Page 59 of Glass Wings

The floorboards creak beneath my weight, and Quinn stirs, letting out a soft little whimper. Harley shifts instantly, adjusting her until she quiets again. The whole motion is instinctive, natural, and it damn near floors me.

I lean against the doorframe, just watching. Harley looks up, her two different colored eyes meet mine, brows drawing in confusion.

I step into the room and press a kiss to the top of Harley’s head, then brush a fingertip across Quinn’s tiny fist. She sighs, curling her fingers tight around mine.

“Get some rest,” I whisper, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I can get her to bed.”

Harley shakes her head, her eyes locked on Quinn’s tiny features. “It’s okay. I’ve got her.”

“I know you do,” I say gently, crouching beside the chair so we’re eye to eye. “But we agreed to take turns. I’ve got the 3:00 a.m. shift, and you’ve got the six.”

Her lips curve into the faintest smile, though her eyes are glassy with fatigue. “You’re really keeping track?”

“Damn right I am.” I press a kiss to Quinn’s forehead, then to Harley’s temple. “You need sleep too, Little Bird. She needs both of us steady, not running on fumes.”

Harley sighs, her grip tightening around our daughter for a second before she finally nods. Carefully, she transfers Quinn into my arms. I feel the weight of her, light as a bundle of blankets, yet solid in ways that still stun me.

Harley brushes her hand over Quinn’s head one last time, her voice barely a whisper. “Goodnight, baby girl. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She pushes herself up, slow and stiff, wincing just a little as her body still reminds her that she isn’t fully healed. I watch her shuffle toward the bedroom, pride swelling in my chest even through the ache of exhaustion. She’s worn, scarred, but getting stronger every day.

I’m so grateful those baby blues didn’t turned into postpartum depression. The doctor warned me it could happen, and the thought alone scared me. But Harley pulled through, once she knew beyond doubt that our little girl was a fighter. That she would be ok.

Quinn stirs, tiny fists brushing against my chest, and I rock her gently. When I glance back, Harley’s standing in the doorway, watching us.

“You’re a good dad, Easton,” she whispers.

Before I can answer, she disappears into the bedroom, leaving me with our daughter and a heart so full I don’t know how it’s still beating.

Twenty-Nine

EASTON

It’s hard to believe Quinn was already three months old. That it’s been twelve weeks since my Little Bird brought her into this world.

She was stronger now, louder with every passing day. The fragile little bundle we once hovered over like she might shatter is gone, and in her place is a baby who fills the apartment with coos and cries that don’t send me into a panic anymore. She grabs my fingers with surprising force, pulls Harley’s hair like it’s her favorite toy, and once nearly yanked one of Kennedy’s ridiculous hoop earrings clean out. But then she’ll smile, those crooked, lopsided half-smiles that light up her whole face, and the exhaustion doesn’t matter.

Not one bit.

Kennedy has been trying to keep out of the way, but the truth is, the extra set of hands has saved us more than once. She’s even taken a night feed here and there, letting Harley sleep for a few uninterrupted hours, and during the day she’ll hover in the kitchen or help with laundry.

I still didn’t understand how she makes a steady income from her TikTok account— something about product sponsorships, livestreams, and affiliate links—but apparently it pays well enough that she doesn’t need to go back to the florist or the handful of other jobs she tried before. I don’t get it, but I’m not complaining. Harley seems calmer with Kennedy around, and for once, I don’t mind the noise of someone else in the apartment.

Harley is getting stronger too. Therapy twice a week has sanded down the sharpest edges of her guilt, giving her tools to quiet the voices she still admits haunt her. She’s eating better, taking walks with Kennedy when the weather allows, and even laughing sometimes.

It isn’t all perfect; some days I think it never will be, especially when I find her crying in front of the mirror as she stares at her new stretch marks. But it’s better than before.

And then, one night, she surprises me.

I’m sitting on the couch, rocking Quinn against my chest, humming low to coax her back to sleep, when Harley appears in the doorway. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, and her eyes are soft, but serious.

“Let me take her,” she whispers, sliding Quinn into the bassinet. When she turns back to me, something different flickers in her gaze, something I haven’t seen in months. Not since the night I was released.

She comes to me slowly, hands tracing up my arms and lips brushing my jaw. “Easton … I miss us.”

The words hit me like a blow. I miss us, too. Miss the weight of her pressing against me. Miss touching her without caution. Miss the fire that once carried us through dark nights. Lately we’ve been like two ships sailing past each other at night; most of the time, we aren’t even in bed together.

But the sight of her body, still healing, still marked by the fight she survived, stirs more fear than desire. I know her doctor gave the green flag for intimacy, but I don’t think she’s ready yet. I cup her face and kiss her softly before pulling back.