There’s a pause. Too long.
“She’s leaving, Knox.”
The ground shifts beneath me.
“She’s what?”
“She’s packed. She planned it last night, before the press conference, and now...” Gracie sighs like she’s been carrying this weight alone. “She's going to go to Denver.”
No. No. Not after everything.
“I need to see her,” I say, the words spilling out like a prayer. “Just once. One time before she goes.”
Gracie is quiet again, then, “I don’t know…”
“Get her to my house,” I say. “Please. Tell her I need five minutes. One last time.”
A beat. “You better not waste it, Knightly.”
Click.
I hang up and move fast.
The sun’s dipping low by the time I finish double-checking that everything is in place. Just in case Gracie pulls through.
The doorbell rings.
My chest goes tight. I open the door.
Please, please, please.
And there she is.
Josie Dawson. My light, my chaos, my damn heartbeat.
Eyes rimmed red. Shoulders tense. But she’s here.
She steps inside like she’s not sure she should.
“You said one last time,” she says quietly. “So, here I am.”
I nod. Step aside. “Come with me.”
I lead her down the hall, stop outside the room, and push open the door.
She freezes.
The nursery.
For our twins.
It’s soft. Gentle. Painted in warm whites and sunbaked peaches, the whole room bathed in early evening light. Two pale cribs with cloud-soft blankets. A rocking chair beside thewindow. Shelves already half filled with picture books and lullabies.
Josie walks in like she’s afraid to breathe.
I step beside her.
“I’ve been building something,” I say. “Not just a room. Not just a house.”
