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“Why didn’t you run after the person who dumped their kid?”

Gio winces at that. “They came in and left unnoticed, and we only realized there’s a baby when the crying started.”

Well, fuck. Putting my shoes on, I rush past Gio and down the stairs. I burst into the auto body shop, ready to fix the issue like always. The familiar smells of paint, metal and oil wrap around me like a second skin. But unlike most other days, it doesn’t bring comfort.

Glancing around, I spot my employees crowded around a small bundle in Heather’s arms. Boone stands closest, tall and broad-shouldered. His arms are crossed tight over his chest, tattoos covering his forearms. Next to him, Marcus hovers awkwardly, hands shoved deep into his overall pockets. He’s the quietest out of all of us, rarely saying a word unless directly asked.

Then there’s Heather, my receptionist, who looks exactly like the kind of person you’d trust with something as small and breakable as a baby. She’s in her late fifties, with soft lines around her eyes that speak more of laughter than age. Her silver-streaked hair is pulled back into a loose bun and she wears one of her many colorful cardigans. Her expression is calm, but there’s a tightness around her mouth that gives her away. She’s worried, even if she’s doing a damn good job pretending otherwise, cradling the child with practiced ease.

When my eyes connect with the baby, everything quiets. It can’t be. But my suspicions are confirmed as she looks my way with bright blue eyes matching mine. Fuck, Livia, what did you do this time?

My sister has been troubled starting from her early teens, in and out of my life ever since she aged out of the system. When she told me she was pregnant last year, things changed for the better, or at least I thought they did. Livia stayed in touch and for a while it felt like maybe this time could be different. Now the police are coming and I have to explain her choices to strangers who won’t understand. Again.

“Give her to me,” I tell Heather softly. “Please.”

My receptionist-turned-friend looks hesitant as she strokes the baby’s soft cheek. “But shouldn’t we wait for the police? They should be here any moment.”

Looking up to the tiled ceiling, trying to gather myself, I barely get out, “That’s my niece, Tilly. My little sister’s kid. She turns three months next week.”

“What?” Gio asks from behind me. “You know who that is?”

I blink to avoid the tears that threaten to escape and choke out my next reply. “Yeah. Once the police get here, I’ll chat with them.”

“Do you need me to call Eli or Jax?” Heather asks, knowing I need my friends.

I nod, unable to get any more words out, as she hands me the small bundle wrapped in a worn-out beige blanket with white stripes. Tilly is quiet now, her little chest rising and falling with each breath. I hold her in my arms, feeling a sense of protectiveness wash over me. Livia never accepted any help besides money, so this is only the second time I’ve seen Tilly since she was born.

Fuck!

I should’ve tried harder, but it’s difficult to help someone who doesn’t want the assistance. Not to mention, Livia was sober during pregnancy, so I had hoped things were looking up. I didn’t want to consider that we'd end up here one day.

“Where’s the note?” I whisper, trying my best not to upset the precious little girl in my arms. “Can one of you read it aloud for me?”

Boone holds the folded piece of paper with my name in cursive on it. “Dear brother, please take care of Tilly. I tried, but I’m not strong like you⁠—”

My heart aches as I imagine Livia’s voice telling me all the things she hid from me. I knew my sister was struggling now that she has an extra mouth to feed, but I had no idea how bad things had gotten. I offered her a place to stay a million times, but she never took me up on the offer and insisted she could handle everything. I never saw her as a person who would abandon her own child. The fucked up part is that if Livia had contacted me, I would’ve been happy to take care of Tilly.

Gio’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “Boss, the police are here,” he informs me, moving to make room for them.

I turn to face the officers who have walked in. The female officer glances down at Tilly in my arms, then meets my gaze, kindness in her brown eyes. “I’m Officer Reinhart, and that’s my partner, Officer O’Ryan. He’ll have a look around the shop as we talk. Is this the baby in question?”

I nod, my throat suddenly feeling dry. “Yes. I’m Oliver Braxton, the owner of Braxton Body Shop.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“I wish I could say the same, but nice isn’t the first word I’d use to describe the current situation,” I say, making the corner of her mouth twitch.

She pulls out a standard notepad from her pocket and opens a new page. “Do you have any idea about who left her here?”

“It was my sister Livia. L-I-V-I-A,” I spell out her name out of habit.

“Your sister? So, this baby is your niece?” Officer Reinhart asks before writing something down. The scratch of her pen is too loud in my ears. I nod again, and her expression softens. “Mr. Braxton⁠—”

“You can call me Ollie.”

“Ollie, listen, protocol requires us to take the baby to the hospital for a medical checkup. You’re also required to visit the station to complete the necessary paperwork for an emergency custody order after the hospital visit.”

Custody. That single word lands heavier than anything else she’s said so far, settling deep in my stomach. “Custody?” I repeat, trying to figure out if this is actually happening or only a nightmare.