CHAPTER TWENTY
Kade's Distance
Kade Nightwell had not left the penthouse in three days.
From the outside, everything looked the same—glass walls overlooking New York, quiet hallways, the soft hum of luxury. But inside, something had shifted. Something vital had fractured, and Kade didn't know how to exist within the pieces.
Kiera noticed it immediately.
He was there—but not really.
He made sure she ate. He made sure the doctors came. He arranged therapy appointments and security upgrades and took Leo out of the room whenever things felt too heavy. He did everything right.
Except one thing.
He pulled away.
Kiera sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket that smelled faintly of him, watching the city lights blur through the glass. Her body was healing slowly—bruises fading, strength returning in cautious steps. But the ache inside her chest grew heavier each day.
Kade stood by the window, his back to her, phone pressed to his ear.
"No," he said coldly. "I don't care what it costs. I want them buried legally—or otherwise."
He ended the call and stayed there, shoulders rigid.
"Kade," she said softly.
He stiffened, as if her voice startled him.
"Yes?" he replied without turning.
The word hurt more than she expected.
She swallowed. "Can you sit with me?"
Silence stretched.
Then, carefully, he turned and crossed the room—but instead of sitting beside her like he used to, he took the armchair opposite. Far enough that she felt the space between them like a wall.
Her fingers tightened in the blanket.
"Did I do something wrong?" she asked quietly.
His jaw clenched.
"No," he said immediately. Too fast. "Of course not."
"Then why do you look at me like I might shatter if you touch me?"
The question landed hard.
Kade closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again. His eyes were darker now. Haunted.
"I don't trust myself," he admitted.
Her breath caught. "What do you mean?"
"I replay that night over and over," he said, voice rough. "Every choice I made. Every moment I wasn't there. And all I can think is—if I get too close, if I want you too much—then I'm selfish. Then I'm no better than—"
"Stop," Kiera whispered sharply.
She stood, ignoring the ache in her legs, and crossed the room toward him. He rose instantly, panic flashing in his eyes.
"You are not them," she said, standing inches away. "Don't you dare put yourself in the same sentence."
His hands curled into fists at his sides. "I look at you and I want to protect you from everything—including myself."
Her voice trembled. "I don't need distance, Kade. I need you."
The words cracked something open in him.
"You don't understand," he said hoarsely. "When I see you, all I feel is rage. And guilt. And fear. I don't know how to touch you without imagining the pain you went through."
Tears filled her eyes. "So you leave me alone with it instead?"
That was the moment he broke.
He turned away, dragging a hand through his hair, breathing like the air itself hurt. "I'm terrified," he confessed. "Terrified that if I hold you, I'll never let go. That if I let myself feel what I feel, I won't survive losing you again."
Kiera stepped closer, slowly, giving him time to pull away.
He didn't.
She reached out—not to his chest, not to his face—but to his sleeve, her fingers barely brushing the fabric.
"I'm already hurting," she said softly. "Your distance just makes it quieter. And lonelier."
He turned back to her then.
Really looked at her.
Not as something fragile.
Not as something broken.
But as Kiera.
Strong. Breathing. Standing.
"I don't need you to save me," she continued. "I need you to stay."
His eyes filled.
"I don't know how," he admitted.
"Then learn with me," she said. "Just… don't disappear."
He exhaled shakily and, finally—carefully—wrapped his arms around her.
She froze for a split second.
So did he.
Then she leaned into his chest, resting her forehead against his heartbeat.
His arms tightened—not possessive, not desperate—just real.
"I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair. "I thought distance would keep you safe."
She closed her eyes, breathing him in. "It just made me feel abandoned."
His chest hitched.
"I'm here," he promised. "I won't leave you again."
They stood like that for a long time, saying nothing, letting the silence heal instead of wound.
From the doorway, Leo watched them quietly, clutching his toy dinosaur.
"Daddy?" he asked softly.
Kade looked up, emotion flooding his face. "Hey, buddy."
Leo walked over and hugged Kiera's leg gently. "You're back."
Kiera knelt and hugged him, careful but warm. "I never left."
Kade watched them, something shifting deep inside him—something heavy lifting, just a little.
He had been trying to carry the guilt alone.
But healing, he was learning, was not a solitary thing.
As night fell over the city, Kade sat beside Kiera on the couch—this time close enough that their shoulders touched.
The distance was still there.
But for the first time since the nightmare, it was shrinking.
Slowly.
Together.