Page 90 of At First Flight
The first scent of rain hits me like memory—wet dirt and tension, the kind that coils in your chest before a fight you know is coming. The sky is swollen with gray, the sun barely visible behind thick storm clouds rolling low over the hills. I should be inside, reviewing legal paperwork, calling my lawyer again. But I can’t take my eyes off Lila.
She’s standing just outside the deck, curls pulled up haphazardly, a smear of dirt across her cheek, her tank top clinging to her skin from the heat. Evelyn is clinging to her leg, giggling about a caterpillar. Oliver is yelling something about feather armor. And Lila? She laughs. Loud and full and unbothered.
It guts me a little.
Because in another world, she would be mine already. Not just here. Not just helping. Butminein all the ways I haven’t let myself hope for. And in this world, the one where my father is preparing to drag me through court to prove I’m unfit to raise these kids, she might still leave.
She doesn’t know about the court date yet.
I reach for the phone in my back pocket, the screen lighting up before I can even unlock it. One text from my lawyer.
Your father has been in touch.
That hollow pressure in my chest flares again. Now in just a few weeks I have to prove I’m enough. To prove I’ve changed. That I’m not him.
I look back at Lila. She’s crouched now, drawing a smiley face in the dirt for Evelyn. Her laugh floats up again, light andwarm. The knot in my chest twists. I’ve never needed someone like this.
Not even before the kids.
Not even before everything fell apart.
Back in the kitchen, the storm finally breaks. Rain lashes the windows, thunder rattles the cabinets, and the sky goes dark with fury. I watch as the trio try to escape the rain, Lila attempting to stay behind the kids and stay somewhat dry but failing miserably. I rush to the laundry room, grabbing whatever towels I can from the cabinet, and scurry toward the mudroom. They’re soaked through to their skin when they get back inside.
I try to make dinner, something easy enough for a bachelor billionaire, but the text burns in my mind. I don’t even realize I’ve stopped chopping vegetables until Lila touches my arm.
“Dean?” she asks quietly.
I meet her eyes, and the strength there almost levels me. “My father contacted my lawyer.”
She exhales hard. “God.”
“He’s filed a motion to modify the guardianship.”
A beat of silence. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t panic. Just steps in close and places her hand flat on my chest, grounding me with that simple touch.
“Then you fight,” she says. “And this town is not letting you do it alone.”
God, I want to believe in that. In her.
The call comes the next day, just as the sun gives way to the stars. My father speaking up before I can even greet him, dripping disdain in every punctuated word. My lawyer transfersinto the call, tense and tight-lipped. I don’t look at Lila—I don’t have to. She’s there beside me, spine straight.
“I’m doing what’s best for the children,” my father says, his voice cold and practiced. “You’re too emotional. Too unstable. Too close to the damage you’ve caused.” It’s just like him to equate me with Genevieve’s death, as if I was directly related to it.
“You mean the damageyoucaused? You only want the kids to make perfect little puppets for the press,” I say, teeth gritted.
He sneers. “You’re nothing but a scared little boy trying to play house. You’ll never be perfect for them.”
And then Lila steps in. Right in front of me.
“They don’t need a perfect man,” she says, voice even. “They need someone who shows up. Someone who loves them. And they already have that.”
My father’s voice thins. “And who the hell are you to speak on this?”
“I’m the woman who’s been raising them with him. Who sees how much they trust him. Who’s earned their love the right way.”
He doesn’t respond. He just ends the call like the punctuation of a slammed door.
I don’t say anything. I just sink onto the couch and drop my head into my hands. And Lila? She doesn’t offer comfort. She sits beside me and doesn’t leave.
