After washing up that night, Felix tried to sneak into the master bedroom again, only to be ruthlessly hauled back to the kids' room by Rhys. The excuse was the same: "Little men need to be independent."
This time, Felix wasn't having it. "But I'm only four! Did you sleep by yourself when you were four?"
That sounded exactly like something Emily or Simon had coached him to say.
Rhys paused.
He had slept by himself when he was four, but not out of independence. It was because no one had the time to stay with him.
Logan Huntington was always out on missions, often disappearing for weeks at a time. Veronica West hadn't left yet, but her presence barely made a difference.
When she was home, she'd sit on the living room sofa, talking on the phone for entire afternoons. When he walked past, she'd just glance at him and keep talking.
Rhys's movements stalled. He bent down, set Felix on his feet, and crouched to look him in the eye.
"Yeah, I slept by myself when I was four."
He wasn't lying.
"And when I was four, my dad protected me too."
That was also true.
Before his adoptive father died in the line of duty, he would always push open the bedroom door after returning from a mission to check on him.
Sometimes he just stood there for a moment, pulling the blanket up a little higher. Sometimes he sat on the edge of the bed and ruffled his hair.
Sometimes Rhys would be awake, pretending to be asleep.
Because he knew that if he opened his eyes, his father would think he had woken him up and wouldn't stay those few extra minutes.
So he would lie perfectly still, keeping his breathing light and slow.
Later, that comforting hand never appeared again.
"The same goes for you," Rhys said softly. "You can sleep soundly in your own room. No matter what happens, Dad is right outside guarding you."
Felix tilted his head in thought, then stuck out his pinky.
"Pinky promise."
Rhys hooked his pinky around his son's.
"Stamp it," Felix demanded seriously.
One large fist bumped against a tiny one.
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