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He would’ve said that he was not a coward, he would’ve said that he wasn’t afraid, but he was a man steeped in fear, and he could recognize that then. He was not disconnected from it. It took him over. It made him feel choked with it. Not with the fear, but with disgust for himself.
He took a step closer to the crib, and closer still.
Then he reached down, and touched that tiny, flailing hand. And she stopped. And curled her fingers around his.
This tiny girl holding on to him with everything she had. And he remembered. Clinging to his mother. And he had convinced himself because of that memory that a child needed a mother. Because he had been devastated by the loss of his own, brought to a world where he had a father, but that father had meant nothing, that father might as well not have been there.
But he had needed both. And he hadn’t had them. Not really. The tragedy was not that he had been taken from his mother and raised by a father, but that no one had raised him as a parent truly should.
And that was the crime. And here he was, perpetuating pain of a different kind. Passing it on to this child who was innocent, who didn’t deserve this.
Who needed him to find it in himself to be more. To be better.
It was because of Riot that he was standing here even now.
Because of who she was. Because of her bravery. Because of the way she had treated him these past days, even when he didn’t deserve it. Because of the connections she was trying to build.
His chest felt heavy with it. With the realization of it all.
And in that moment, he realized that no matter his intent, he was going to keep that cycle spinning. Unless he did something. Unless he changed.
He leaned down and, using the same technique he had seen the nannies and Riot use, supporting her head, he lifted her out of the crib and cradled her to his chest.
And the strangest sensation overtook him, and it wasn’t simply possessiveness. It wasn’t simply a desire to protect. It was that, but it was more. The absolute conviction that he would not just die for this child, but he would live for her as well.
That he would do everything he could to ensure that she didn’t experience the pain that he had in his life. But she wouldn’t experience the pain Riot had either.
And this was why, he knew. This was why he had never held her before. It was because he had known that if he did this, he would have to change.
And he had decided who he was a long time ago. It was protection. To throw up all the walls that he could as quickly as possible around himself and ensure that nothing and no one could reach him.
He had cemented himself in his earliest days, a defense against his father. Not allowing him to decide who Krav was going to be. Not allowing himself to be movable.
He had done it to consolidate the core of who his mother had made him. To save a piece of himself from that assimilation. To keep his heritage. To keep his happiest days.
And so, change had been his enemy.
But he had to do it now. And it wasn’t about force.
No. His father had used an iron fist to try and effect an evolution in Krav.
Instead, it was the delicate, tiny fist of his daughter, wrapped around his finger that had changed him.
It had been the kiss of a woman at the ruin. That had begun this journey. This moment. This change.
It was like a blow to him. He could barely breathe past it.
He stood, and cradled her, swaying back and forth as he did so. And then he looked up, and he saw Riot. Standing there in the doorway. With tears on her cheeks.
“She’s asleep now,” he murmured, laying her back down in the crib.
“I didn’t know she was crying,” Riot said.
“It’s all right.” His chest felt tight, and he didn’t want to speak of the things he had just recognized. He didn’t know why. He didn’t know why it was so difficult. To stand in front of her with all of this rolling through him and try to make sense of it. Try to find words for it.
Instead, he moved away from the crib and walked toward her.
Put his hand on her face, and leaned in to kiss her. They hadn’t touched since their wedding night, when their coming together had been intense and wild.
