Page 46 of Escorting the Bodyguard
“Both,” Gemma laughs, wiping Ruby’s hands with the patience of someone who’s learned that resistance is futile when it comes to baby chaos.
Keisha settles into one of the chairs with her own piece of cake. “How’s your studio going, Gemma? JJ said you hired more people?”
I feel my chest swell with pride, and I jump in before Gemma can even answer. “She just brought on her fourth employee,” I say, unable to keep the satisfaction out of my voice. “Now a boutique chain wants to carry her entire spring line.”
“Plus some influencer posted about her on Instagram and now she can’t keep up with demand,” Rae adds. “Our girl’s gone legit.”
“You should see her new studio space in Queens,” I add, proud as hell. “It’s like a textile wonderland in there.”
Ruby bangs her sippy cup against the high chair tray, demanding attention, and Gemma automatically moves to refill it. I watch her move around the kitchen with easy confidence, the soft curves of her hips swaying as she navigates our beautiful chaos, and I’m reminded all over again how lucky I am that this gorgeous woman chose me.
JJ asked me once if it ever bothered me—being with someone older. If I ever thought I’d wake up one day and want someone closer to my age.
I think about that sometimes, and it always makes me smile.
Gemma’s not just older. She’s lived more. She’s built herself from scratch more times than most people even try. She’s strong in ways that don’t always show. And yeah, sometimes she still thinks she has to keep it all together.
But I see her. And that’s who I want. That’s who I’ll always want.
She’s softness I didn’t know I needed. The kind that doesn’t flinch at the dark corners, just…stays. Until they’re not so dark anymore.
Victoria moves closer to the high chair, and Ruby immediately reaches for her. Instead of stepping back, Victoria leans down and lets Ruby pat her cheek.
“There’s my birthday girl,” Victoria coos, and my chest squeezes at the sight of this formidable woman turning to absolute mush for my daughter.
Ruby starts getting fussy, rubbing her eyes, and I move without thinking. “Come here, baby girl.”
I lift her out of the high chair, and she immediately snuggles into my chest. I press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in that perfect baby smell that’s somehow still there under all the cake.
“You’re getting good at that,” JJ observes, grinning at me from across the room. “Remember when you were afraid to hold her?”
“I wasn’t afraid,” I protest. “I was being cautious.”
“You asked me to Google ‘how to hold a baby without breaking it,’” Gemma adds helpfully.
“That was research.”
Gemma moves to stand beside me, her arm sliding around my waist as she leans over to press a kiss against Ruby’s cheek. Her touch lands right over the scars on my back, and instead of the old familiar tightness, I feel something else. Acceptance. Peace.
I’m still going to therapy every other week. Still showing up to the veteran support group on Thursday nights. Some days the guilt creeps back in, and some nights I still wake up thinking about Kandahar. But I’ve learned to lean on the people around me instead of carrying it all alone.
Ruby yawns against my shoulder, and I feel her little body start to relax as the sugar crash hits. She snuggles into my neck and sighs contentedly, her tiny breath warm against my skin. Around us, our friends continue talking and laughing, but my focus narrows to this small, perfect weight in my arms.
Gemma looks up at me, and we share one of those wordless conversations that married couples perfect. “I love you,” she mouths silently, and I mouth it back, both of us grinning like idiots. The look that sayswe did this.We built this life from nothing but hope and stubbornness and the willingness to stay.
A year and a half ago, I walked away from her on a street corner in Brooklyn because I was terrified I’d fail to protect her and our baby the way I failed Mason. I thought walking away was the only way to keep them safe.
I was wrong about everything.
This life isn’t perfect. It’s messy and loud and sometimes Ruby cries at three in the morning and sometimes I wake up from nightmares that leave me shaking. But it’s real. It’s ours. And it’s exactly what I never knew I wanted.
Ruby’s breathing evens out against my chest, and I realize she’s fallen asleep in my arms. I tighten my arms around her, feeling the solid weight of her trust.
I spent so many years thinking love was something that happened to other people. People who deserved it. People who weren’t carrying around pieces of shrapnel in their hearts.
But love isn’t about deserving. It’s about choosing to stay, even when staying feels impossible.
It’s letting someone see the broken parts and trusting them not to cut themselves on the sharp edges.
It’s building something beautiful from the wreckage and calling it home.
THE END
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