And I didn’t want to disappear into your chaos.But running from it didn’t save me.It just showed me I was already tied to you in ways that scared the hell out of me.
I don’t know if forgiveness comes all at once.I think it comes in pieces, like building a snowman.
You want a chance to earn this?Okay.Then show me who you are now, not who you were when you lied.Show me the man who wrote this letter and carried me out of fire.I’ll meet you halfway.
—Carol Peppermint
I close the journal.
I sleep with it under my pillow.
The next morning a knock pulls me from sleep.
“Yeah?”I call.
Humbug steps inside, damp hair, gray T-shirt, jeans low on his hips.Sexy as sin.He freezes when he sees the journal in my bed.
“You… read it?”
“I did.”
His jaw flexes.“And?You mad?”
“No,” I say softly.“I wrote back.”
His eyes widen just slightly, the closest thing he has to vulnerability.
“Can I?”
I hand it to him.
He reads my reply in silence, eyes moving slow, steady.
When he finishes, he closes the journal and presses both hands over it like he’s protecting something fragile.
“I ain’t gonna waste this chance,” he murmurs.
“I know,” I whisper.
Two days later Honey drives me to the clinic in town, but Humbug shows up anyway, late, sweaty, wearing his cut like armor.He slams the door open and the nurse jumps.
“Where is she?”he growls.
“Jack,” I whisper, flushed.“It’s a checkup.Not a knife fight.”
He softens immediately.
“Yeah.I know.Just… needed to be here.”
When the doctor presses the Doppler wand against my belly, Humbug holds his breath.Then the heartbeat crackles through the speaker, fast, strong, alive.Humbug’s big hand finds mine.His thumb shakes.
He doesn’t hide it.
“That’s… ours?”he whispers, voice breaking like a man who never imagined making something good.
“Ours,” I repeat.
He kisses the corner of my mouth before he even realizes he’s doing it.
