He keeps going, voice rough and urgent, like he’s afraid I’ll bolt if he pauses.
“I know I don’t deserve a second chance. I know I handled everything wrong. But I’m here now, and I’m begging you. Let me be whatever you need. Doctor’s appointments, midnight cravings, two a.m. panic attacks. I’m in this.”
I try to answer, but a sob catches in my throat instead.
He leans in until our foreheads touch. “I’m terrified,” he admits, so quietly I almost miss it. “I’ve never been so scared that I’m going to screw something up.”
I pull back just far enough to see his face. His eyes are red-rimmed, jaw clenched, every ounce of the controlled billionaire stripped away until there’s only the boy who used to carry me home through snowstorms when we were kids.
“I’m scared too,” I say. “I’ve been alone with this for ten weeks. I kept imagining telling you and watching you shut down, or offer money, or—”
“Never.” He cuts me off, fierce. “This is about you waking up alone that morning and me not being there to hold your hairwhen you were sick. This is about every day I missed hearing a heartbeat that’s half mine. I hate myself for that.”
He slides one hand to the back of my neck, the other still cradling my stomach like it’s made of glass.
“I love you,” he says, raw and simple. “I think I’ve loved you since we were teenagers. You were always sassy and stealing my hoodies. I was just too stupid to say it out loud.”
The words hit me like a tidal wave.
I fist my hands in his coat and kiss him. Pouring everything I feel into the kiss. He groans into my mouth, arms tightening until there’s no space left between us, until I can feel his heart hammering against mine.
When we break apart, we’re both shaking.
Chapter six
Oliver
The snow starts the instant we step out of the boathouse, thick, heavy flakes that swirl around us like the sky itself is trying to keep the moment sacred. Savannah’s hand is small and cold inside mine, her other arm wrapped protectively around her middle. She keeps glancing down at where my palm rests over the tiny curve of her belly, like she’s still waiting for me to disappear again.
Not happening. Not in this lifetime.
I tug her closer, shielding her from the wind as we cut across the back lawn. The pond is still alive with shouts and laughter, blades scraping ice, but it all feels miles away. The only real things right now are the woman beside me and the life we made.
My chest is so full it aches.
We slip through the mudroom door, stomping snow off our boots. The house is mercifully quiet since almost everyone is outside. I toe off my boots and kneel to untie hers, fingersbrushing her ankles. She shivers, and I’m not sure if it’s cold or the way I’m looking at her.
I need her. Now.
I lace our fingers and lead her through the back hall, past the kitchen where the faint smell of gingerbread still lingers, up the wide oak staircase that creaks in all the same places it did when we were kids sneaking down for midnight snacks. Every step feels like crossing a threshold I can never uncross, and I’m desperate for it.
My bedroom door shuts behind us with a soft, definitive click.
The fire I laid this morning is still crackling low, casting gold light over the king bed, the navy walls, the snow piling against the windows. Savannah stands in the middle of the rug, arms wrapped around herself, snowflakes melting in her dark hair like diamonds.
I cross the room in three strides and cup her face. My thumbs stroke the wet tracks on her cheeks.
“Hey,” I say, voice scraped raw. “Look at me.”
She does. Green eyes huge, still glassy with tears, but there’s trust there now—fragile, hard-won trust.
“I love you,” I tell her, slow and deliberate, like I’m carving the words into stone. “I love you so much it physically hurt when I thought I’d lost you. I’m done being an idiot about it.”
A broken sound escapes her, and then she’s on her toes, kissing me. Her hands fist in my coat, dragging me closer, and I let her. I let her take whatever she needs.
We stumble backward, shedding layers as we go. My coat hits the floor. Hers follows. I yank my sweater over my head, and her cold hands immediately flatten against my chest, tracing the lines of muscle like she’s relearning me.
I walk her to the bed until the backs of her knees hit the mattress. She sits, breathing hard, and I drop to mine in front of her.
