Page 81 of Her Redeemed Protector

The words hurt more than I expected. “I get it. The first cut is the deepest, right? Thanks for reminding me where I stand!” Bitterness seeps into my words. “I believed you when you said you were looking for someone who’d accept your history and that the person was me. But what did that exactly mean?”

“Savannah, you are that person. I want you,” he emphasizes. “I may not show my gratitude to you?—”

“It’s not about gratitude. It’s about where your heart is. You’ve used me as a crutch because you can’t get over your dead girlfriend.”

“That’s not fair, Sav! Valentina and I happened. It’s history. But you, you’re now. You have to accept that.”

“I can accept it. But it’s clear you still love her more than you love me. You were honest at first, which is why I fell for you. Maybe I’ve been so naïve, or it’s you who was good at using my vulnerability. When I met you, you left me in awe, giving me no choice but to fall for you. Hard. No questions asked. I thought you’d give yourself to me completely despite your past. Because I’ve given you all of me. Now, I feel like I’m just second best.”

“You can’t force me to unlove someone.”

Betrayal hurts, but to know that I’ve allowed myself to bebetrayed, it crushes me. I’m on my feet now, the distance between us growing. “Well, you can keep kissing that paper girl!”

He’s on his feet, too, anger written all over him. “You don’t know anything, Sav!”

“Maybe it’s better that way,” I retort, my voice thick with tears. “Goodbye, Hux.”

I throw on my clothes and leave in the dead of night, heart wrecked, mind spinning with a thousand unasked questions. But one thing is sure. When you think it’s too good to be true, chances are, it is. Just like Hux and me.

31

HUXLEY

It’s yet another day without Savannah. The emptiness gnaws at my heart, punishing me severely, knowing it’s the outcome of my own doing.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I reach for my phone, half hoping for a message from her, but the screen is as barren as my spirits. Luckily, Jack has come to my rescue with an invitation to spend the day at his place and play babysitter with him.

When I arrive at Jack’s house, the chaos of family life hits me the moment I step through the door. The joyful shriek of two-year-old Quinton, yelling, “Uncle Comet!” greets me as he runs to hug me, his arms barely reaching my knees. I carry him while Jack approaches, his newborn cradled in his arms. The sight of such uncomplicated happiness brings a bittersweet pang to my chest.

“Glad you could make it, Comet. Ava’s taking some well-deserved time off. Think you can handle some diaper duty today?”

As I nod, Quinton wriggles in my arms, eager to show me something. He rushes over, a blur of energy. “Uncle Comet!”he exclaims, his small hand grabbing mine with surprising strength. “Come see my tower!” He pulls me toward his construction of blocks scattered across the living room floor.

Settling on the carpet, with beautiful distractions surrounding me, the tightness in my chest begins to ease.

Jack kneels beside us, effortlessly balancing baby Harper against his chest with one arm while his free hand helps Quinton stabilize the highest block of our teetering tower. His easy confidence with his children is something that never fails to impress me. Once a marine who maneuvered through the uncertainties of distant battlefields, he now navigates the unpredictability of parenting with the same calm and precision.

“Steady, Q,” Jack coaches, his eyes twinkling with pride as Quinton places the final block on top. The tower stands, albeit briefly, before Quinton claps his hands and giggles, knocking it down with an exaggerated swing. The blocks scatter, and his laughter fills the room, infectious and bright.

Harper burbles as if curious about the commotion. The last time I saw her, she was a tiny one-day-old. Now, almost two months have passed, and it’s as if she’s already aware of what’s going on around her.

I caress Harper’s pink cheek, a smile spreading across my face. “Looks like your sister’s cheering for you, buddy,” I tell Quinton, who beams at the approval.

Jack shifts slightly, making sure Quinton is engrossed in the vibrant illustrations of his storybook before turning his full attention to me. “So, you gonna tell me what’s eating you up?” he asks quietly.

I don’t answer him straightaway, instead forcing a smile as I watch Quinton animatedly read to his canine companion, Elmo. I remember when Quinton could barely pronounce the dog’s name, calling him ‘Mo’ in his baby talk. Now, at two, he’sarticulating like he’s already in kindergarten. Time slips through your fingers when you least expect it.

“Nothing. It’s just surprising how these two little guys can tire me out, and they’re not even mine,” I chuckle.

Jack isn’t convinced by my attempt to deflect. After all, I started my answer with ‘nothing,’ giving it away. He responds, “When I saw you at the hospital, you were brooding. Now, you’re like a stag that’s been kicked into exile, lost and in denial.”

“Thanks, Jack!” I mock, rolling my eyes, though his analogy woefully rings true.

He chuckles. “Come on, if it’s not me, who are you going to tell?”

I wince. My last moment with her is still raw. “I… I slipped. She caught me looking at a photo of Valentina.” I almost close my eyes, not wanting to recall the painful details of the phone call with Marta just before that moment.

Jack lets out a sympathetic sigh. “Oh, buddy...”

---