Chapter Text
The kettle whistled low and steady, a soft sound against the stillness of the house. John turned the stove off before it could grow shrill, pouring the steaming water into his mug. It was late—well past Ava’s bedtime—but he wasn’t tired. He never was, not at this hour. Years of being half-awake on deployment had trained his body into a state of readiness that refused to ease, even now that he’d stepped away from the task force.
Retired, but not really. He’d left 141, yes, but he hadn’t left the uniform. Couldn’t. The military still had its hooks in him, just in quieter ways now. Teaching, advising, running the kind of training courses that never made headlines but kept young lads alive. It was easier work. Safer. But it still meant long hours, and he still came home bone-deep tired, smelling of gun oil and sweat.
The difference was, now someone was here waiting for him.
Two someones.
He padded through the kitchen, mug in hand, careful not to creak the old floorboards as he crossed into the living room. A night-light glowed faintly down the hall toward Ava’s room, just enough to keep the shadows from swallowing the place. He could picture her there, tangled in blankets, blonde curls plastered to her cheek, breathing soft and even. Four years old, small as anything, and the reason he’d uprooted his entire life to land here in the States.
He’d never planned to be a father. Hell, if you’d asked him five years ago, he would’ve said the odds were better of him not making it to forty than raising a kid. And then came the phone call. The one-night stand—the woman’s name he could barely remember now—had been pregnant. He’d thought at first it was a mistake, some poor attempt at tying him down. But no. Ava was real. Flesh and blood, his blood.
And when her mother had shown up one evening with a bag and a stiff little girl clinging to her leg, only to leave without looking back… John had known then he was it. There wasn’t anyone else to pick up the pieces.
He’d adjusted, like soldiers do. Changed his schedule. Rearranged everything. For Ava. Always for Ava.
But it hadn’t been enough. Not really.
He’d hated the way he was dragging her out of bed before dawn to cart her to a daycare willing to take her at hours meant for bakers and insomniacs. Hated seeing her droop against her seat in the back of the truck, thumb tucked in her mouth, hair still mussed from sleep. He’d told himself it was temporary, just until she was older. But the guilt had sat heavy.
Juliet had been the solution he didn’t dare hope for.
He leaned against the counter now, sipping his tea, and let the thought of her settle in his chest like it always did.
Juliet.
She was young. Too young, really. He’d seen her résumé and raised a brow at the neat little number—twenty-one. Barely out of girlhood, far too early to be tethered to the kind of responsibility he was offering. But she’d walked through his door that morning, hair like spun gold falling all the way down her back, eyes sparking with something he couldn’t place—wisdom, maybe, or kindness, or both—and he’d been done for.
Not that he’d shown it. Christ, he’d tried not to. He’d sat there with his arms folded, a proper scowl in place, and asked the hard questions. “Experience?” “Background?” “How do I know you won’t quit?”
She’d only smiled, calm and bright, answering each one in that soft voice that carried more steel than he expected. And then Ava had wandered in, cautious as always around strangers, and taken one look at her.
“Rapunzel,” Ava had whispered, wide-eyed.
Juliet had laughed—clear, warm, perfect—and that was it. John knew she was the one.
That had been a little over a year ago.
Now, the house carried her touch in small, almost invisible ways. The laundry folded before he thought to do it. The dinners left warm on the stove. The faint scent of some floral soap that lingered in the kitchen, where she scrubbed dishes even though he’d told her a hundred times not to bother.
And Ava, his quiet little girl, had bloomed.
She smiled more. Laughed. Sang songs she’d picked up from Juliet, messy little rhymes that didn’t always make sense but filled the rooms with life. She clung to Juliet’s skirts when she was shy, reached for her hand when they crossed the street, curled into her side on the couch with a picture book. Things John couldn’t give, not the same way.
It was good. More than good.
And yet—
He scrubbed a hand over his beard, the familiar weight of frustration pressing against his ribs. He wanted to be home more. Found himself lingering in the truck before work, debating calling in. He wanted to be there for Ava, yes, but… it wasn’t just Ava.
Juliet never lingered when he came in at night. She was polite, respectful, quick to gather her things. Always a smile, always a “goodnight, Mr. Price,” and then she was gone. He’d tried not to notice. Tried not to feel the hollow left in her absence.
Too young. Too beautiful. Too much of everything he wasn’t.
And she deserved better than a worn-out soldier with a kid and too many ghosts.
He told himself she must have someone. A boyfriend, maybe. Some lad her own age, soft hands and clean shoes, who didn’t smell of cordite and long days, who could make her laugh without the weight of the world hanging between them. The thought twisted something sharp in his gut.
Rage, hot and blinding, flared before he could stamp it out. The idea of anyone touching her—her sunshine, her sweetness—made him feel unsteady. He gripped the counter until his knuckles whitened, forcing the feeling down.
It wasn’t his business. It couldn’t be.
He had Ava. That was enough.
He finished his tea, rinsed the mug in the sink, and stood for a long moment in the dark kitchen. Listening to the silence. Letting the ache in his chest settle where it always did.
Tomorrow would come. Juliet would arrive in the morning, hair shining, eyes bright, Ava running into her arms like she hadn’t just seen her yesterday. And John would nod, thank her, head off to work. Pretend he wasn’t counting the hours until he returned. Pretend he didn’t notice the way the house felt warmer when she was here.
It was for the best.
It had to be.