Hayden

I feel like I'm in some sort of telenovela.

The amount of drama in our lives is astronomical. It's not even remotely funny anymore.

The only good thing that came out of all this is my decision to stay home for the rest of the season, even if it meant possibly missing the Super Bowl. I won that thing enough times to know what it means.

But now that I'm home with Mila, I see how much stress she's really in. I know she's trying to hide it, obviously not wanting us to worry, but her struggle is blatant to me.

It's been a few weeks since Kim got arrested, and even though Mila wasn't physically harmed, she's still cautious and overly attentive when we go outside. She has constant nightmares of being followed and kidnapped, and most nights she wakes up sweaty and exhausted from her dreams.

She's stirring again right now, and I know it won't take long until she starts kicking and yelling.

"Mila, baby, wake up," I whisper, trying to hold her close while she whimpers and shakes in my arms. She finally stops stirring, her arms slowly wrapping around me as she hides her face in the crook of my neck, her wet cheeks meeting my skin.

"Sorry."

"No." I press a kiss on her head. "Don't apologize, please." Honestly, I should be the one apologizing. I'm still working on the guilt that's resting on my shoulders from everything that's happened. I'd do anything to take this pain away from her, to make her feel better. "Baby, don't you think you should talk to someone about this?" I ask, hoping she won't hate me for it. I know she considered therapy for a while now with everything that's been going on, and I'm pretty sure it would help.

"I'm talking to you... Isn't that enough?" She looks up at me with those doe eyes. The pure emotion in them whenever our gazes lock is something I will never tire of.

"I don't know, love. I'm not an expert. And I'm worried about you. It's been a while since you slept through a night."

She rests her head on my chest, and I place a kiss on her temple when she takes a deep breath. "I'll think about it, okay?"

"Okay. Take your time—I'm not going anywhere."

"Hmm... Love you."

I can't help but smile when she mumbles the words, exhaustion obviously taking over again. "I love you too, Lucky."

***

When I wake up the next morning, I watch how Mila peacefully sleeps in our bed, her hair sprawled across her face as she snores quietly. It's a sight I'll never tire of, really, and still I tiptoe out of the room, wanting to prepare breakfast for all of us.

To my surprise, Sam is already working in the kitchen, the smell of coffee lingering in the air as he pours pancake batter into a pan. "Good morning," he says, shooting me that typical fatherly smile.

"Morning. How are you feeling?" I ask, pouring myself a cup of coffee.

"Good. But also a little worried."

"About the trial?"

He nods and flips the pancake with a sigh. "That, and also about Mila. She seems...different. Scared, almost."

And again, this wave of guilt crashes right into me; I know he's right. "Yes, I noticed that as well. I mean, we can't blame her—the stress she's been in is surreal. I'm surprised she's not pulling her hair out with everything that's happening."

Sometimes I wonder if Mila would be better off if I'd never pursued her. She would've been spared this life, the constant haunting and escaping the cameras and intrigues and betrayal. I know it's putting a strain on her sanity lately.

Then again, she is the love of my life, and I simply can't regret a thing when it leads to her by my side. I need her like I need the air to breathe.

"You know it's not your fault, right, son?" Sam asks, and I can't deny I'm surprised by his words. It's not that he ever blamed me for what happened, but considering my existence caused his daughter a lot of pain, I figured he'd be warier of me.

"I don't know. It feels like that sometimes," I admit.

"That's understandable. But blaming yourself doesn't help anyone, especially not my daughter. She needs you to be strong right now. To be honest, I need you to be strong for her as well. I'm supporting her as much as I can, but this case has me occupied to an extent I didn't expect."

It's obvious this is hard on him as well, and that just shows me how much more I have to do. I need to step up now. "She understands that. She's just happy you're here now."

"I know, I know. I'm doing everything I can so it stays that way. I really can't thank you enough for everything you've been doing, Hayden. This wouldn't have been possible without your help."

I shake my head, waving him off with a smile. "You really have to stop thanking me. You've been dealt a great injustice, and I hope this will all be over soon. Both for your sake and for Mila's. I don't know how much more she can take."

Mila has loads of strength up her sleeve, even if she may not seem like it at first glance, but I also know strength has its limits. I don't know how much more of this mess she can endure before she runs out of energy to fight it.

"She's changed a lot, you know," Sam says with a smile. "Mila has always been a strong-minded woman, but she never let herself be that person before. I'm glad she can be who she is around you."

His words make me smile. "Thank you for saying that. She's a remarkable woman, and I consider myself extremely lucky to have her by my side," I admit. "But I'm worried. She hasn't slept properly since that night. I can't remember the last time I didn't have to wake her up because she was having nightmares or cried in her sleep. I know she doesn't want to bother us, but I think she needs to get help..."

I know Mila will not be happy about the fact that I talk to her dad about this—I know she doesn't want him to worry with the trial starting in a week. But I'm lost, and I don't know how to help her on my own.

***

Mila

I wake up from the feeling of something stirring inside me.

Shit.

Stumbling out of bed, I then sprint into the bathroom, ignoring Dad and Hayden at the kitchen table as they raise their eyebrows at me. It doesn't take long until I empty my stomach contents into the toilet, trying to suppress the noises to not freak everyone out.

Unfortunately, to no avail.

"Baby?" Hayden steps inside, but I raise my hand when another wave of nausea hits me. He really shouldn't see me like that. But it's no use, of course; this man is stubborn as hell. "Oh, Lucky." He brushes some hair out of my face, his voice thick with worry, and I can't even blame him. Even I noticed I'm not myself right now. Everything seems to overwhelm me nowadays, and I usually avoid talking about it, since I don't want to break down. I have to be there for Dad.

"Don't—"

"I'm not going anywhere, Mila," he interrupts me firmly. The tone of his voice makes me realize he's serious about this, so I slowly get up, rinsing my mouth with mouthwash before I rest my head against the cold tiles.

"Are you okay?"

His question makes me take a shaky breath. I don't know what changes now, why I'm not just shrugging as an answer to his question, as I usually do these days. But the lump in my throat makes it hard to speak, so I end up shaking my head with a sigh, trying to suppress the tears when I see Hayden's worried glance.

"Oh, love..." He immediately pulls me into his arms, his strong arms making me feel safe and cared for in a matter of seconds.

We stay like that for a little while, and I try to calm myself but taking deep breaths, hoping to stop my racing mind. I don't know what's going on, and that's what scares me the most. I know I've been through a lot these past weeks, but I didn't think I'd react the way I do. Maybe that's why I'm so overwhelmed suddenly, but I feel so useless and whiny that I wiggle out of his grasp as I mutter, "I should get something to eat."

"Mila..."

I dash out of the room, not feeling strong enough to open up right now. Even my knees are weak by the time I reach the kitchen.

"Hey, buttercup, you okay?" Dad asks, his face full of worry when he studies me. I don't know why, but it makes me angry. I don't want to be looked at like that.

"I'm fine. Is there coffee?"

He just raises an eyebrow, probably wondering what the hell is wrong with me. I don't speak to my dad like that. "Yeah. Sit down, sweetheart. I'll get you some."

I take a seat and inhale the scent of coffee he pours into my cup, trying to calm the raging storm in my mind. It doesn't take long until I hear Hayden behind me, his hand brushing over my back as he sits down next to me. "I'm sorry," I say at a loss for other words.

He presses a kiss on my temple in response, and the second I look up at him I see this warm and understanding smile on his lips, the one that will always make me open up to him. Hayden is warm, and so goddamn easy to talk to. But right now, I just can't.

I squeeze his hand under the table when Dad brings me a plate full of pancakes. "Thanks, Dad. These look great."

"Sure thing. How are you feeling, buttercup?"

And as much as I appreciate the gesture, I sigh as I study my freshly brewed coffee, the aromas lingering in my nostrils as I take a deep breath. "I'm okay."

"Are you sure?"

I narrow my eyes at his question. I haven't told him about the nightmares and panic attacks—Hayden is worried enough, and with Dad's oncoming trial, I didn't want to cause even more stress. "Yes, I'm sure," I snap back at him, and immediately hate myself for it. I'm not like this. I'm not a grade-A bitch. "I'm sorry, I..." I exhale, unable to find the words.

Hayden squeezes my shoulder when I run a hand over my face, trying to get control over my emotions.

"Maybe you should get some help, buttercup." Dad chimes in, and I can't help but groan, really not wanting to have this conversation.

"Dad, please..."

"No, Mila. It's enough. You've been through a lot, and I don't want to see you this way. It's not who you are, and you know it," he retorts, using his stern father voice to emphasize his statement.

"It's normal, Dad. I just need some time."

"Nightmares and panic attacks are not normal, Mila."

That's when my eyes go so wide, I think they might drop out of my sockets. And immediately I feel Hayden's hand on my back freeze up, his eyes anywhere but at me when I turn to look at him. "You told him?" I ask through gritted teeth, trying not to yell at him.

"Mila...you need help."

I scoff. "You know what would help?" They both stare at me when I jump up from the chair, my hands flat on the table as I shoot daggers at Hayden. "It would've helped if you did what I asked you to do! Not worry my father in this time where he's worried enough. It's a simple task, Hayden."

"Mila..."

"No!" I don't even let him finish. "No. It was the one thing, the one thing I asked you to do!"

"That's enough, Mila." My father's voice makes me look away from Hayden, who just stares at me with wide eyes.

"Yeah, Dad. You're right. It's enough," I say before sprinting into the bedroom to get changed. It doesn't take long until I hear a knock on the door, but I ignore it and throw on a pair of jeans and one of Hayden's hoodies. I grab my phone and wallet before I dash out the door, almost running into Hayden on my way there.

"Mila, please, can we just..."

And when I look at him, I almost stop, because he looks so goddamn worried that my heart breaks for him. But something inside me screams to get away from here, to get some space. "No. I need to go. Please let me."