“I’m scared,” I admit, the words shaky.
“I’m terrified, too.”
But just as I consider what this all means, a small, choked sound comes from the staircase.
We both freeze, turning.
Morgan stands on the bottom step, clutching her crayon drawing to her chest. She’s in her unicorn pajamas, her hair a wild cloud around her pale face. Her eyes are huge, wet, shattered.
“M-mom… Are you fighting?” she whispers.
My heart splinters and Colt’s shoulders slump. He takes a step toward her, then stops, like he’s afraid to scare her.
“No, baby,” I say, but my voice breaks.
She looks straight at Colt, her lower lip trembling. “Colt… Are you leaving?”
The devastation in her voice is the voice of a kid who’s heard too many empty promises before. I've tried to protect her for so long.
Morgan sniffles. "You said you weren’t going anywhere, Colt. Youpromised.”
Colt crosses the bakery and drops to his knees right there on the tile floor, putting himself at her eye level.
“Morgs.” His voice is firm, steady. “Look at me.”
She does, tears still spilling over.
He reaches out, takes her small hands in his. The crayon drawing crinkles between them. “I’m not leaving. Do you hear me?”
“But Mom said—” Her gaze flicks to me, accusing, terrified.
“Your mom is scared,” Colt says, his eyes never leaving Morgan’s. “And that’s okay, because I’m scared too." He pulls her into a hug, then releases her and steadies her with both hands on her shoulders. "But being scared doesn’t mean I’m going anywhere, Morgan. We're trying to sort out what matters. And you know what?Youmatter. More than any hockey team, more than any fancy bakery, more than anything. You know that, right?”
Morgan collapses against him, her small body shaking with silent sobs. Her arms wrap around his neck, holding on like he’s the only solid thing in a tilting world she shouldn't have to see.
I watch from across the room, my hand pressed over my mouth, tears streaming freely now.
This man. This ridiculous, chaotic man just swore to choose my daughter over Madison Square Garden. Over the dream he wasliterallyborn and bred for.
And in that moment, I know. I know what Declan was trying to tell me.
Morgan finally pulls back, sniffling. Colt brushes her hair from her face. “You believe me?” he asks softly.
She nods, hiccupping. “Yeah.”
“Good.” He presses a kiss to her forehead. “Now go back upstairs and I'll be up in a minute to help you get ready for bed.”
She gives him one last, wobbly smile, then pads back up the stairs, the drawing still clutched in her hand.
The silence she leaves behind is profound.
Colt stays on his knees for another moment, his head bowed. Then he pushes himself to his feet, his movements heavy with exhaustion.
He turns to face me, but we don’t speak. We just look at each other across the battlefield of my kitchen.
Eventually, I slide down the front of the cabinets until I’m sitting on the cool tile floor. Mostly because my legs won’t hold me anymore, but also, because I don't know what else to do.
Colt sinks down beside me, his back against the cabinet next to mine.