Chapter 7 Too Deep To Step Back
Darcy's POV
Hazel’s body goes limp for a split second, and something inside me cracks open. I don’t think so. I just move.
I scoop her from the chair, press her against my shoulder, and rush toward the hallway. “Bathroom!” I shout over my shoulder. “Steam…she needs steam.”
Behind me, Adrian stands frozen, eyes wide and hollow with a fear I can feel from across the room. It’s as if something pulled him backward into an old memory. A dark one. He looks like he’s drowning.
“Adrian!” I call sharply.
It snaps him out of whatever holds him. He stumbles forward. “I—I’ve got her. Give hergive her to me…”
“Not yet,” I say, steady but breathless. “You’re shaking. Breathe.”
His hands tremble violently. Hazel wheezes in my arm, small and frightened.
I slam the bathroom door open and twist the shower knob all the way to hot. Steam bursts upward instantly. I sit on the edge of the tub with Hazel on my lap and guide her tiny body upright, patting her back gently but firmly.
“Come on, baby,” I whisper. “Come on, Hazel. Breathe for me.”
Adrian kneels beside us, one hand braced on the tile, the other hovering near Hazel but not touching her, terrified he’ll make something worse.
Her cough returns weak but there. A sign of air. I angle her a little forward. “Good girl. That’s it. Let it out.”
Adrian’s eyes fill with tears he doesn’t blink away. “I should have noticed,” he says hoarsely. “I should have—”
“Adrian. Look at me.”
He does. Barely.
“You’re here,” I say softly. “That’s what matters.”
Hazel coughs again, stronger this time. Relief washes through me so fast my hands shake. I hold her closer. “There we go. You’re okay. You’re okay, sweetheart.”
Adrian makes a broken sound half a sigh, half a sob. He presses a hand to Hazel’s back, finally steady enough to touch her without fear. His body leans closer to mine instinctively, like he needs the contact to stay anchored.
Hazel lets out a small, tired wail. Adrian’s face crumples.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers to her. Then, quieter, as if he can’t help it, “I’ve got both of you.”
Steam fills the room until the mirrors blur white. Hazel’s breathing evens out, soft and wet but stable. I can feel her calming in my arms.
Adrian slumps onto the bathroom floor, elbows on his knees, head bowed. Not in defeat. In relief so heavy it nearly drops him.
When he finally lifts his head, his eyes meet mine. Raw. Unshielded.
“Thank you,” he says, voice thick and rough. “Darcy… thank you.”
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “She’s okay.”
He exhales shakily, like that truth alone might break him. Hazel clings to my shirt, still sniffling. Adrian wipes his face with the back of his hand and lets out another slow breath.
“I froze,” he admits quietly.
“It happens,” I say. “You’re a great dad, Adrian.”
He stares at Hazel, then at me really looks at me. As if he’s trying to understand what just happened. As if something shifted between us and he can’t undo it.
“We…we should get her some water,” he says softly. “Then I’ll put her to bed.”
I nod.
But when we stand, he doesn’t step away immediately. Our bodies are close too close for two people who are supposed to be keeping boundaries. His hand brushes my waist as he steadies himself, and it sends a pulse of heat through me.
He notices. His breath catches.
Neither of us comments.
Hazel falls asleep almost instantly after a sip of water and a long cuddle. Her little chest rises and falls evenly, the earlier panic now just a shadow in the dim nursery light.
I linger by the door, unsure if I should leave or stay. Adrian stands beside the crib, hand resting on the rail, watching his daughter with the kind of quiet devotion I’ve only seen in movies.
“She scared me,” he murmurs.
“I know,” I whisper.
He turns toward me. The soft glow from the night-light touches his face gently, highlighting the tired curve of his mouth, the dark lashes, the tension still clinging to his shoulders.
“She’s my whole world,” he says. “I don’t know who I am without her.”
“You’re doing amazing,” I replied. “I mean that.”
His eyes flicker. For a moment, he looks like he might step closer. Like he might say something real, something dangerous.
Instead, he clears his throat. “Your room. I should show you.”
I follow him down the hallway. Not too close, but close enough to feel his warmth. Every step feels charged. The quiet hum of the house makes the space between us louder.
He stops at a door near his own. “This will be yours,” he says. “At least for now.”
The phrase lands between us awkwardly at least for now. Temporary. But his voice wavers on the last word, like even he questions it.
He pushes the door open. Fresh sheets. Soft lighting. My suitcase is already waiting. It’s simple but warm. Lived-in but welcoming.
“Thank you,” I say.
“Darcy?”
I turned back to him.
He looks conflicted. His jaw tenses. His eyes flick to my mouth, then away too quickly. “Earlier… I don’t know what would have happened if you weren’t here.”
“You would’ve handled it,” I say. “You always do.”
He shakes his head faintly. “Not like you did.”
My heart beats faster. He’s close again. Too close.
I step back toward the room, my hand brushing the doorframe just to keep myself grounded. “Goodnight, Adrian.”
He swallows hard. “Goodnight.”
He walks away, but he looks back once just before turning the corner.
I close the door and lean my forehead against it. My pulse won’t settle. The look in his eyes… the way he said my name… It was warm, dangerous, and confusing.
He’s Hazel’s dad. My boss. And he’s not ready for anything messy. Maybe I’m not either.
Still, the tension in that hallway lingers like heat.
Hours later, I’m half-asleep when I hear a faint cry through the baby monitor. A soft, sad whimper. Hazel.
I throw off the blankets and leave the room quietly. The house is dim and silent, the hall stretching ahead like a tunnel. Hazel’s cry comes again, muffled but heartbreaking. She must be having a nightmare after everything earlier.
I push the nursery door open gently.
Hazel lies curled in her crib, little hands trembling.
But that’s not what makes me freeze.
On the floor beside her crib, leaning back against the wall, is Adrian.
Fast asleep.
His head is tilted slightly to the side. His hand rests just under the crib, like he fell asleep trying to comfort her through the bars. His chest rises and falls unevenly, exhaustion etched into every line of his body. And on his cheek dried tear tracks.
He cried himself to sleep.
My heart twists. I step closer, but slowly, afraid to wake him. He stirs a little, brow furrowing in rest. Hazel reaches toward him in her sleep, fingers brushing the side of his shirt.
He must have come in here hours ago. Sat beside her. Stayed until he couldn’t stay awake.
I kneel quietly, watching them both breathe in the same rhythm.
I shouldn’t feel this much. I shouldn’t feel anything dangerous.
But in that moment, seeing the two people I care about most curled together in their own fragile little world
I realize I’m already in too deep.