky socks play since I could walk.” I rocked Tillie gently. “We’ve got a blanket fort waiting for us at home.”
“Really?” she whispered, eyes shining.
“With twinkle lights,” I promised. “AndLord of the Rings. And chocolate ice cream.”
“You’re just appeasing me.”
I grinned. Sometimes she sounded like a seventy-five-year-old retiree who’d lived through five wars. “What if I told you this noise totally blows and I’d rather hang out with you anyway?”
She studied me for a long beat, then nodded. “Really?”
“Really, really. Want me to scoop up Beau?” I asked Ollie, who glanced toward where his son sat happily on Kaia’s shoulders.
“Nah, he looks content. Take Reynolds with you, and text me when you’re home.”
“Of course.”
“Can we…” Tillie’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Can we take the long way home?”
Translation:Don’t drive over that fucking bridge.
“You got it.”
Just as we turned to leave, Ollie’s hand closed around mine. That familiar zing raced up my arm. I turned back, and his eyes locked on mine—tortured, conflicted, soft.
“Thank you.”
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