Page 42 of Beautiful When He Breaks

Ryan winces sympathetically. “Rough.”

Liam lowers his mug. “Are you sure?”

“No,” I say honestly. “But I’m doing it anyway.”

Killian studies my face for a second, assessing, maybe checking whether this is a panic decision or a real one. Then he nods once. “Good.”

That’s it. Just good. Simple. Solid. Somehow, it helps.

Luca sets his coffee down and asks, “You want anyone there?”

The offer hits harder than I expected. I glance around the kitchen. Roman is pretending not to look worried. Ryan is failing to pretend at all. Sage is already mentally preparing a support plan. Nate is observing everything from his seat next to Liam. Killian is standing there as if he’ll have three backup strategies before I hang up if this goes badly. Even the absence of Damien and Julian is felt, because I know exactly what they’d say if they were standing here too.

“I don’t know,” I admit.

Killian answers before anyone else can. “You call them this afternoon after classes. If it starts going sideways, hand me the phone.”

Roman lets out a short laugh. “Jesus Christ.”

Killian doesn’t even look at him. “I mean it.”

Mila makes a little hungry rooting motion against my chest, and Killian silently hands me the warmed bottle. I take it with my free hand and settle into the chair nearest the table without thinking, angling her the way Julian taught me, the way he always explains things while pretending not to make a big deal out of how much he knows.

That thought comes with another image of waking up in his bed, and my ears go hot again.

I focus on getting the bottle to Mila’s mouth and thank every saint that nobody in this kitchen can hear what my brain’s doing.

She latches fast and starts drinking. Relief moves through me automatically. One problem solved. One thing I can do right.

The kitchen starts moving again after that, conversation trickling back in, but my own world narrows down to the bottle in my hand and the baby in my arms. Mila’s eyes drift half shut while she drinks, dark lashes resting on her cheeks. Every now and then, her tiny fingers flex against my shirt, and every time they do, my chest goes soft and tight at once.

Footsteps sound on the stairs, and I know who it is before I look.

Julian comes into the kitchen half a second later in sweats and a hoodie, hair still sleep-mussed, face rough with morning, and my whole body notices him too quickly.

His eyes find Mila first, then me, and I have to grip the bottle harder because all I can see is the shape of his chest under my cheek when I woke up.

Nothing in his expression suggests he’s thinking about this morning the way I am. Of course it doesn’t. Why would it? To him, it was just sleep. Comfort. Familiar ground. He probably hasn’t thought about it for more than three seconds.

I drag my eyes back to Mila before my face does something unhelpful.

“Morning,” Julian says to the room at large.

Roman immediately points the cereal box at him. “You missed Killian’s parenting era. Very emotional.”

“Shame,” Julian mutters, moving toward the coffee.

Killian hands him a mug without being asked. They do that kind of thing all the time now, small domestic motions in this insane house full of oversized athletes and one tiny baby.

I lower my mouth to the top of Mila’s head and close my eyes for one second.

Then I open them again and look up across the kitchen, where Julian is leaning against the counter with his coffee—listening to Ryan argue with Roman about something stupid—and smiling just a little.

The weird feeling in my chest stirs again.

I ignore it.

One thing at a time.