Chapter 81 The Glass Coach
The following morning, the reality of being a solo parent hit me with the force of a freight train. Between wrestling Zoe into her snow boots and making sure Grace had her inhaler, I felt like I was drowning in the mundane details of survival. We were already fifteen minutes behind schedule when we finally hit the sidewalk, the Brooklyn wind cutting through my coat like a serrated blade. Every breath felt like inhaling needles, and the slush on the pavement had frozen into treacherous ridges of gray ice.
"The bus is gone, Mila," Grace said, her voice flat and resigned. She pointed at the empty, salt-crusted corner. "We’re going to be late. Again. Mrs. Higgins is going to give me that look, the one where she thinks we don't have a clock."
"We’ll walk fast," I said, though my heart sank. The elementary school was ten blocks away—ten blocks of biting wind and slippery sidewalks. Zoe’s legs were already dragging in her heavy boots, her small face tucked deep into a wool scarf. I felt a surge of guilt so sharp it rivaled the cold; I was failing at the one thing I was supposed to be good at: keeping their lives steady.
I was about to suggest a panicked sprint when a low, predatory growl of an engine cut through the morning traffic. A sleek, midnight-blue sports coupe pulled smoothly to the curb, its powerful frame looking like a piece of high-tech weaponry against the backdrop of rusted fire escapes and fading graffiti. The driver’s side window slid down, and there was Nate, behind the wheel. No driver, no security detail—just him, looking entirely too polished for eight in the morning.
"You're late," he noted, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he shifted the car into park. He looked out of place in our neighborhood, like a high-end watch dropped into a pile of gravel.
"The bus decided not to wait for us," I sighed, leaning against the cold, polished metal of the passenger door. "What are you doing here, Nate? You’re supposed to be halfway to a boardroom by now."
"I was nearby," he lied—I knew for a fact he’d likely spent forty minutes navigating bridge traffic just to get to this specific street corner—"and I figured the 'Tall Man' should check on his coloring partner before the school day started."
Zoe’s face lit up instantly. "Mr. Tall Man! Are we going in the fast car? Does it have a button that makes it go zoom?"
Nate climbed out, his long legs unfolding from the low-slung seat. He looked like a prince who had accidentally wandered into the wrong fairy tale, but he didn't hesitate. He simply picked Zoe up, swinging her into the air until she squealed with delight, before tucking her under one arm. He opened the heavy passenger door, which swung upward in a way that made every kid on the block stop and stare.
"Everyone inside," he commanded, his eyes meeting mine with a softness that bypassed my defenses. "I’m not letting you walk ten blocks in a wind chill that could freeze the Hudson. Get in, Mila."
The interior of the car was a sanctuary. It smelled of expensive leather, cedarwood, and the kind of heat that felt like a physical hug. Grace sat in the back, her body stiff with awe as she traced the carbon-fiber trim with a hesitant finger. Zoe, meanwhile, was busy bouncing on the buttery leather, her eyes fixed on the glowing digital dashboard. Nate slid back into the driver's seat, the engine purring beneath us like a caged beast.
"This is a lot, Nate," I whispered as he pulled away from the curb. The car moved with a terrifyingly smooth power, ignoring the potholes that usually sent my bones rattling.
"It’s just a car, Mila," he murmured. He reached over the center console, his hand finding mine. He interlaced our fingers, his thumb tracing a slow, comforting circle on my palm. It was a simple gesture, but in the quiet cabin of the car, it felt like an anchor. "Let yourself be helped for once. It’s okay to not be the one holding everything up."
The drive took five minutes, but it felt like we were traveling through different dimensions. As we turned the corner toward the elementary school, the usual morning chaos was in full swing. Rusty minivans were double-parked, and parents in mismatched tracksuits were ushering kids across the street. The blue coupe stood out like a diamond in a coal mine.
As Nate pulled up directly in front of the main entrance, the sidewalk went quiet. The crossing guard, a man who had seen everything in twenty years, froze with his stop sign held mid-air.
"Is that a Salvatore?" I heard a voice hiss from the sidewalk.
Nate didn't care. He hopped out, rounded the car, and opened the door for the girls. He helped Grace out with a polite, solemn nod, then swung Zoe down, setting her feet firmly on the pavement. I stepped out last, feeling the weight of a hundred judgmental gazes. I saw Mrs. Higgins, the very teacher Grace had feared, standing by the door with her jaw practically on the concrete. Several parents had already pulled out their phones, their thumbs blurring as they likely searched for the face they’d seen in the Blueblood Bulletin.
"I’ll pick you up at three," Nate said. He didn't say it quietly. He said it with the confidence of a man who owned the air he breathed. He leaned in, his shadow falling over me, and pressed a lingering, warm kiss to my cheek. The heat of it stayed there long after he pulled back. "Don't worry about the walk home, or the bags, or anything else. I’ve got it."
"Nate, the stir you're causing..." I started, my face burning as I looked at the crowd.
"Let them look," he whispered, his eyes flashing with a defiant sort of pride that made my heart race. "I want them to know exactly who’s looking out for you. I want them to know you’re not an easy target anymore."
Once the girls had disappeared into the building, I climbed back into the passenger seat. The silence in the car was heavy now, the absence of Zoe’s chatter making the intimacy feel electric.
"You don't have to drive me to the cafe, Nate. It's just around the corner from the subway station."
"I'm driving you," he said simply, his hand returning to mine.
Five minutes later, the midnight-blue car rumbled to a halt in front of the cafe. My coworkers were already visible through the glass, scurrying with carafes of coffee.
"Mila," Nate said, pulling me toward him before I could reach for the door handle. He kissed me again, slower this time, a deep and possessive claim that made the world outside the tinted windows disappear. "Call me when your shift is over. I mean it."
"I will," I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Nate waited until I was inside the door before he roared away, the engine’s growl a final, defiant statement to the neighborhood.