I clutch the paper to my chest and curl into myself, sobs cracking open from somewhere deep.
This is what I wanted, isn’t it? Honesty. Vulnerability. The truth.
But the truth is still so uncertain.
He loves me. But he’s scared.
He wants this. But he’s spiraling.
He’s sorry. But sorry doesn’t fix everything.
I cry until the sky outside is fully dark. Until the crickets rise in chorus and the paper in my hands feels soft from the tears.
Then, with trembling fingers, I fold the note carefully.
Tuck it into my nightstand.
And lie back down.
Because love is not enough if he’s not ready.
And I have babies to think about now.
A future to choose.
Even if I don’t know what it looks like yet.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Knox
I usedto think nothing could shake me.
Not after the NFL.
Not after Savannah.
Not after crawling out of the wreckage of my own damn life to build something that finally felt like mine.
Turns out, all it takes is a whisper of scandal and a few headlines to watch it all slip sideways.
The press won’t let up.
Investors are calling, voices tight and clipped, wondering if my “personal distractions” are going to tank their money.
Someone tagged the restaurant with “Deadbeat Daddy” in red spray paint. Nova scrubbed it off before I got there. I wish she hadn’t. I wish I’d seen it. Maybe then it wouldn’t feel so surreal.
“I’m not built for this, Knox!” she snapped at me earlier, her voice shaking. “I didn’t sign up to be your PR team, your crisis manager, or your freaking emotional support co-founder! I swear, if one more reporter calls me?—”
“You’re not gonna quit,” I said flatly.
She stared at me like I’d slapped her. “Don’t tell me what I’m gonna do.”
But I know her.
She’s scared.
She’s tired.
